Welcome To The Jumble

I've spent this afternoon helping out at the monthly jumble sale and there was trouble. The lady in charge decided to raise her prices and there was a near riot.

40p an item? Bleeding daylight robbery. I'm only a pensioner, you know. 

It's cheaper to go to f*cking Primark!

...and the usual, Bet you've 'ad all the good stuff. When I look at their stained fleeces and baggy leggings I want to say Love, look at how you and I are dressed, do you really think we're going to want the same clothes? But instead I bite my tongue and smile sweetly.

What's a jumble sale? A fund-raising charity event held in community centres, schools and church halls. The doors open at a set time, you pay an admission fee (between 5p - 20p around these parts) and then you rifle through heaps of clothes, accessories, bric-a-brac, books and toys piled high on trestle tables, grabbing what you can. You hand over your finds to the helpers behind the tables who then bag it and tot up what you owe. Merchandise is seldom labelled but it's rare to pay more than £1 for a single item. It's over within an hour when the last straggler leaves, then the doors are locked, the leftovers are bagged up and sold to on a rag merchant.

Joan (on my left) is 84 and has been running the jumble sale since the 1960s. Tracey (on my right) is my jumbling buddy, we're always chucking stuff at one another, "Old and weird" in my direction, "Flouncy and blingy" in hers.

We weren't as busy as normal today. The weather is unseasonably cold and there was a terrifically violent hailstorm 15 minutes before the doors opened, which probably put a lot of the regular elderly punters off leaving their houses, but we'd shifted a fair bit of tat merchandise by closing time.

I look bloody knackered. Lugging trestle tables around, sifting through dirty knickers and stained bedding and being abused by the Black Country grannies is hard work but a fair trade off for snaffling lovelies like these. 

Dallas Simpson framed print, a pair of vintage suitcases, 1960s plaster lamp with original ribbon shade, 1967 Max Factor make-up set, a Mary Quant scarf and a ceramic swan.

Naturally, my purchases caused much hilarity amongst the other helpers. 

Bloody hell Vix, you buy some vile stuff, only you could get excited about that pile of crap.

Not so ugly now it's in place though is it, ladies? (I know you read my blog!)

The evil print is hanging from the Wall of Misery, the lamp is scrubbed and illuminating my skip-salvaged bookcase, the boxed make-up is in pride of place on my dressing table & the suitcases have stuffed with my winter clothes and stowed away on top of the wardrobe and the naff swan is on the kitchen windowsill, 

 ...and I based today's outfit around the Mary Quant scarf.

1960s St Michael Madras check nightie (Krista-licious), Velvet dirndl top, worn backwards (Maisie's Closet Vintage), Turquoise suede boots & tiger bag (Queen Helga the Great).

There were clothes, shoes, bags, music, books and vintage car parts, too but right now I need a long soak in the bath!

See you soon.

Ageing Disgracefully?

Yesterday I went into town wearing this cropped top, 1960s mini skirt, platform shoes and a ton of jewellery. My hair was parted down the centre and hung down to my waist, I wore false eyelashes and painted my nails & lips in Barry M neons. 

I was honked at by passing cars, asked out to dinner by a stranger, got a discount from the braid man on the market and another trader slipped a few extra tomatoes into my bag. In fact the reaction was no different at 46 than it was when I dressed the same 20 years ago. Us older birds are constantly advised to "tone it down" but, if we're happy, why the feck should we? If I'm lucky to still be alive and kicking at 70 I can't see myself fading gracefully into the background.

Its more fun dressing like a floozy at over 40, with my bionic hip replacement I can run away from amorous admirers, as a 20-something cripple I could only limp.

 Anyway, lets talk about shopping. Who says you can't get reasonably priced vintage stuff in charity shops these days? Not me. 

This is what I brought home after my day out with Liz on Friday.

