I wonder how many of us have a little corner in the knickernsock drawer, or perhaps an old cigar box on the desk, that acts as a final repository for small sad broken items with sentimental value: dad’s gold fountain pen, mum’s wind-up watch or old beads unstrung.
I was recently encouraged to do something about my accumulations by this card, pinned to the community notice board in Kiel House. A phone call promised me an appointment the next day and my little bags of beads were assessed with a professional eye.
Within a couple of days the job had been done and I returned to the house in Bwlchmawr, Dinas, to collect.
My beads, soundly restrung and secured with new clasps awaited me on the workroom table, among the tools of the trade and a dazzling array of further possibilities.
Sometimes it’s the little things that matter, that somehow help to inject a bit of sense and normality into our complex and often fragmented lives.