You probably don't need to be around me for very long before you discover that I'm a hoarder. There is much shaking of heads from Dean and Director Boy on the subject of my 'stuff' (and, let's be clear, a good proportion - not to mention 90% of my books - is still residing in Leeds and doesn't even know that Streatham exists). I have no defence (other than my genetics) and have long ago accepted that minimalism isn't the route for me (eventual death by smothering of large quantities of 'stuff' might be).
I like to think I have an all-inclusive policy when it comes to hoarding and this includes clothing. Which is why I have so much of it - though I would argue that everything comes around again (just when that 'again' might be isn't for me to decide). And I extend this to all of those things that go with clothes, which is again why I have so many shoes (after the great 'Moving To Streatham' Week I am no longer allowed to mention the quantity of shoes I possess to Arsenal Fan less he vomits at the memory). But of these many pairs of shoes I have, for the best part of the last decade, had only one pair of wellies. Indeed if you've been hanging around DA long enough you've probably seen them, but if you've forgotten I'll remind you:
Very early on in the relationship between me and these pink-flowered wellies I remember someone saying that they were 'very Corinne wellies'. I'm not sure exactly what that says about me but I totally knew what they meant.
Those 'very Corinne wellies' and I have been many, many places together, through rain, mud and snow. There are quite simply too many fields, too many Boys with Guitars, too many tent stories to list. They show their age now - they never quite managed to lose the specially formulated mud of V Festival 2007 - but I like that.
However, at the end of Latitude this year I noticed that not only had I added a few more stains to their patterning but a rip in the lower part of the boot had started to emerge. And that could only mean one thing - that we were coming to the end.
Then when Dean and I went to Morden Hall Park to eat free National Trust pudding we ended up in the garden centre which is attached to the park (yes, even though we don't have a garden, just a shared patch of overgrown land) and not only were there beautiful, beautiful Hunter wellies in stock there was also 20% off said beautiful, beautiful wellies.
Let me repeat that: 20% off.
And I am not made of stone.
So I bought a pair of wellies. This pair if you were wondering. And they came in their own fancy box and fit perfectly and indeed are so all-round wonderful that I spent five days actively hoping for rain so that I could wear them. And when I did get to wear them they were as wonderful as I knew they would be.
But - this leaves my 'very Corinne wellies'. Don't get me wrong, my Hunters are very Corinne wellies too (like I could have bought a pair that didn't have flowers on) but a slightly different, slightly older Corinne to their pink counterparts. And to discard the original pair? They're beyond wearing for anyone other than me so charity-shopping them is out of the question and to just throw them away...
Well, that's undoubtedly a conversation to have in the expensive therapy session in a decade's time.
So, at least until I work out exactly how to archive these wellies, there are four pairs of wellies residing in our three-person wellies-by-the-door storage system.