1980s era French Connection shirt, 1970s Berketex pleated midi dress, 1960s oversized vinyl handbag, 1970s Cape sleeved maxi dress, 1970s Astraka fake fur coat, 1960s Daisy trim mini, 1950s leather winkle pickers, 1980s fringed leather waistcoat with rose appliqué , 1950s raw silk shift dress, 1960s leather and suede shoulder bag. 

I snaffled this trio of insane West German 1980s leotards yesterday.

...and most of it's all destined for Kinky Melon.

But before you congratulate me on my restraint I have added a few new items to my wardrobe as the lovely raven-haired Lucy sent me a delectable parcel of joy. Along with the skirt I'm wearing were two pretty vintage scarves and a sexy slip and what looks like it's going to be my 2013 festival bag of choice. 

1960s suede mini (Lucy Nation), cropped Aztec top (£3, off the market), Suedette platforms (£1, car boot sale), 1930s Lucite choker (Inherited), Ultraviolet opaques (Xmas, 2011)

I'm back over at the family home again today, waiting for Banardo's to collect some furniture and for the skip to be emptied and I'll probably playing with my brother's rediscovered stash of 1970s action figures. I'm determined to find Starsky's missing moccasin and Hutch's bell-bottomed jeans before the week's out.

Thanks for the lovely comments, message and emails following my last post, it means a lot. There's been some terrifically shitty times over the past few years and your friendship and support have kept me sane.

See you soon.

My Dad, The Adventurer

I've spent most of the weekend bare-faced in a pair of skanky leggings as I'm getting stuck into sorting out the family home. We've already filled one skip which is pretty good going as there's so much to keep me, Jon and my bro distracted....1970s action figures, old photos and jars of spices bought in the 1960s to name but a few.

Yesterday I cracked on with emptying Dad's bureau and was riveted. A man of few words, as his dementia worsens my father has spoken more to me in the past 18 months than in my entire life. Born to a mining family in 1929 he won a scholarship to grammar school, served with the Royal Air Force in Canada and lived under canvas climbing the Alps for 2 years. 

With a penchant for fast cars and glamorous women Dad drove an AC Cobra when he met Mum and an MGB GT in his retirement. I've no idea who this lady is but he's still at it at almost 84, holding hands with a female nursing home residents and wandering out of the wrong bedrooms. From conversations he's had with the nursing staff several are convinced he was a spy - maybe that's where I get my enthusiasm for espionage thrillers from? 

Dad is on the far right

As a sales engineer his career led to him travelling extensively and as children we rarely saw him during the week. In 1975 civil war broke out whilst he was working in Lebanon and, after days without contact, he was presumed dead, eventually turning up six weeks later live and well. I don't think Mum was never the same again.

He was mountaineering most weekends well into his 70s.

In the 1957, nine years before he met my Mum, he and two friends set sail from Littlehampton Harbour in Sussex intending to sail to New Zealand in a 9-ton schooner.

The first attempt ended in disaster when they hit engine trouble, were rescued by coastguard and it was discovered that there was a female passenger, Miss Pamela Fuller, a 19-year old trainee press officer, who apparently was "not engaged" to any of the men and was simply hitching a ride to Brixham in Devon.

The second attempt didn't fare much better, the shipwreck made front page news in The Times.

They did get rescued in the end though, these photos were from a Spanish newspaper.

I've never seen him looking so dishevelled. 

Did he ever make it to New Zealand? That's something I can't tell you. I'll show him these pictures when we visit Dad this week and see if it jogs any memories. 

I'll be back with what I bought from Liz and I's chazzing day of adventure shortly.

See you soon.

Fancy Some Interior Porn? What's On My Dressing Table

 I made a friend at last week's vintage fair and invited her round for tea today. 

There's nothing like a visitor to drag me out of my usual state of domestic slattern-hood and spur me into some feather duster wielding action. The spare room dressing table where I do my make-up every morning is usually an utter shambles hidden under hair grips, eye pencil sharpenings and spilt glitter.

Not any longer. I was able to show it off with pride this afternoon. Fancy a look?
The Edwardian dressing table was bought from a charity shop for £25 five years ago and distressed by me. 

