Do you have any collections?

There’s something oddly comforting about collections, isn’t there? Not just the objects themselves, but the stories attached to them. Little fragments of life tucked away in drawers, boxes, shelves and cabinets. Tiny anchors to moments, people and memories.

I’ve somehow ended up with a few collections over the years. None of them really intentional at first — they just sort of… happened. Like most good things in life.

First up is my collection of pocket watches.

That all started when one of my younger siblings bought me one because, in their words, it was “just so you.” Which, if I’m honest, probably says far too much about me. Since then the collection has steadily grown, each one carrying its own little story.

One bears the double R of Rolls-Royce Holdings, a nod to the years I spent working in aerospace, much like my grandfather before me. Sadly, not the glamorous car side of things — more jet engines than leather interiors.

Another, with the square and compass, was gifted to me by my mother when I was initiated. That one probably means more to me than I could ever properly explain.

They all hold value far beyond money. These days they sit safely tucked away in a special jewellery box, waiting for those increasingly rare occasions when I have to put on a suit and pretend to be respectable.

Then there’s my little collection of antiques.

Well… “collection” might be stretching it slightly, but let’s roll with it.

I own two ancient oil lamps, both somewhere around two to three thousand years old. Which honestly feels slightly surreal when you stop and think about it. They sit protected inside a Perspex display case so Tiddles can’t decide archaeology is a contact sport. Not that she would, of course. Probably.

Then there are the boxes.

Ten of them in total, scattered around the house like little treasure chests from different eras of my life.

One is a handmade Welsh box from the 16th century — somewhere between a chest and a tiny trunk — which itself contains another carved box where I keep tarot cards and assorted curiosities.

Another is an old artificer’s box handed down through my mum’s side of the family. That one locks, which automatically makes it feel important. Inside are things I’d hate to lose: medals, keepsakes, and an old copy of On the Origin of Species among other bits and pieces that matter for reasons only I probably understand.

The rest are dotted around the house holding everything from jewellery to ornaments and strange little nick-nacs gathered from various adventures and travels over the years.

And finally — the biggest collection of them all.

Graphic novels. Or comic books, depending on which side of the geek divide you stand on.

Now if you’ve followed my ramblings for any length of time, you’ll know this obsession probably won’t surprise you in the slightest.

I’ve got somewhere around six hundred graphic novels, most of them centred around Batman — because apparently my brain enjoys hyper-fixating on brooding vigilantes dressed as bats. There’s also a healthy dose of The Punisher, Daredevil and a fair helping of indie titles for balance.

One indie series deserves a special mention though.

A random late-night impulse buy of Twisted Dark Vol 1 by Neil Gibson turned into a full blown obsession with the series and eventually led to friendship over the years, along with the wonderfully surreal experience of being written into a future story.

Life’s strange like that sometimes.

Other treasures in the collection include several books by Jock, who I’ve had the pleasure of meeting multiple times and even interviewing years ago for a geek website I used to run. Small world moment — he’s also from my tiny Devon hometown and somehow always remembers me at conventions, which still triggers the occasional fanboy moment.

I also own a signed copy of Watchmen.

If you’ve heard me ramble before, you’ll know that book is basically my comic-book origin story. One of those rare pieces of art that changes how you see storytelling entirely.

And finally, there’s a signed copy of Freeway Fighter — the comic adaptation of the old choose-your-own-adventure book I adored as a kid back in the 80s and still own to this day. Somehow, decades later, I even ended up interviewing the creator, which honestly felt like one of those wonderfully full-circle geek moments life occasionally throws your way.

Funny really.

Most people probably just see shelves of “stuff.”

But to me, they’re memories you can hold in your hands.

Stay safe 

Bc