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.