I keep my make-up in a wooden cutlery tray bought from a jumble sale. 

 It's mostly Barry M but you knew that already, didn't you? I bought the Revlon eye shadow 5 years ago and still wear it almost every day.

The Benefit make-up bag and brushes were from a car boot sale, Clare gave me the fancy Lancome and Sisley lip glosses, the Two-Faced bronzer & bad-ass handbag mirror were gifts from Krista. Alyson sent me the Lipcote.

I wear false eyelashes instead of mascara. They cost £3 from the Asian beauty shop and keep going for at least 6 weeks. A bottle of eyelash glue lasts me around 6 months.

Dee gave me this groovy 1970s stack system. I occasionally use it for parties but it seemed a shame to keep it hidden away in the cupboard when I'm not entertaining.

Its perfect for keeping the Barry M nail paint in good order.

I bought a tub full of these pots of Indian kumkum from a car boot sale last year. 

This one is so pretty. It's got a butterfly shaped mirror inside the lid.

The swan's full of bindis.

Some of my 1960s chain belts.

I bought the 1950s cat clothes brush from the car boot this morning. The crystal lamps are Laura Ashley, bought from a clearance sale.

I made my necklace storage contraption about three years ago and it's still in one piece despite the weight of all that bling.

I painted a massive gilt frame from a car boot sale with white emulsion, papered a piece of chipboard with a free wallpaper sample and added some cup hooks salvaged from the unit that was in the kitchen when we first moved in.

Can you believe I've recently had a jewellery purge? In case you're wondering the earrings, rings and bangles reside in our bedroom - there's not enough room here!

The Victorian ebony hand mirror has been mine since I was a little girl. The crazy 1970s fringed bed cover was from a jumble sale and I made the patchwork curtains myself.

1960s crimplene daisy print maxi dress (99p, eBay), beads handmade by Tania, cherry red platform sandals (TopShop, 2007)

Liz has the day off tomorrow so we're off on a bus trip around the Black Country, a great way to mark the 3 year anniversary of Mum's death - charity shopping, a liquid lunch and the company of a dear friend - her idea of a perfect day!

See you soon.

Linking to Patti's Visible Monday.

Labelled With Love

It's an unnaturally cold day with rainfall of biblical proportions & no chance of giving my latest Dollyrockers dress an outing so this one will have to do. Featured on my blog many times, its been to festivals, dinner parties and on wild nights out. The last time I wore it was on holiday in the Lake District with Krista when it joined us at an Ambleside pub, a North Indian feast and nearly burst it's seams as we laughed along to Withnail and I for the hundredth time.

I love owning garments with happy memories entwined into the fabric.

Dollyrockers Maxi (Second To None, Walsall, 2010), Green suede platforms (£5, local market), Barry M Spring Green nails

I love vintage Dollyrockers as the designs are guaranteed to fit a short-arsed, boob-less wonder like me but label snob I ain't, designer brands emblazoned across garments leave me cold, It bags and fancy heels don't appeal and don't even get me started on my hatred for posh wellies with visible logos, I'd rather risk trench foot at Glastonbury than be seen at a festival in anything so crass.

I knew Jon was the man for me on our first date when I spotted the holes in his clothes where he'd hacked off the maker's outer labels. Even a humble Levi tag makes him see red.

That being said I am an utter whore for a groovy vintage label when it's discretely tucked away on the inside.

I snaffled this late 1960s midi dress from Sue Ryder last Thursday solely because the tag inside make me weak at the knees (although the combination of aubergine velvet and ankle-grazing plaited belt are pretty special).

...and this 1960s shirt Jon recently found in Sense makes me inexplicably happy,

but if I was given an endless supply of cash to splash on whatever I wanted I'd still only shop second-hand.

With not a cat in hell's chance of a car boot sale this week & no vintage fairs booked for the weekend I'm knuckling down & updating the Kinky Melon on-line shop. I can't stand much more of this weather so I'm hoping to sell like a demon to afford a flight to somewhere sunny.

See you soon!