KINTSUGI
by Olly Wicken
There’s a piece of Watford memorabilia he treasures more than any other.
Alec is holding it now — as he lies in bed awaiting the end he knows is close.
It’s an old mug.
It’s black, with the yellow and red club crest from the early 1980s — the first
Graham Taylor era.
He always thought it looked classy.
And then he dropped it — and it shattered into a dozen pieces.
He was living in a rented apartment in Tokyo at the time — on a secondment
with the electronics company he worked for.
He hadn’t brought much with him from England. The Watford mug was one of
his few reminders of home.
It was also a statement. He might have been on the other side of the world,
but he was still a Hornet. He was proud to have watched from the terraces as
his team had risen up the divisions under Graham Taylor and Elton John.
But this was 1987. Taylor had left the club a few months earlier and the new
manager, Dave Bassett, seemed to be smashing up what had worked so well
before.
So when Alec accidentally knocked the mug off the kitchen counter, it felt
symbolic.
He picked up the pieces and was going to throw them out.
But the sound had brought his girlfriend into the kitchen and she told him
something that changed his mind.
Kintsugi is a Japanese art form that involves putting broken pieces of pottery
back together. It’s a centuries-old repair technique which highlights rather
than hides the cracks, using lacquer dusted with gold. The word
kintsugi roughly translates as ‘joining with gold’. The result is that objects
become more beautiful than they were — in a new way.
At first, Alec wasn’t interested. He’d liked his mug as it was. And if there was
symbolism here, making highly visible repairs to his early 1980s mug might
suggest he was clinging desperately to the Graham Taylor era, unable to
move on.
But his girlfriend asked if she could get the mug repaired for him. She said it
would teach him a little more about the Japanese view of the world: that the
obstacles we overcome in life can become an important and powerful part of
our identity. That our struggles are part of our story.
Alec shrugged and said OK.
What Alec got back was something wonderful.
The mug was whole again, and the black ceramic was now marbled with
sparkling veins of gold around the bright yellow-and-red Watford crest.
He spent ages staring at it — holding it at different angles to watch the light
reflecting off the beautiful golden scars.
His girlfriend had been right. The visible repairs made the object more
beautiful.
And they also told a story about life as a Watford fan.
Alec had had his dreams shattered before — when Watford had tumbled from
Division Two to Division Four. But he’d patched himself up and carried on.
His own scars were invisible to the eye but they’d made supporting Watford
during the recent glory days even better.
Over the years, the mug became more and more precious to him.
It was unique: you certainly couldn’t buy it in the club shop.
And the truth it told was reflected in Watford’s ongoing story.
After Graham Taylor returned to Watford in 1996, it wasn’t just Alec who was
celebrating how breakage and mending is part of life’s narrative. All Watford
fans were.
And after Gino Pozzo refurbished Vicarage Road as a Premier League
stadium, the rotting fences and crumbling garages on Occupation Road
remained as perfect imperfections.
Kintsugi had taught Alec to appreciate all this.
And now, in his last moments on earth, Alec is holding his black kintsugi
Watford mug to his chest.
He believes (like the Japanese) that when something has a history of being
damaged it becomes more beautiful.
He feels that his life as a Watford fan has been beautiful.
And after today, if there is to be an afterlife, he’ll have the mug with him.
If he arrives in Hornet Heaven, he’ll never forget that supporting Watford is
richer for having bad times as well as good.
THE END
If you’re interested in Watford memorabilia, check out our new book
Gold! here
If you’re interested in more stories about being a Watford fan forever,
check out www.HornetHeaven.com