Souvys.

Souvenirs. I used to buy souvenirs. Things that had “ROME” or “PRAGUE” stamped happily (and often gaudily) across every available surface – little plastic replicas of things and shiny keychains.

I don’t know what it’s been recently, I just can’t bring myself to buy anything that is remotely souvenir-esque.

Which, really, is quite unfortunate as I have a long list of people to buy things for and the only objects I see for sale at the places I look to frequent on my journey are those very plastic replicas and flimsy postcards I don’t want anything to do with.

My criteria are rather particular: nothing with the name of the city on it, nothing that looks like it could be replicated by a camera phone, nothing that would simply sit and catch dust, nothing that is a simple household object with a word printed on it. And above all, it has to be personal, and as perfect as I can manage.

And that, my friends, is an incredibly difficult list to live by.

Hopefully I’ll get somewhere today.

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