Fathers can be cunts also
I don't think I have any possessions from before I was 13 years old and those after I've fought long and hard for. The reason? My father was a mental.
To elaborate, he was a person who held down a decent job and raised a family but looking back on it, something was just not right. Children make mess, there are no two ways about it, but if your child has strewn their toys all over the sitting room, what would you do?

1. Encourage them to pick them up and return them from whence they came?
2. Reluctantly clear them away after the little one has gone to bed?
3. Stomp off to the kitchen huffing and puffing, returning with a bin bag and then proceeding to clear the entire floor of toys and anything else that may be lying around, swear, and then unceremoniously dump said bin bag outside?

Well, my father was number 3. Mostly if it was out of sight, it was safe from the bin but then again I lost all of my clothes (they were in a suitcase at the time but in the "wrong" place), magazines and comics collected over the years (the single box they were stored in was apparently making my bedroom look like a shit hole), and for the special prize my entire collection of gen 1 Transformers was taken to the tip for the reason that "we're fed up of paying money for this plastic shit" - WTF? If it wasn't nailed down, it was chucked out - I guess he was suffering from the opposite of compulsive hoarding.
Christmas was always a great laugh - it got to the point where he was trying to chuck out the presents with the wrapping paper...

Anyway, it's not the fact that any of the stuff that was binned was valuable, it's the fact that it was MY stuff, be it presents or bought with pocket money.
I would never have sold any of it anyway - toys, books, games or whatever are my childhood memories and I could never willingly part with them. Unfortunately, these experiences have affected me quite badly. It also doesn't help that a hoarding gene runs in my family - my maternal Grandfather lived in a massive house in London but only one room was habitable due to the number of books, vacuum cleaners and other shit cluttering up the place, and after my father died, my mother started collecting the Sunday papers and buying the entire contents of charity shops - it took over two weeks to empty her house after she died. The upshot of this is I can't chuck stuff out, you know, just in case...My lovely wife who is also from a family of hoarders is the same. In 40 years time, we fully expect to be living the life of Mr. Trebus and we'll probably end up dying crushed under stacks of broken furniture and newspapers. We fear for how our little daughter will turn out.

P.S. Any points for not having any Star Wars stuff?
(Fucksticks, Mon 18 Aug 2008, 1:08, 1 reply)

Cousins, eh?
Sort of related, but still quite funny. My Mum had recently come back from Israel and had bought some holy water from the Jordan or whatever, because being a religious type, she will keep it for all future Grandchildren's christenings and such. Bless.

Anyway, my cousin who lives in London had moved out of his place but needed to crash somewhere for two weeks while his new place was being prepared, so we offered to put him up. Being a London type, he is one of those guys who enjoys one of those fruity, overpriced ciders over ice, and as long as he bought his own, we were quite happy to provide for him the ice and glass.

Anyway, one day my mother was in a panic, because she couldn't find the holy water. I asked her where she last saw it (the obvious question really) and she said she put it in an ice tray to preserve its holiness (apparently holiness has a use-by date) and then it was then that it clicked. Needless to say, my cousin was a bit ashamed that he had drunken a Magners with the holiest ice possible, but I found the whole fiasco quite amusing.
(kingh0 is grating the cheese of life, Sun 17 Aug 2008, 22:53, 5 replies)

Nothing
I have lost stuff over the years.

Motorbike nicked from the side of the road after an accident, transformers, teddy called "Pip", PC destroyed and thrown out by upset ex but nothing that has made me go more than, "oh well. I'll be dead some day and it won't matter."

Although I am not a fatalist I cannot think that anything that occurs on this small speck of dirt in the void matters one little bit (in the scale of things).
(Fluke feels bitter as well as thick, Sun 17 Aug 2008, 22:11, 4 replies)

Ignorance
It slowly slipped away throughout the years
and now im nout but a bitter not-so-ignorant
16 year old and would quite like to stop growing up

now if you'll excuse me i'm going to go and cry
(kristofski69, Sun 17 Aug 2008, 21:27, 5 replies)

lost
I remember owning a model batmobile as a wee boy-it was the dogs baws !!!

