Recently I decided that it was about time that I cleared out a large quantity of correspondence for which I have no further need. (By “large quantity” I’m actually talking about thousands of items.) I have been feeling burdened by this material for some time, and decided to conserve the items that continue to be of personal interest and value, but to dispose of the rest of it. Because a large proportion of these letters are fairly confidential I thought it was worth shredding them. Having deferred the task (as one does) for quite some time, last week I took the bull by the horns and started.
Sadly, my small domestic paper shredder was soon shown to be pathetically unequal to the task, and died. I got a new commercial grade machine in its place, and am now well-immersed in the job. It is having a strange effect on me, in several ways. Of course there is inevitably an emotional tug involved in disposing of records of my past life. I’m reminded of all kinds of events that had slipped from my memory. On the other hand, it is good to feel that I am restoring control over space that until now appeared to have declared unilaterally its independence from the rest of the house, and created an autonomous republic of its own. (Perhaps I am unduly influenced in my choice of imagery by the current controversy over British withdrawal from the EU, but you get the idea.) This afternoon, however, I began to see the process in a different light.
I remember that in the early forms of secondary school we had to read that wonderful classic of comic English literature, The Diary of a Nobody, by George and Weedon Grossmith.* One episode in particular came to mind, in which the central character, Pooter, decides to paint (I think) a door. He is so pleased with the effect of the fresh red paint that he goes on painting other objects around the house, each more unsuitable than the last. The episode culminates in him painting the inside of the bath….and his deciding to take a bath before the paint is actually dry!
As I warmed to the task of destroying paper during this afternoon I did fear for a moment that I might turn into a latter-day Pooter, shredding everything in sight in an orgy of destructive pleasure. I have managed to restrain myself so far, but I have become aware that perhaps it would be a good idea if I were to ration myself to a short period of shredding each day, just in case.
Incidentally, between bouts of shredding I have managed to start a new painting. The bad news is that this ground to a halt this afternoon when I realised that I had run out of titanium white. I reckon that it might have been my unexpectedly enforced return to shredding that nearly pushed me over the edge.
*Although it first appeared in 1888-9 it has never been out of print. If you don’t know it, do read it.