Collecting things is so brilliant. Not only is there the joy of tracking things down and displaying one’s new toys in order to drool over them on a daily basis, but one learns so much around the items; geography, social history, fashion, the skills of the maker and so on. I have always encouraged my children to collect stuff for all those reasons.
I collect Ladybird Books, gollies, books generally and old-fashioned cut glass (particularly perfume bottles). But, given the money, I could very easily be persuaded to collect powder compacts, trains and train pictures, WW2 stuff in a significantly more serious way than I do now, paintings, beautiful furniture, odd musical instruments and recordings of them being played, and Indian artefacts.
However, I do have a secret thrill which I am rarely in a position to indulge. Medical Stuff. I have a craving to collect old medical books, medical instruments and associated items. I once saw, on the Antiques Roadshow, an apparatus for giving tiny electric shocks by cranking a handle which conducted electrical impulses through little paddles which were held against the body to stimulate circulation and muscle tone in invalids. It was in a beautiful wooden case and was a thing of beauty. “I wants it precious, I wants it”, I mumbled to myself. It was several hundred pounds and out of my reach but if I ever get the chance, a similar apparatus will be mine. Oh yes, it will be mine.
I do own several very old medical textbooks including Diseases of the Skin (1937), The Encyclopaedia of Sex Practice (1938), a turn of the century anatomy textbook, Applied Surgery (1894), A large, layered anatomy model from the late 1890s and, my pride and joy, Alimentary Sphincters and their Purposes (1910).
I have very little actual equipment; a Wrights Coal Tar Vaporizer, an old bedpan, a leather doctor’s bag, assorted bottles and some baby stuff. Then, just as I was leaving the market a couple of Sundays ago, the couple on the next stand showed me this:
It is an old DIY enema kit. The wall-mounted enamel jug would be filled with the cleansing fluid of your choice and the tube would then be inserted up your bottom while you lay on the floor on a pile of towels, and after a period of time, one would repair to the lavatory and …er … release. I bought it on the spot and it now resides on the bathroom wall, between the basin and the loo, with the rubber tubing hanging down in a disconcerting and slightly menacing way.
It will never be used, well not by me anyway, mainly because I have a pathological distaste for anything to do with back bottoms. However, a coffee enema is an extremely efficacious treatment for acute pain and migraine. Not a skinny, double-shot cappuccino with sugar you understand, but strong black filter coffee. No really. I know people.


