Wish i still had it now

Length ?- irelevant these days !!
(shug, Sun 17 Aug 2008, 21:20, 2 replies)

I lost this as soon as I left primary school
The opportunity to eat that really gooey white glue we used to use to make things in school with. I fecking loved that stuff; I would chew a gloop of it looking like a mong with his first fruit pastille but it was worth it :)
( Jeccius Steam Borderlands 2 junkie, Sun 17 Aug 2008, 20:38, 1 reply)

It's 1995. Walkers release their "Salt and Lineker" brand crisps
Thinking they'll be worth something one day, My mum buys a multipack and stores them in the attic.

Three years later, we're clearing out the attic as we're moving house.

My sister comes home from school, and sees the multipack on the table. She eats about three packs of them.

She complained that they tasted a bit funny.
(__, Sun 17 Aug 2008, 20:21, Reply)

Rosebud
When I was younger, I was frequently beaten up by my older brothers for some reason or other, usually because I'd raided their bedrooms and eaten the sweets they'd stashed or broken their favourite toy and not hidden the evidence well enough; I was about eight, so not yet old enough to know the value of covering one's tracks.

So after my mum intervened on what would have been a particularly nasty beating from my oldest brother, I was promised a sledge of my very own. The one we had was about 20 years old, really ricketty and prone to steering into trees at will. This was shared between the four of us, hence I rarely got to use it as they were all bigger than me and could carry it up the hill and zoom back down faster than me.

And so several days went by with my oldest brother hammering away and swearing a lot in the shed in very cold weather. Finally I was presented with my precious. Imagine the coolest sled you've ever seen...then times that by about a billion in an eight year olds eyes.

Metal runners, planed and sanded wood with an indentation as a seat, proper steering thingys on the front and enough space for three people to sit on it comfortably...So not one of these crap plastic injection moulded things you can buy in the shops... This sledge was the dogs bollocks.

That year we had two days of sledging weather and one of them was on the weekend, so I got one whole day of being the most popular kid at the local fields. Marshmallows, hot chocolate, invites to parties as I had the coolest sled...Best day ever, (c'mon I was eight!)

After that, it didn't snow so much and Rosebud was relegated to the back of the shed where it languished until I went to university. Second year of college we had a ton of snow just before christmas and I excitedly called my parents to say I was coming home early to pick up my sled and would be back for christmas proper a few days after that.

My mum cleared her throat and very quietly said that she'd gotten rid of Rosebud about five years ago. She gave it to the neighbours kids, but as there had been no snow for three years, they burned it at the fireworks party she attended.

Thanks mum.

Oh and my dad; he mistakenly threw out my GCSE certificates when my parents moved house, thinking I had another set of them. Never needed them until this year when my future career kinda depends on them. Sorted now thanks to me keeping a firm grip on my degree certificate, but still...

Thanks dad
( fuck shit up the best you never had, Sun 17 Aug 2008, 20:21, 4 replies)

this falls into all three headings
but not in a bad way.

A couple of years after our first cat was put down, we as a family decided to get another one and toddled off to the local cat shelter to see what was what.

Our first cat was an evil, flesh rending, neurotically fussy eating, fluffy animal killing machine with a brian blessed volume miaow siamese / tom halfbreed so we fancied something slightly easier, as in a proper mog.

So wandering around pens of flat headed maniacs, fat smelly toms and distressed old raggy scraps we spotted a couple of cute bundles of giant eyeballed terror. One of them wandered up to me and squeeked quietly and so we had to take them. After being checked out to make sure we were not going to turn them into matching pairs of gloves or sell them to the nearest dodgy restaurant we gained Sparky and Clod, a poor pair of 18 month old painfully shy mogs.

Why so painfully shy? because the previous owners had moved house, thrown away the cats and just left them to get on with it as 1 year olds.

After we picked them up they spent the next 3 months weeing in corners, hiding behind the sofas, running away from us and generally being terrified of all and sundry.

Suddenly one day a little switch went off in these little puss brains, they twigged that these giant pink things loved them, doubled in weight and turned into beautiful, contented bags of purr, who got loved, and loved back.

We had to have Clod put down a couple of years ago after he got some nasty illnesses and ended up as skin and bone at the end, but Sparky is still about and every morning wakes me up with a purr and a nudge.

So to the cunts who threw them away, I wish on you all the misfortune and misery in the world, Clod I miss you, Sparky, you are a cool cat.

edit: Clod was really called Claude, but when being stroked a lot he had a habit of rolling over so you could stroke both sides of him. Many times he kept on rolling and would fall off the bed / sofa / your lap and once fell off the bottom step while trying to eat his own tail, hence being called clod
(Halfy By light alone, Sun 17 Aug 2008, 20:19, 2 replies)

Just remembered (slightly twisting question, but who cares)
My brother, while a little 'un, taped over my Dad's video of the 1966 World Cup Final on the simple logic that "it was really old". Nice one.

