Three big cardboard boxes have been sitting gathering dust in the back of our bedroom closet for the past ten years. They were hidden from view by the clothes that hung above them and an assortment of other random bags of crap that were stuffed into the darkness. But I had always known these boxes were there, and their presence loomed over me, causing me a mixture of excitement and anxiety.
These boxes contained mine and Rachel’s CD collections. Between us, we had over 500 albums.
Several times over the last decade, Rachel and I have had a discussion about getting rid of them. She has always been in favour, but I remained reluctant. Well, I say reluctant, but I was more adamant. There was no way I could part with them. I had visions of spending long winter afternoons by the fire, listening to each album in turn. That hasn’t happened. We don’t have a CD player. We don’t even have a fire.
On each of the previous occasions when Rachel broached the subject of the CDs, I managed to postpone the inevitable by arguing they weren’t taking up much space (they were) and that we might want them again at some point in the future (we won’t).
Last week, Rachel embarked on a major spring-cleaning mission - The Great Decluttering - throughout our entire house. She worked her way, room by room, getting rid of anything that we no longer needed. We have had clear-outs before, but this one felt different. This time she was far more ruthless. This time she was not holding back. I managed to rescue my tennis racket and a bag full of golf balls, just before she took them to the charity shop.
‘You only play tennis and golf once a year at most,’ she argued.
‘Well, I won’t be playing at all if I don’t have a racket or any golf balls.’
I also found copies of my own books - Operation Ironman and Did Not Finish - in the charity shop box. There’s an illustration of the struggles of being an author, when even your wife doesn’t want your books in the house.
Rachel had finished all the downstairs rooms and had moved up to our bedroom. I knew the moment was coming. My usual excuses for the CDs would not be enough this time. Despite my reluctance, there was no escaping the harsh reality that they had not been touched, let alone played, in over 10 years.
Rachel was right. It was time for them to go.
‘OK, fine. We can get rid of the CDs,’ I said, when the moment finally came.
‘Really? Are you happy for me to get rid of all of them?’
‘Er… well… I’ll help you,’ I said, meaning that if they really were going to go this time then I wanted to be there when it happened. I wanted to have a final look. I wanted to say goodbye.
‘Fine, well you’d better come now. I’ve already made a start.’
I went upstairs and found the boxes out on the bedroom floor, and the sleeves from a stack of them already removed to go in the recycling bin.
I sat down on the floor and began to sift through the piles.
Ah, there it was. My first ever CD.
Brothers in Arms by Dire Straits. Well, technically it wasn’t actually mine. Kieron, my friend’s brother, lent it to me when I bought my first CD player because I didn’t own any CDs yet. He then decided he was too cool for Dire Straits and didn’t want it back.
I soon found the first CD I ever bought with my own money - Erasure’s Pop 20. It was 1992 and I was 13. My sister and I listened to this album on repeat when I persuaded her to help me decorate my bedroom.
We cut up copies of Q and VOX magazine and the NME and Melody Maker music newspapers, and we stuck them to my bedroom walls with wallpaper paste. It was a big room, and every square inch of the four walls was plastered with posters and these cut-up music magazines. I think it brought the value of the house down significantly when my parents came to sell it.