Tag Archives: thrift

42…. 

I woke up today in the same mood I went to bed with the previous night. That mood was a bit black, not pitch, but certainly a moonlight free night with only the occasional pinhole of starlight black. So with my dark cloud hovering at a jaunty angle I consumed a cup of coffee and a bowl of Froot Loops (don’t judge me). Wearing my best fugue, I headed off to get some check the opshop and get some more milk, as I had used the last of it in the aforementioned sugary breakfast treat. 

I arrived at the opshop, found the carapace that wasn’t being taken up by someone incapable of parking between the lines, not as easy to find as it should be. I mean the reason they paint the lines there is to show you where to park, but hey you’ve got a great big fuck you 4wd you can just do what you like, you don’t care if people think you’re a wanker…. ummm where was I? Oh yeah that’s right the opshop. So I do my regular search pattern, records, bric-a-brac, furniture, jewelry and books. That order is not arbitrary, it is the most efficient plan of attack for that particular opshop, and the most efficient way to get to all the good stuff before the meandering no plan losers that miss all the good stuff. Yes I am a model of efficient bastardry when it comes to opshops, markets and garage sales. 

I had almost finished the lap and was coming up empty handed, and my mood wasn’t improved by the lack of endorphin inducing bargains. So I’m at the end of my opshop dance routine, comencing the grand finale of a quick scan of the book section. My last chance for a small hit of thrifty satisfaction lay in the musky bit. 

And satisfaction was had, while checking to see what edition a copy of Life, The Universe and Everything by Douglas Adams, one of my favorite authors. I found this –


…and my day suddenly seemed a whole lot better. Something about finding that signature triggered some of the good shit in my brain. My first time reading Hitchers, watching the TV show with my Dad and stepmother in a terrace house on a tiny TV. My visit to Highgate Cemetery to leave a pen at his grave. 

A long dark tea time of day was suddenly a plentiful with fish.

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Not My Memories… 

This is about a family memento not a Guy Pearce Memento. I’m taking a bit of break from introspective blog posts, and returning to a more reactive post. 

Today I’m reacting to a common issue I face when it comes to finds that are made from silver or gold. Specifically heirloom items, grannies brooch and uncle Vladimirs silver christening spoon. Ok, specifically wasn’t the right word there, but let’s just use those as an example. Your Granny has fallen of the roof (that’s an old joke about breaking news softly), and the relatives come in to sort out her house. Everyone takes what they want and the rest more often than not ends up at either the charity shop or the tip. Now as far as I’m concerned that’s where any sentimentality should end. I’m not in the business of preseving someone else’s memories, I barely do better than Guy Pearce in that department for my own. So when I find something like this brooch set, I have two choices. 

  1. I can repair, clean and try and sell.
  2. I can pop out the stone and sell for scrap.

The first option requires time and effort and requires me to find someone that will pay for the time and effort plus the gold value. The second option requires 30 seconds with a pair of pliers and into the safe till the next trip to the gold buyer. You may say “don’t destroy the memories”, and I say I’m not, memories aren’t things, and even if they were its not my memories. Honestly if grannies descendants don’t care why is it my job? 

So this time it’s scrap, and it’s not that big a loss. It’s not great quality, if it wasn’t gold it wouldn’t be of any value anyway. I’d rather pay the rent with this brooch, and risk the wrath of the slightly less practical among you. 

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Banananana…. 

You say it’s your birthday? It’s my Birthday too. It’s tempting to ask, what do you get? Another year older and deeper in debt. I could go misquoting song lyrics, all night long. Instead I will justify my purchase of a present, or self-gifting as it is known. 

As a single fellow I don’t need to buy a partner the usual requisite gifts for birthdays, Xmas, Valentine’s Day or sorry I slipped and my penis landed in the nanny day. So I am free to use these unclaimed relationship benefit days for myself. Today I lavished myself with a clomplety unnecessary (in both cost and purpose) watch… 


I was very pleased with my own good taste and thoughtfulness. Any future partner will need to do battle with the ghosts of gifts past to impress me…. 

Later in the day a bit of opshopping provided me with my surprise gift. 


A nice set of vintage Dior cufflinks for eight dollars. No more naked French cuffs for me… 

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Day 126 – Still got that Chair thing then?….

Why yes I do…. Your a hard habit to break, I can’t quit you and all that kind of thing…. I find it hard to resist a well turned leg or keep away from well padded seat…

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I also like the look of envy on the faces of others, as I walk out of a thrift shop with a Le Corbusier Sling Chair on my arm….

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Day 115 – Fifty Shades of Khaki…

I ordered some books about knots the other day (nothing suss)…. Today I found a bag of old scout patches which included a few lengths of very knotted rope… This scout obviously earned his knot tying badge…

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