Yours, Siobhan

There comes a time in every young woman’s life when the broken dolls and fart guns have to go, but I didn’t expect to find myself wailing over a discarded Captain Underpants book.

We’re moving on Friday and after being no help whatsoever, suddenly Jesse sprang into action and packed everything in her bedroom she wanted to take – and left a huge pile of happy memories and bits of my heart among the plastic tat that she didn’t.

Sure, we’ve taken toys she’s outgrown to the charity shop over the years, but this parting of the ways with her childhood was decisively brutal. Even her prized collection of treasures got the heave-ho – lumps of fool’s gold, a vial of Isle of Wight coloured sands, genuine fairy glitter, polished pebbles, a few metal washers, and the stash of coloured-in 20p coins from when she attempted to flood the market with her own pink currency.

The unexpected emotional rollercoaster continued as I boxed up her dad David’s pulp Western paperbacks and extensive vinyl collection of records you’d hoped would never be released, like Jean-michel Jarre’s complete works on a recorder.

I’ve kept some of Jesse’s baby books in case she wants to see them again one day, but they’re really for me. Not wanting to let go. Especially The Dinosaur That Pooped Christmas – a timeless classic.

■ Please keep your stories, memories and photos coming to siobhan.mcnally@mirror.co.uk or write to Community Corner, PO Box 791, Winchester SO23 3RP.