That is all. I'm half asleep and can't be arsed to attempt to word this to be be funny.
(Bearded Whumpus In chav Britain, schoolgirl offers sweets to YOU!, Sun 17 Aug 2008, 19:48, 4 replies)

You lot were lucky
I had to get up in the morning at ten o'clock at night half an hour before I went to bed, drink a cup of sulphuric acid, work twenty-nine hours a day down mill, and pay mill owner for permission to come to work, and when we got home, our Dad and our mother would kill us and dance about on our graves singing Hallelujah.
( Madam Marlboro wonders if you've found her yet, Sun 17 Aug 2008, 17:38, 7 replies)

Col Wilma Deering
Fans of the 80s Buck Rogers TV programme will remember Wilma Deering. She was blonde of hair, long of leg, and wore skintight green satin catsuits. I was so obsessed over her - my first crush - that I wrote to Jim'll Fix It so I could meet her, or watch her on the toilet, or anything just to be in the same room as her. I even made friends with a smelly retard at school (who was later transferred to a mental institution) because he had her sticker in the Buck Rogers sticker annual.

So imagine my ecstasy when a cousin in Pasadena, California, whose dad owned a laundrette that Wilma used to frequent said he could nick a pair of her panties and send them to me. He said they were very flimsy and silky. Just the thought of them gave me a boner for two weeks.

I virtually waited by the door until they arrived. And when they did, I rushed upstairs to open the package with the reverence I might have used to handle the True Cross with Jesus still on it (if I had been a Believer). They were - aptly enough - a silky green material and so soft that the mere touch of them in my hairy palms set off a rumbling in my nads.

They were clean, of course. Being an American, Corey (my cousin) would have had a schizophrenic epidsode if he'd had to handle dirty underwear. All the same - these were the very undergarments worn about the loins of Col Wilma Deering, whose arse had replaced any images I might have had of a Christian heaven. Just the sight of her moderately-sized breasts in that catsuit had already caused me to wank myself almost lame. And these were her PANTS!

Well, I must have spent the first three hours abusing myself with those delicate smalls draped across my face. Then I wrapped my throbbing tool in their coolness for one more eruption before I blacked out with effort. It was the beginning of a pattern that would see me almost hospitalised with onanistic activity over the coming weeks.

Then one day I came home from school to hear my mother telling me that she'd thrown away that 'green hanky' I'd left under my bed.

I howled a bestial cry of anguish and fell to the ground. I rolled and gnashed my teeth. I cried and blubbered like a litle girl with a bunch of nettles thrust up her arse crack. I was inconsolable.

"It was only a hanky," said my mother.

"No. NO! It was Wilma Deering's panties!" I yelled. "It was a godess' gusset! I have porked those crackers a hundred times and more! I have thrust my ardent young cock into their verdant folds and imagined her willowy hair about my balls on innumerable occasions! I have myself worn them to know my depleted testes in her pants!"

I didn't say those things. I said it had been my favourite 'hanky'. And by that time, Corey had been institutionalised for raping a pony and I had lost my supply line.
(frankspencer, Sun 17 Aug 2008, 17:04, 4 replies)

Sugar
Something tragic happened just yesterday morning. It was the last morning of our hobo holiday in a caravan. We had awoken at 9.15 and then found out that we needed to be out by 10. Hmm. This was clearly a mission for *cue dramatic music* TEH TEA GODS! Whilst everyone else was rushing around like loons, I had gotten my priorities straight and gotten dressed faster than Wonder Woman. I was in the process of making hot drinks for everyone when I discovered that the sugar was missing. After searching high and low in the blazing heat (actually, I searched a couple of cupboards and it was raining outside, but I'm claiming artistic license here) I discovered that the sugar had in fact been thrown away by one of my fellow hobos.

Faced with this difficult situation, I debated with myself (DEBATED, you pervs) about how to tell everyone the sad, sad news. I decided that short and to the point was the best way. I also decided that some teasing was in order, as I do not require sugar in my tea, but everyone else does. I shouted for everyone's attention and asked who would like a hot drink. This was met with enthusiasm and cheers, as it had looked like there would not be enough time for such frivolities. I then brought them all crashing to the pits of hell (aka the morning and a drive home without their dose of caffeine) with the earth shattering statement that there was no sugar. It was horrific. Cries, moans of despair, tears and even threats of suicide ensued. I had single handedly destroyed the dreams of six people.

