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Tony Grist

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Matches [Sep. 17th, 2014|10:39 am]
Tony Grist
Clearing out one of the cupboards under the sink, I find my father's stash of match books. They're a gazeteer of his comings and goings over the last decade of his life.

He was in Dublin, on North Sea Ferries, meeting his accountant at The Institute of Bankers (motto Probus et Fidelis- which- it explains on the back of the book- "stresses the integrity of character which every banker needs"), dining at a place which advertises itself (with a not quite perfect grasp of English idiom) as a "typical Portuguese restaurant."

"What are you going to do with them all?" my mother asks.

"Start fires," says Ailz.


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[User Picture]From: poliphilo
2014-09-17 05:16 pm (UTC)
And why not?
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[User Picture]From: poliphilo
2014-09-17 07:25 pm (UTC)
But it's not Greek is it? I wonder what the Greek for matchbook is? They must have them.

I've never smoked, but I like matches. I like the way they flare up.
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[User Picture]From: poliphilo
2014-09-18 08:04 am (UTC)
What a pretty word.
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[User Picture]From: porsupah
2014-09-21 07:49 am (UTC)
Given the nature of the world, I wouldn't be surprised some of those might fetch quite silly money on eBay. Who knows? It does, after all, tend to be the most disposable items that wind up being surprisingly valuable, mere decades later, on the inevitably basis of "well, who'd keep that?"

Of course, they might not fetch anything. Still, the photo is quite a fascinating look back at a trend that's so completely extinct as to seem almost a century ago.
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