A thirty year old box

My 18 year old self had a friend at University. She painted a cardboard box from the supermarket for her friend to keep his LP record collection in.

My 48 year old self is now married to that friend and amazingly, he still has the cardboard box.

It makes me smile to see that thirty years ago I had the same penchant for black and cream zebra-esque design as I do now. It also makes me smile to see my initials carefully painted in the bottom right corner of one side.

The girl who made those marks with her paintbrush three decades ago seems so remote from the person I am today but that old box, once used to transport litre bottles of Fairy Liquid, connects me in a way that I think little else could. It is a very strange feeling.