My wallet

My fiance has dropped a few hints recently that I need a new wallet, and whilst I agree that it has seen better days I am reluctant to part with it. Why? After all, the clasp has all but fallen off, the leather is cracked and unresponsive, the metal studs have lost their lustre.

I think the reason is that it is a part of my history. I was trying to think last night when I got it, but couldn't. I'm pretty sure that I had an older one when I was at the end of high school, so this one was probably given to me sometime between 1997 and 1999. Probably by my Grandfather, as that is one of his gifts of choice. It may be battered and scarred, but this wallet has been with me since I was a teenager, has been through a University education, a first trip into North America, a first foray into Asia. It was in my pocket when a bomb scare delayed my flight by 5 hours. It was in my pocket when England narrowly lost to Argentina in 98. It was in my pocket when my then girlfriend ran off angrily into the Hong Kong night and I was left holding her umbrella. It was in my pocket when I spent a 5 hour car journey talking about the Blair Witch Project with my best friend. It was in my pocket when the Two Towers fell. It was in my pocket when I watched the Lord of the Rings trilogy with my best friends. It was in my pocket when my parent's marriage fell apart. It was in my pocket when I flew to Japan, leaving my childhood and previous life behind.

I know that it won't last forever, but for the moment I'm determined to keep it.