MANY years ago — and when I say many, I really mean it — I think it was in my early teens, I used to bite my nails.

I was constantly hiding my hands and, as you can imagine, nail varnish wasn't high on the agenda.

My mother tried hard to cure me with various stuff, including something called bitter aloes, but nothing worked, until my then boy friend suggested we get engaged.

Well, an instant cure! How could I turn up at the jewellers to try on rings with very badly bittern nails?

Sadly, I didn’t keep the boyfriend and so I didn’t keep the ring, but I had stopped biting my nails. So, result!

I have a small pond in my back garden and foolishly, some time ago, I thought I would give a couple of gold fish a good home — but it twas not to be.

I very carefully released them into their new abode and was pleased that they seemed so happy and free.

I came indoors and had my lunch and then went outside again to see if they had settled in and to watch them swim about in their new home.

Alas, I was too late for that, but I was just in time to see one of them being carried off by a large gull; I shouted and even threw a brick at it, but it held on firmly and flew off. A friend told me that she’d a large stone frog by her pond and that kept them at bay, so I bought a big metal frog and I’m pleased to say, up to now, it’s worked.

I must be ruthless and get shut of stuff that I am keeping ‘just in case’ but it’s not proving easy.

It seems to me as I sort through the ‘stuff’, that I am keeping it for different reasons; one because it might ‘come in useful’ or — oh, I could go on forever with reasons why In keep things.

Perhaps our Andrew is right and I’m just one of life’s hoarders.