I talk to Dad in the garage. He died 24 years ago, but I still talk to him. Usually when I reach for the collection of tobacco tins that I inherited. Mostly labelled by me over 60 years ago when I was a kid. 2BA screws. 5BA screws. 1/4" Whitworth, Copper washers, Knitting machine hooks ... you get the idea. Very useful - some I have cleared out and they now contain ST1300 brake bits, ST1300 fairing fasteners, ST1300 shoulder bolts. These are much more useful.
Other tins contain stuff that 'might come in handy' - a phrase that I also seem to have inherited from Dad. Their contents have been waiting half a century for the day when I reach out and peep in, and they turn out to be just the thing that I am looking for. That day hasn't yet arrived for most of the contents of these tins.
The conversation with Dad usually goes something like this (its a bit one sided). "Now Dad, where did you put those doofers for the thingamajig." I reach for one of the unlabelled tins, and open it.
"Goodness, Dad why are you still keeping these - you have never used them".
I then put the lid back on the tin and put it back on the shelf, 'cos I can hear Dad saying - "Just think on .. , they may come in handy." Except this time it is my voice. But Dad does seem to enjoy playing that game.
One tin seems to contain the broken fragments of cast metal 'cross' that carried 4 small needle roller bearing from the universal joint of the drive shaft of my first bike and sidecar in 1976 - a Cossack Ural. This photo was recovered from a biscuit tin in the loft. It has been there for years, just waiting for the day when it might come in useful - should someone happen to mention 'sidecar' and 'garage' in the same thread.
But it's me that can't bear to part with the contents of that tin. It doesn't contain just that broken fragment. Every time I open it looking for something else, a load of memories come flying out and catch me by surprise - and the effect on me is about the same as peeling an onion.
