Not me, sadly. I could make use of it.
About 8 years ago my mum was between homes and was staying with both my brother and me while she decided where to live, and would occasionally stay with her sister. Only occasionally, Auntie couldn’t cope with anything that interrupted her routine or put her under any pressure, although they were very close in some ways, she was hard to get to really connect with in many others. She had been in an extremely abusive relationship with my uncle, so much so that my mum had to rescue her and the kids in a midnight flit many moons ago, and she has never got over what he did.
Anyway…
Mum was staying there just before my brothers wedding, and had given her sister a jacket the year before that she thought would be perfect for her outfit, and her sister very much agreed and insisted she borrow it.
The next morning, she had to go out and do her usual routine of going for a walk and a swim, and attending her classes so mum stayed at hers, showered and thought, ’Oh I know I’ll grab that jacket and try it on’.
She went into her bedroom, not really sure if she should fetch it, but what the hell, she said it was OK, I will have a peek and a quick twirl see if it suits.
She went over to the fitted wardrobes that stretched all the way along one wall of the bedroom.

Flung open the double doors.

And stood there.

Speechless.

Every nook and cranny was chock a block with what can only be described as the sort of car boot stash Willy Wonka would have if his factory was being repossessed. There were boxes and boxes of sweets, chocolates, biscuits, cakes, everything from After eights to liqueurs, roll upon roll of digestives, sugared almonds, French fancies, Jaffa cakes, Daily Milk, bars of galaxy, and bags of kids sweets. 2 double wardrobes worth, minus the clothes squeezed tightly in between.
On the other side of that was a layer cake worthy of a Guinness record. Pile upon pile of pieces of celebratory cake wrapped in the tin foil or cellophane or the plastic box that it had been given away in. All the weddings, christenings, birthday parties, and anniversaries she had ever been to were represented.
Minutes passed and my dear old mum tried to take in what she was seeing. Or more importantly what she SHOULDN’T be seeing.
She closed the doors and went for a lie down her mind racing with what she had just witnessed.
She made the decision not to say anything, knowing that if she did, she would probably lose her sister forever. We have talked it over for hours, wondering what brought about her hoarding and we have theories, but we will really never know. We dread to think how that collection has grown in the years since.
And no…you can’t have her address you fat bastards.
( Herb Alpert's Taxi Driver I have very beautiful lips, Mon 7 May 2012, 22:58, Reply)