Five Thousand Emails

Over the past ten days I've deleted five thousand emails because the service provider threatened to bounce-back future emails if I didn't.

It felt like clearing out the attic, or throwing away redundant photographs. It was also a revelation; there were situations that I thought I'd imagined that were clearly laid out in email chains, and a clear 'guilty' verdict for a person who'd claimed that I short-changed them emotionally. 

I couldn't delete emails from McDad, my brother James, nor from Ari or Poly Styrene. For some reason that seemed a step too far. 

I still should get rid of more of them- I've only got to the letter 'E' in the alphabet (I became more methodical after realising the sheer weight of numbers that I needed to plough through).

In a similar fashion, I've been having a slash'n'burn clear-out of clothing that I've kept since I was in my twenties and thirties, the trousers laughing at me as I struggled to get into them. They have become breeding grounds for moths, who then proceed to eat their way through newer clothes. It's not so much the body size that I feel nostalgic about, but more the sense of style that I once had. I literally didn't care what anyone else was wearing, I would strut around in a drape suit and brothel creepers when floaty dresses were de rigeur. 

I have got a floaty dress or two nowadays but I draw the line at pussy-bows (how Thatcher!!!) and ruched necklines that make me feel as though my head is going to fall off even when I just look at them. 

Three cheers for trousers! Marvellous things!