The end.

No apologies for length, as we all know you love it.
( El Lazarus is calm now, Ish,, Sun 17 Aug 2008, 16:31, 2 replies)

Mind
Of all the things I've lost, the thing I miss most is my mind.
(Chrischance 'The Lone Brit on 13' 'Carabanchel' Christopher, Sun 17 Aug 2008, 16:16, 3 replies)

Scooter
In my younger days I had a lovely HP Sauce ride on truck and a red scooter.

My mother, a school headmistress, decided that the red scooter was too small for me and without any request promptly gave it to 'her' school fair.

I cried my eyes out when some scroat wheeled it away before I realised it was mine.

30 years on I have never forgiven her, and will add a postscript to her headstone to that effect.

Bitch!
(Suck it and Sea, Sun 17 Aug 2008, 15:42, Reply)

Dark Side of the Moon Vinyl
Must've been a first pressing. Was old but in absolutely perfect condition. I was about 7 at the time, and CDs hadn't really caught on yet so people were still using dark shiny disks to hear scratchy renditions of classic music. It was like tying a kitten to one of the black monoliths from A Space Odyssey before turning a nailgun on the helpless creature just to see what notes it would wail, and in my mind I refused to tarnish that album by playing it for that very reason.

It was something I was very protective of. My naive childish logic concluded that this one record could be sold at a figure high enough to buy me some sort of tropical island by the time I was 20 (now that it's here, I'm stuck in a terraced house in Berkshire). Alas, it was not to be. My sister ripped the sleeve from her Kylie Minogue album to kingdom come, and promptly 'replaced' my record with hers and relocated the heir loom to the nearest dustbin possible.

Apparently when you're 5 years old you can get away with that kind of thing. Of course, I got sent up shit creek without a paddle when I reduced the poor demon to tears and was informed by my culturally non-existent mother 'She doesn't know what she's doing. We'll get you a new one, don't worry'. 13 years on and I'm still waiting for that tropical island.

Length? About 6 miles across, with palm trees.
(FoxyBadger (try saying it backwards), Sun 17 Aug 2008, 14:59, 2 replies)

an external hard disk
containing roughly 250 gigabytes worth of films, tv shows and games dropped on the kitchen floor by my clumsy sister

does that count?
( Reme Philips laid an epic dump on, Sun 17 Aug 2008, 14:18, 2 replies)

Pron
Many years ago when I was a spotty nefarious teen I acquired 3 small precious books.

3 Small precious German books.

3 Small precious German Hardcore Books.

Friends were impressed. Money was offered
and refused - getting my sticky mitts on more would surely be impossible... as I discovered when Mother discovered my stash and binned them.

Never hide stuff in the bathroom.
(toomanydecibels has bleeding ears on, Sun 17 Aug 2008, 10:56, 1 reply)

Saddam watch
My Granny was a reporter during the Iran-Iraq war, living in Baghdad at the time. In an attempt to sweet talk her, he invited her out to dinner on her birthday, and gave her money and a watch with his face on it. She said he was charming, but that didn't stop him being a psycho.

Fast forward to us all clearing out her flat after her death about 10 years ago. My unc asks me if I want watch. I do, but feel slightly silly about all the other junk I've gathered, and also a bit emotional and therefore not thinking straight. 'Nah!' quoth I, and in the binbag it goes.

Bugger!
(teasus likes tea, Sun 17 Aug 2008, 10:17, 1 reply)

I did it.
I thought I was being good.

I 'helped' with the spring cleanout one year, not long after CDs became really popular and a certain number of vinyl records were now duplicated in the parent's music collection (you can see where this is going, yes?)... In my defense, I must have been about ten years old.

