I was enjoying the sunshine on Surbiton Road this afternoon when, halfway up, I glanced to my left.
Lo and behold!
Charity Superstore. Not shop, superstore!
I wandered in.
Another dimension.
Had I just walked through the Tardis of tat? The Narnia of knick-knacks?
You know you’ve hit the charity shop jackpot when the bargains come in piles, like mountains of gold in a dragon’s lair. Only instead of gilded cups and diamond jewellery, we’re talking stack after sweet stack of odd-smelling clothing, questionable electrical appliances and Rod Stewart CDs. And instead of a dragon guarding the hoard, there’s a lady with a Henry Hoover poking her nozzle between the stacks. I couldn’t help thinking this well-intended lady would have more luck sprucing up the place if she took a can of petrol and a lighter to one of the piles.
I nimbly bypass the Smaug of salvage, and was greeted with bargain numero uno – nothing less than a BMW X6 M – 65 quid! Admittedly, it was the single-seater toddler variant, but still a steal at that price. Leather seat, too. Kids don’t know they’re born these days.
Around the corner; an electric drumkit. It cast me back to when I bought my mate Ben’s real drum kit as a teenager. We lived in a flat and our downstairs neighbour worked night shifts. You can imagine how much practice I had before being ‘encouraged’ to sell it on.
But I’m an adult now, with my own house and, to the best of my knowledge, nobody living under my floorboards. I briefly wondered how much trouble I’d be in with the fiancé if came home with a drum kit.
When you visit charity shops as often as I do, you get a good gauge for trouble. Trouble is the second currency of all relationships. It’s the extra tax charged on charity shop tat that adds an additional disincentive to the monetary value. Your allowance of trouble in the relationship really depends on how much you’re bringing to the table. As the designated chef and IKEA furniture builder of the house, I get a reasonable allowance, but experience has taught me better than to blow it all on a drum kit. Besides, I’m saving it up for a Suzuki Carry camper (real, not toddler variant).
I decline to purchase.
As I continue to meander through the wreckage wares, I’m reminded of those flea markets you get in seaside towns. Patient and explorative bargain hunters are rewarded for their digging with some of the most obscure curiosities available to man. You can guarantee, however, what you come out with isn’t what you went in for. In fact, you probably didn’t know what you were buying existed ten minutes before the exchange was made. The difference here, though, is instead of paying above the odds to line somebody else’s pockets, you’re paying below the odds to fund vital research, save the children or sponsor a donkey. And buying comes with both tat and a feeling of making the world a better place.
This is a good point to state the identity of this particular charity shop; Save the World Club – “facilitating eco-friendly use of spaces, redistributing fresh foods to vulnerable communities, and promoting sustainable lifestyle choices”. No donkey sponsorships, sadly, but a noble and ambitious cause, nonetheless.
Back to bargains.
Books are the soul of any charity shop. Oxfam Books is a market leader here, but all charity shops can surprise you with their ample stock. If ever there’s a zombie apocalypse, take refuge in a charity shop. You will keep warm for months burning through the pages of James Patterson alone.
Once, I found a bible from the early 1850’s. It’s crazy to hold a piece of history in your hand that predates Cliff Richard for less than twenty quid. Obviously I bought it, preceded never to read it, then donated it to a new charity shop during a clear out. I imagine most charity shop books do a similar circuit. When a book gets donated, it’s less likely to find a stable new home and more likely to go on tour.
The book that caught my particular attention today was a tattered paperback. I squinted at the spine – Gaza: My Story. Now, I bet there’s a story or two between these pages. Expecting a heart-wrenching tale about living in one of the most dangerous places on Earth, you can imagine my surprise when I picked up the book, rotated it 90 degrees, and came eye-to-eye with Paul Gascoigne. Unless I missed something big in his post-football career, I smell an error in judgement.
I reread the title. Gazza: My Story.
I must be tired.
We move on to clothes.
Clothes are the ultimate gamble. When you buy an item of clothing, you spin the roulette wheel of fate. I have two general guidelines for clothes. One, an item needs to be such decent quality and condition that it offsets the not-unrealistic possibility that somebody has died in it, or two, it needs to be so obscure that you either buy it right here, right now, or never get another opportunity again. This narrows down the options to Designer jackets and luminous waistcoats, but it also keeps the trouble tax manageable. Nothing tickles my fancy this time.
On to stationery and office supplies.
I’m actually on the lookout for a paper binding machine, but sadly none to report here. This shop, however, could flood the global market with hole punchers, causing a crash in hole punch manufacturing worldwide. I wonder what kind of downstream impact that would have on the hole punch economy in general; this line of thought is not uncommon when you studied economics… I hope to myself.
Appliances.
I have a question. Who is in the market for a nineteenth century sewing machine? Not me. Not today. But I know one day, maybe if I win the lottery, I’m going to come back and treat myself.
Finally for today, on to board games.
If the climate crisis, international politics and general stability of the planet we all share ever gets you down, know this; at least we are going through a golden age of board gaming. We’ve been in this golden age long enough now, that some of the best games available have started to flow through the mitts of spoilt teenagers and outlive hoarders everywhere, landing in their penultimate destination – the charity shop. Their final destination, of course, is usually my sideboard.
If you know what you’re looking for, the board game shelf can also be a lucrative money maker. I came across a grubby copy of Pokémon: Master Trainer a few years ago for three quid. It was on eBay the next day for a four hundred percent markup. It’s not life-changing money, but it’s putting a rare game in the right hands while bringing my Suzuki Carry dreams ever closer.
Alas, I could go on – we haven’t even discussed the sports and entertainment sections – but it’s getting late, this blog is getting long.
I am convinced, however, that I’ve stumbled upon a gold mine here. I probably unearthed less than ten percent of the treasure available on visit one. I know there’s going to be a lot more to share following future inevitable visits, so stay tuned.
My only regret is not being able to share anything visual of my adventure. I snapped a few photos, but didn’t have permission from Smaug and wasn’t in the right frame of mind to negotiate.
Will do better next time.
