Confession. I've returned to my usual out of all control habit which is raiding many a charity shop, military style all in a state of pure utter excitement. Rapidly flicking through an array of pic & mix of patterned prints: polka dot, check, florals, triangles, rainbows, elephants ( itchy knitted elephant jumper, anybody?). Scrunching and analyzing fabulous and not so fab fabrics, beginning with tighter than tight Lycra, to tweed or not to tweed- tweed, shine on silks and sickly sweat it out silks ( the half polyester variety, vile. Nope and NO way am I putting my body through the hell that is polyester perspiring!).
Two hours in and with one loud empty, angry stomach ( I foolishly skipped and replaced a good breakfast for a poor cardboard flavored cereal bar: pointless and I won't be making such an error again) the most sensible thing to do was probably admit defeat, give up and head home.
Oh no the stubborn thrift half of me wouldn't allow this, 'continue rummaging, what are you a weakling? Happy to surrender to the depressing variety of clobber on those rattling rails. Look, look and look again.'
OK, OK I will, enough already firstly I must grab a snack...yum veggie wrap...alright back to Oxfam.
Speed straight pass those bloody disappointing rails, for I've no love for you anymore (or at least today) I poke my head around the corner of the enormous sorting room, where the lovely Oxfam elves ( I've nicknamed my Oxfam pal's 'elves' as they often remind me of Santas little helpers. They do such a brilliant job and vital job too) have the mighty task of editing through the sea of black bin bags. Shifting through stacks of boxes, and there lay the thrift treasure, 'come on through my love, take a glance, your welcome to' Oh good god, I've been invited to step over the thrift line, 'Can I? Thanks! I'll just take these two for now, Oops am I being too greedy?'
'No you'd be doing us a favor weekends are busy we need an extra pair of hands, and you seem to know your fashion stuff! Judging by your recent picks.' Mmm...shes seems to have a bit too much faith in my very much to be questioned magpie methods: did she not witness me grabbing the hardcore 80's beach ball print dress two weeks ago?
Whatever, time to crack on and battle those intimidating box's, why did I opt to pinch two of these gigantic box's? One would have seen me through Xmas! I must admit my eyes spotted some shockers from the first box load ( far worse then that knitted elephant jumper, and trust me, that was hideously awful if not slightly disturbing?).
photos thrift treasure: two waist coats, total-£6
Hours later the moon is now beginning to appear ( almost, the sun had began to set) my arms ached, thanks to the hundred tons of dreadful denim one had to constantly lift, reject and destroy ( I've come to realise from this painful experience denim does indeed, have a 'to use by' expiry date). Towards the end of box two I couldn't help but feel the charity shop had it in for me: what with the non existent results, from flicking through the rails of clothes. Just as the assistant stood by the door giving me a look of 'why, did I ever allow that pain in the ass into the sorting room?'
Sequins shined light seductively via the large fragile hole on the side of the box, I lacking elegance and there for grace, pulled and pulled aggressively at this piece of stunning fabric...Who-a, and cue scream (with my head stuck in the box) a late seventies vintage waist coat, followed by another waist coat caught up in the others delicate embroidery.
Charity shop, let's not bicker again eh!?