Fret not. I have found a way to hang on to the past in the form of my ever-growing plunder; objets trouvés, seconds, jumble, bric-a-brac, rubbish and scrap.

It took a while to realise I was no divvy. But it was too late. I learnt a lot from Lovejoy (he was always broke, too), and the hit he gave me was good. But the plots got in the way of the story. I'm an addict. Lovejoy was my gateway drug. I got bored with the characters who got in the way of the booty. Now I'm on the hard stuff: Bargain Hunt, Flog it!, and when the cravings get too much, Dickinson's Real Deal.  I have to be  desperate to get my fix from the man who coined the phrase,"Cheap as Chips" — too many gold sovereigns on his show. I have the sensibilities of a Paul Martin — ooh it's handmade and it's old!, and the aspirations of a bow-tied Wonnacott drooling over stately homes. 

These daytime TV presenters, Tim, David and Paul, have spurred on my addiction to cheap frills (I love a bargain!) and colluded with my delusion that I am a divvy. 

Reality is biting and the word takes on the meaning it had when I was in the playground. I am overloaded with 18th-century Chinese tea bowls, pearlware ditto, Staffordshire flatbacks and pink lustreware. I'm frightened to move in case I break some early Victorian tea paraphernalia.