Bless me father...

I am very fond of saying that I don’t have many sins; I don’t smoke, I don’t drink (very much - because it poisons me; no really, actually poisons me, like five day hangovers!) and I don’t take drugs.  Since I had a raised blood sugar test, even bloomin’ chocolate’s been banned. (I confess, I sometimes eat dark.) Tea, I whine, is my only pleasure left in life.

But then I remember actually I’ve got quite a bad handbag habit not to mention a horrific book habit. I’ve been trying really hard to buy fewer books – to make a dent in my TBR bookshelves (oh yes, plural. Husband really wants to shame me by telling you HOW many there are. He’s threatening to find out how to post a photo in the comments…) I’ve been doing quite well on the book front - only buying friends’ books - until my sad patch last week. It doesn’t really count, if you’re sad, does it? Then it’s medicinal. You know, instead of anti depressants. I think if you go twice and buy two books, it’s infinitely better than going once and buying four. I had double the fun!

But then, it occurred to me that I’ve got quite a penchant for boxes – you know, containers. I love boxes with lids; I always intend to fill them with things (books?) but actually I just covet them because I love them. There’s nothing utilitarian about my buying them – they’re just beautiful in their own right and so they usually end up displayed empty.

And it doesn’t end there. I also have trouble with textiles. I’ve always been a feeler (ooh err;) my friend K, in my first year here, always used to tease me about how I’d have to palpate everything in the shops – fabric, textures. I need to touch it and I can’t walk past without doing so.

When we were in Chiang Rai a couple of weeks ago, I had to buy some hill tribe textiles because, well you do, don’t you? We tourists have to patronize the local crafts. And look, isn't it pretty?

I bumped into a friend at the BIG & BIH exhibition on Saturday. She was buying fabric while simultaneously trying to sort out family on the phone. I caressed the cotton, thinking about my promise to Husband that I would try really hard not to buy any material. (I could have failed, right?) When my friend got off the phone I asked her what she was going to do with the fabric she’d brought. “I don’t know yet,” she said. She looked down at her purchase and then up me and said: “No, I do. I’m going to take it home and put it in a cupboard for ten years…”

I think maybe I should form a support group.

My name’s Jenny and I’m a textileaholic, a boxaholic, a teaholic and a bookaholic.