My dad's first press edition of Sgt. Pepper was never seen again. He wasn't happy.
(Captain Skippy pooed in a bag and left it on your doorstep, Sun 17 Aug 2008, 9:52, Reply)

I work at a museum of Medieval and Ancient History
and there's a fascinating Norse tapestry, wherein a Viking complains that his Mum threw away his 1000ADs.
(apeloverage committed the vile act of onanism on, Sun 17 Aug 2008, 9:20, Reply)

well fuck me with a big jaggy stick...
if this is not the dullest QOTW eva!

seeing as it has turned into a star wars doll yawn fest. yes chaps they are DOLLS.

in a blatant attempt to try and subvert this into a more interesting read here is a spooky if not tenuous diversionary factoid

On Friday, September 23, 1955, Sir Alec Guinness was at the Villa Capri restaurant in Los Angeles, and found no table available. The actor James Dean, then filming Giant, invited Guinness to sit at his table. During lunch, Dean talked about his new car, a Porsche 550 Spyder. On leaving the restaurant, Dean insisted on showing off the car to Guinness, who said "Please never get in it. If you do, you will be dead within a week". Dean died in a fatal car crash in the Porsche the following Friday, September 30

wwooooooooooo


!
( spimf ™ is whoever you want him to be, Sun 17 Aug 2008, 8:57, 9 replies)

Get over yourselves
Sorry, but this QoTW is making the red mist descend.

Take one split second and think about how many humans have ever walked this planet.

Out of them how many have known what it's like to have water on tap ? Or to sleep in a bed ? Or have not known the meaning of (real) hunger ?

We are all a bunch of lucky, lucky bastards. And frankly, when I think that anyone has enough spare cash to want to spend the $$$ that are being quoted round here for worthless tat like Stars Wars figurines, it makes me despair of humanity and perceive us to be like the fat collector out of Toy Story 2.

**EDIT**. Sorry to be on a soapbox here. I'm no better than the rest of you. I just value this site for insights and humour and this QoTW is short on both...
( I_Was_Mordred, Sun 17 Aug 2008, 7:49, 9 replies)

Mothers: The scourge of Airfix
After years abroad, I arrived back in my home country to discover that mum had binned my collection of model tanks and aeroplanes, which had been residing in a box in her spare room.
I'd missed the bloody things and was looking forward to getting them out of the box and having a good play. Idiotic old bat.
Worst of all, I really, really wanted to break down and cry, but I was 36 and I had my wife and kids with me.
(mudskipper, Sun 17 Aug 2008, 1:12, Reply)

Wurlitzer
My dad's side of the family are inbred pikeys. They refer to themselves as 'showmen' as they're fairground people historically, but at the end of the day they're pikeys. Crown Darby collecting, sovereign hoarding, water-can by the back door for posterity cousin-fuckers. When my granddad stopped travelling and set up permanently near Blackpool he opened a roller skating rink (later to become an arcade). The centre piece was a Wurlitzer 1015 jukebox (the classic). He eventually had to build a rail 'round it to stop 'The Teds' trying to burn through the plastic with their cigarettes and release the fluid from the 'rainbow' (which is actually virtually impossible). Anyway, when he did turn the place into an arcade he had no further use for the jukebox so sold it for £100 to another settled pikey. After five years the guy realised he didn't have need or storage space for it so he smashed it up. Smashing things up was part and parcel of the pikey/arcade owning business. When I was a lad I often had to smash surplus equipment up and loved doing it (my favourite utensil was the 5lb short-shaft lump hammer). With this very tool I dispatched old, useless, original arcade gems such as 'Asteroids' (I kept the manual), Space Invaders I, II and III, a nice Williams Defender and various other now collectible bits and pieces. This was before generic cabinets/interchangeable jamma boards became the norm. My pikey dad had always bemoaned the loss of an old brass till that was nicked from storage so one year I tracked an identical one down and made a 400-mile round trip to buy it for Father's Day. He didn't even acknowledge receipt, never mind say "thanks"!! He later went on to rip me off for a load of money I put into his business to keep it afloat. A true cunt.

Never, ever, trust a pikey. Even if they're your Dad (not that I'm still bitter or anything).
( routine has perfected burgers, Sun 17 Aug 2008, 0:01, Reply)

DONT TRUST STORAGE COMPANIES!
A tale of woe... i bet some of it was thrown away, some sold. either way, robbing cunts.

Basically my Mum died in 2002, Dad had already past away so i had the job of emptying/clearing the family home in Leeds, including the loft that contained nearly ALL of mine and my bros toys, all still in original packaging (if slightly knackered)

I lived in Newcastle in a 2 bedroomed flat and had nowhere to store the contents of a 4 bed house - so it went into storage. a 8 foot crate with all the families possesions in.

