The Buying Game ~ Trading Up From £1. Part 2.
If I were money motivated, or actually just even motivated, you’d expect me to have up-sold to a Matisse by now, however I’m not, and combine that with my hoarding needs, I’ve bought over a thousand things with the £1 the Avon bottle sale made and kept every one of them.
Ever the ingenue, I cracked a plan. I went back to Bournemouth for the first time in ten years and returned to the street where I bought the 10p vintage green bottle. It felt wholesome and proper, however this time my plan was to buy something I didn’t like and would therefore definitely want to shift on and up. First shop, there it was, sitting in amongst the nicknacks on a brown wooden coffee table (not for sale) was a large clear glass scorpion in perfect condition. There was an element of primal fear about it, I liked it, but not enough to never part with it. I have a feel of all it’s toes, nippers and tail for damage, none, so off we went with full hearts together to the counter.
Glass Scorpion Ornament.
It’s clear by now that I don’t buy things to sell for a profit, I buy things for the sentiment and experiences saturated within them. When I look at something in my house the memories flash and flood through my mind and transport me back to the moment where and when I found it. It’s a treacherous journey, fraught with dangerous hurdles and traps and if there is a rude or hostile shop assistant at the finishing line the hunt and gather is ruined. Scorpion sales lady was warm and friendly, a typical Aquarian, we chatted about how strange and appealing the little creature was and she sympathised with my Leo~Chinese Monkey curious character. £1, in the bag. Thrilling result.
Ballroom Dance Shoes - I’m A 38 FYI.
High on success, I also found a pair of unworn suede-soled t-bar black and gold tango shoes in my size and I still feel happy-sick about that. £2. Pound a foot. Dance me to moon. Later in the week, on a jaunt to Westbourne, I had a borderline exchange with whom I now refer to as ‘the mad hat woman’ who was clearly exhausted from a lifetime of trying to restrain her own inherent spiteful nature with ‘not so successfully passive’ aggressive comments. She was forcing herself to be helpful in my purchase of a black funeral hat with torn veil and it was killing her. She didn’t have to bother, I was buying it without a death to go to anyway.
Vintage Black Satin Riding Funeral Hat With Veil.
On my last day I thought my sales assistant luck had run out in Southbourne - I spotted a pair of vintage gold and black Chinese character cuff links in the glass cabinet at the till and asked for a closer look. I always try to be polite and engaging with cashiers, it’s just nice isn’t it, so I playfully said can you speak Chinese? The rude and racist reply “do I look Chinese” was not the response I was expecting. Damn it. She’s ruined it. Can’t have them now coz she’s destroyed the glow, however when I forlornly looked down to hand them back to spiteful racist shitface, my one-legged pink flocked reading glasses slip down off my head onto my truffle pig snout and I saw 14K written on the stem of the cuff link. “I’ll take these please”. £3. Turns out the Chinese character means “fu” - good fortune. Thank you China, Fu you Southbourne.
Vintage Chinese 14K Gold And Black Onyx Cuff Links On Antique Chinese Wood Tea Tray.
From that same shop I spotted a vintage 70’s short sleeved Larry Grayson denim safari jacket, unworn, for £4.50. I’ve got to have it, I am having it, but racist shitface ain’t touching it, so put a ‘do not touch’ magnetic magic spell on it as I do the rounds of the shops on the high street and go back when the manager is on the till. The final purchase exchange was all safe and sound and I can’t stop myself from doing a Larry wave and hip bend with a call of “Shut That Door” upon my departure. The manger was greatly entertained. I was delighted.
Vintage Windsmoor Short-Sleeved Denim Safari Jacket With Double Stitching.
Right then. Off we go home at the end of a sun and fun saturated stay with a bumper haul of vintage loot. Could not be more satisfied with my own keepsies treasure but also the best is The Game Is Back On with the wee scorpion. I wonder how I’ll sell it? Will I be able to sell it? How much should I sell it for? Who will buy it? I left it in Bournemouth.
I did. Honestly. I left it. In my entire life I’ve been so worried about being in peoples way, or a burden to friends, I had booked an AirBnB for my trip and preferred to pay and stay with any old weird strangers than ‘impose’ my personality on my mates. However in the confidence I have gained with middle-age I will now not tolerate a tiny whiff of rudeness from said weird strangers. So, I had ended up landing last minute on friends I hadn’t seen in ten years because the AirBnB host had said one wrong word at 10pm the night before I was due to leave. I cancelled. My eggshell walking days are over, too fat and old for that.
But anyhoo, back to my extreme ‘not wanting to impose’ nature, when I was packing to leave I didn’t want to look in a carrier bag that I had forgotten WAS mine, that was in MY room, on MY stuff, in case it wasn’t MINE. Imagine living with this level of apologyism. Get home, it’s the scorpion. Bloody idiot.
Game Is Off Again.
