As the last five crates were dumped unceremoniously into a ute and sped out of my life, I groped for some musical comfort, flimsy cheque quivering in my hand. What consolation could Bach’s cantatas hold for me? They were, after all, among the few essentials that escaped the dreaded CD cull. I’d been doing plenty of Weinen and Klagen (BWV12) about selling off my lovingly and painstakingly amassed library, but Ach wie flüchtig, ach wie nichtig (Ah how fleeting, ah how futile, BWV26) seemed to sum up both the transaction and the artifacts themselves.  Saying au revoir to 95 per cent of my CDs brings me closer to a long-held dream of one day moving to Paris: turns out you need money to live la vie bohème, and without all that beloved baggage it feels as if I have little left to stay for. Oh, that’s not true; I have plenty of friends. In fact, when word got out that everything must go, from Adams to Zelenka, musical acquaintances I hadn’t seen in years were popping round “for tea”.  A warning to hoarders contemplating a similar tabula rasa: you will not rake in a huge profit. Some conservatorium libraries won’t even accept bequests, lacking the manpower to manage…