Scan forward 4 years, i try ring the company as i've now got a proper house and a garage of my own - no answer. So i take a trip where the crate was filled. It's abandoned. Next door is a cash and carry, the bloke inside says "you're not the first to turn up here". The penny drops and the realisation sets in. Panic Anger Pain Frustration. I feel them all at once.

Trading standards are no helping saying "well, if enough of you get together, you can take him to court" - i just want my stuff back, not compensation.

Anyways. Basically i'm fucked. Here's a small list of what was there :

* Full Star Wars collection (almost)
ATAT, Falcon, Slave 1, Tie, Imperial Tie, Y-Wing, B-Wing, X-Wing, Scout walkers, Cloud cars, most of the figures, etc
* Action Man Collection, inc box talking action man, clothes, vechicles, etc
* Action Force Collection
* Hot Wheels Garages (remember the flip open ones?)
* 100's Matchbox/Hot wheels/corgi cars

Plus loads of my mum and dads stuff, my dads war medals, my mums collection of 60's records (beetles back catalog, etc), plus countless other stuff i'm slowly starting to remember as time goes by, making the pain even worse.

I got into the abandoned warehouse, loads of the crates had been opened and ransacked - it was a sad sight to see peoples belongings chucked all over with anything of value nicked.

Ho Hum. a harsh lesson.
(TheManofScience, Sat 16 Aug 2008, 23:59, 2 replies)

Jet Harris
Following on from my earlier story about my pisshead father, I was talking to my mother today about it, and she regaled me with this story:
Back in the 60's, just when I was a toddler, we lived in Finchley, and my dad was a barman at the Tally Ho pub there. It was quite a "celeb" hang-out of the time, as it was owned by Eric Morecambes brother. I digress, but it sets the scene a bit.
At that time, an up and coming band called "The Shadows" were knocking around, and had just had a big hit with a song called "Apache", and Jet Harris was the bass player, and a frequent heavy drinker at said pub, so he got to know the barmen pretty well. One night, my dad came home with this "4 string guitar", as my mum called it, signed by Jet Harris. Fender Precision Bass it was actually, and one of the first imported into this country, especially for aforesaid Mr. Harris.
Now, I know not why my dad had it, or how he got it, the words "drinking debt" were bandied around, but all I know is my mum swears she saw it, and it was in the corner of our digs for a couple of months and I probably drooled over it a couple of times- not because it was gorgeous, its because I was teething!
And then, one day, it was gone. Went for a pittance, according to mum, but thats the story of my dads life, one bad decision after another.
I don't know how much its worth now, but mum said that many a time he bemoaned the fact he sold it to a shyster for a couple of quid. Me? I laughed my bollocks off when I heard this today, serves the old shit right- he's dead now, but I still felt a little bit of glee when I heard this.
( Duke Of Belmsford has got 99 records, but Jay-Z ain't one, Sat 16 Aug 2008, 23:55, Reply)

Screw that.
I cant abide "stuff"
When I emmigrated, it was with my tools, and a few basic essentials. It all fitted into the back of an estate car. Everything else I owned went in the bin, was given away or was sold.

Back in my parents house, my old bedroom is full of toss from when I lived there. I keep asking them to chuck it, but they never do, they wanted it kept.
Mums gone now, so maybe dad will chuck it out...I certainly hope so.

A few years back, I was sharing a flat with a few friends. The conversation got round to scalextric. I felt sure that my old collection would have been kept. Back at my parents...sure enough it was still there. I loved that stuff as a kid, had loads of track and dozens of cars.
Anyway, We set it up round the flats living room and played away. After 10 minutes, it was packed up again. I have happy memories of playing it but the actual stuff is just junk - I dont need that to remember those times.
(dave likes cheese, Sat 16 Aug 2008, 22:26, Reply)

Gained and Lost
Many years ago I was in Tandy buying some audio cables when a guy had come in with a box of junk wandering if the shop wanted it. He just wanted to get rid of it. So of course the shop didnt want anything from customers so I managed to get myself into the conversation and happily took the box off him :)

I couldnt believe what I found. As well as an old Vic 20, a perfectly boxed original ZX81 - rubber keys the lot - with manuals in awesome condition.

I took it home and tested it and it worked! woo hoo. Thinking in many years this would be worth something.

And yes guess what happened? A couple of years later and it got thrown out. Doh
(Miggyman, Sat 16 Aug 2008, 21:42, 3 replies)