I have a sink which is from the 1950s. It’s a big old boy, solid enameled cast iron with double drainer. I got it off a mate who was renovating his flat: it took both of us to carry it to my car, and it pretty much filled the back of an Octavia estate with the seats down.
We initially got it because my Mrs wanted it for when we did the kitchen up.
That day has now passed, and we didn’t use the sink.
Never mind!, we said, we’ll keep it for when we put in a utility room.
That day has also now passed, and once again we didn’t use the sink.
We’ve now had it something like seven years, and it’s buried in the conservatory behind two wooden doors I bought from Wickes because they were on offer (and which we didn’t then use in subsequent DIY), and the Gumtree-sourced bath which, fingers crossed, is going to be used when we do the bathroom up.
In my mind we’re recycling heroes, but deep down I know the truth.