Another person's junk doth not make for any man's treasure...
does it?
The world of second-hand purchasing and hand-me-downs can be rife with, what can only be known as, a load of old tat. Often a lot of post-purchase care is part and parcel of the "bargain". Be it washing clothing to get it smelling like your own wardrobe or anti-bac-ing the primary coloured plastics for the kid's toy box, it's barely ever as simple as buying brand-new. With fresh off the press you know where you're at, preciously wrapped in blossom white tissue, finished with golden ribbons and a logo-pressed sticker, it's like opening gifts on a the return home: ceremonius, special, a treat.
Charity shop and car booting you're lucky for a carrier of any sorts, possibly a tatty old supermarket bag, wrinkled like a sheet at the bottom of the ironing basket, to transport the junk. Second-hand always strikes a slightly sharp note for me, sour-ing the authenticity of being a mum: if I'm a mum surely I should be able to afford brand new? But... the designer baby-grows and the Converse-you'd-never-afford-yourself are quite nice, and the rainbow-painted, wooden walker a bit of a win, not to mention the attractive buggy you'd only ever dream of buying straight off the press. Your own capsule of clothing takes a battering when you become a mum, (unless you're part of the royal family, or sponsored by Top shop and an excellent personal trainer- whilst maintaining breastfeeding and finding that perfect balance between working mum and stay at home mum). Because when there's barely spare cash to come by the little one gets the pick of the financial efforts- they will always come first, from now until... well, always.
That's not to say that a well spent £2.50 won't fill your heart with joy as you stroll away from the thrifty treasure box of another man's (or woman's) goods though. And there seems to be some unspoken tactics when it comes to charity shopping (having been a full time member of the club for twenty years). There's the basic, high-street, bric-a-brack affair, good for T-shirts, the odd vest top and occasionally an alright pair of shoes or a "new", colander. Then there's a mile or so out from the city centre, good for occasion wear and possibly even a good birthday gift, many a stylish coat is had from these ones and the great thing is you start to see some quality labels rearing their heads: Boden, Fat Face, White Stuff to name but a few. And finally there's the boutique country towns, where every other window is a Joules and bespoke afternoon tea offerings alongside fine dining fish and chips. These ones are another level, often good for wooden toys (the keepers) and couture baby shoes, finished off with a rare classic piece of bedroom furniture. Although the price tags are often a bit steep for the sense of charity, they really do provide a raucous party of often rare pieces for the discerning-eyed bargain shopper. Another woman's junk really can be another person's jewels.
