Shirts: The End Of

I have some shirts that I used to wear when I was in The Chefs.
Why have I kept them for so long?
For quite a while, they symbolised a life that I didn't have any more. I was a suburban mother who went to work, not an ex-punk who have developed some musical skills during the moment and who went off to live the touring and minor label dream for seven years.
So they were here to remind me, moving from house to house and location to location.
Trouble is, one of them in particular (now raddled with moth holes) reminds me of...
...a scarf that I had, that miraculously had the same tartan pattern...
...which fell out of the front door of the van one rainy dark night and I didn't realise, which reminds me of...
... a bootlace tie with a gold guitar on a mother-of-pearl background and a red lace, which was given to me by a scornful fan, when I told him I'd wear it on Top of the Pops (YOU'LL never get on Top of the Pops, and I didn't), and which got stolen from the dressing room at our gig at the University of London Union, and which reminds me of...
...a pair of coincidentally matching gold guitar ear-rings (see the matching thread going on here!) which were stolen from the dressing room at our gig in Preston...
...so actually, it's not a good thing to keep at all.

I have three. Two are going in the bin (not even to a charity shop) tomorrow morning and I might keep one because I like the colours.
But I might not.