I have been going through boxes of ‘stuff’.

Lots of this ‘stuff’ has been accumulated between various moves, homes and relationships and much of it is now, at home, in one of those stupidly expensive inner-city storage spaces.

And boy, you should see what I been uncovering. It was a rummage through big chunks of my life.

There were exercise books from high school; modern history essays; school reports; musings to former boyfriends (that were never sent); hard copy pictures from when I first started writing in newspaper-land and even dolls, all of whom I had named with pinned-on name tags that are still in tact.

There was my old McDonalds uniform (ditto for my green school uniform); a tonne of small bits of bric-a-brac that I had picked up on my first travels; a heap of photo albums and even an impressive dot painting by indigenous artist Russell Saunders. (It was a thank-you gift when I guest judged the ‘Flair’ fashion awards in Taree in 1997.)

Looking back at ‘stuff’ from your past is cathartic and in my case, it also pin-pointed some good and questionable fashion memories.

There was some crappy and some kinda cool stuff. And once I’d brushed away a wee bit of cockroach poo from some of it I found a Christian Lacroix, panne velvet floral jacket; an Azzzedine Alaia black short jumpsuit and a beige cream safari suit (both from the early 90s); a stack of ‘vintage’ Morrissey & Edmiston pieces (even some M&E alligator vinyl pants); a YSL ‘Variation’ red suit; a Thierry Mugler tie-dyed biker-shape jacket and of course, all my school formal dresses.

One from Thornton Hall (it was a hot New Zealand design house) as well as a Lynda Car frock in blood-red. It was silk georgette short, swathed and if I remember correcntly, a dress in which I think I got lucky.

Not forgetting a Jonathan Ward green velvet dress, complete with a huge, matching, satin-back wrap. There are a series of Stephen Galloway exquisite white, puffy shirts and brown, wide-legged silk-georgette Palazzo pants. And hey, even a George Gross beaded jacket with gold and silver matte beading on cream silk.

The red woollen Armani Exchange military jacket is quite fantastic (and will get a run this nyear) as is the Norma Kamali, tan-colored over sized shirt. Mad about the Cartier soft briefcase (and without the mildew, it will come up beautifully) and there’s even a cream silk kimono with black spots from some hard-working artisan in Japan.

And in amongst all the fashion-ese there’s also a box full of trophies, medals and ribbons from my dancing eisteddfod days and a tonne of baby clothes that I wore, let alone the Gucci loafers given to my son when he was born.

I still love the delicious cream ‘Val Doonican’ cardigan my mum knitted my son (google Val and you’ll get the picture of his penchant for cardies).

It’s funny, but it’s like what do you do with all this stuff?

Will my son ‘get’ it once I explain what it’s all about?

I only wish storage costs weren’t so darn expensive, otherwise I would keep it, and lots more, forever…