This is a blurry image of our bathroom basin. It’s the only original surviving part of the house and it’s going to die today. It must have been plumbed in sometime after the first world war, and when the second seemed impossible. It has looked up at a mass of different faces, been washed, taken out, replumbed and loved. My children bathed in it when they were babies, they learned to clean their teeth at the side of it. They swam Playmobil pirate ships in it and ran long hair dressing sessions with Barbies from the jumble sale.
But it’s developed a huge crack, and the taps are giving up. so it has to go.
Why I should mourn a basin – I don’t understand, but I’ve developed an attachment.