The siren call of old bottles

In a world full of tat, what do you buy and cherish?

The dog and I have a new tradition, one where we walk a torturous route decided by him to a local coffee shop so that he can have a pupcup (the name is appalling, puppaccino is worse). The walk is torturous because he makes us go down every side street he’s ever found a discarded chicken bone on, and as a result it takes double the time. When we finally get to the high street, I’m always slightly depressed by the amount of tat on display in the shops. I live near a useful high street by most standards - a Post Office, an electrical shop which actually mends things, several local groceries and some good pubs - but it’s impossible to avoid the tat shops. They’re like mini versions of those strange candy shops on Oxford Street (which people always claim are money laundering emporiums and I have no reason to doubt this), selling vapes, mutant coloured sweets, old phones, luggage and an array of plastic crap I can’t imagine anyone really wanting. The tat shops aren’t the only ones selling such disposable fripperies. Even the post office has an array of ‘gifts’ you can buy, ranging from teddy bears holding obnoxiously large hearts to their chests to candles which spell out your name (I do not know why you’d need a personalised candle but in any case, there is no ‘Isabella’ on offer so I’ll never know). Tat is everywhere around us all. The pharmacy sells jewellery for three pounds, right next to the diarrhoea medication.

As I’ve gotten older, I’ve become much more aware of why and when I’m tempted to buy unnecessary stuff. It’s the trap of the little treat, the idea that a small shiny thing will lift my mood or ease the feeling of doom which sometimes creeps up. It’s when I forget that shiny things don’t actually provide any life changing salve, or when I justify this kind of purchase by pretending I ‘need’ it for some reason. So much of our consumption is borne out of a lie we tell ourselves - that an object will make our life better. That it will make us better.

Of course there are exceptions. I may feel an increasing amount of despair when I see the endless shit that’s churned out just to tap into this feeling, but I’m not so alienated from it that I have sworn off all shopping. But it does make me think more about what I buy that actually makes me feel better. Things I use until the last drop, items which last a long time, objects which really bring joy, products I can’t live without. And the truth is, there are a few. They don’t bring that rush that a shiny new thing brings, but offer a more lasting satisfaction.

Here are mine, please tell me yours.

A small heated blanket. Bought when I had an operation, it’s not really a blanket but more a small pad which I either lie on top of, or place over my boobs when I go to sleep. I feel like an old lady every time I turn it on (my granny had something called a glow baby, which was a wire frame encompassing a light bulb that she used to warm up her bed with, and I cannot imagine that stood up to any reasonable safety standard), and my husband teases me relentlessly about it, but it’s insanely comforting. The warmth cocoons me as I fall asleep, and when I wake up in the night panicking about death, I turn it back on and this little heat pad lets me drift away again. I will never ever get rid of it.