Bunked off this afternoon as
‘aimless wandering’ was calling me. I
went to the Salvation Army store just off Regent Street
to rummage through rails of clothes in surprising
calm. The afternoon is the unfashionable
time to go – in the mornings, when new stock is on the rails, it’s heaving with
fashion students who’ll trample you under their 1974 Mary Quant platform boots
to get at a 1982 Gloria Vanderbilt silk bomber jacket.
Sadly, the store has changed
in recent years. It’s much more
expensive than it used to be and there’s been a decrease in the amount of
genuine vintage they’ve got. Some things
stay the same though; the staff are as rude as ever (“No, you can’t use the
changing room, it’s our busy time”).
I came away happy with a baby
blue Max Mara cashmere jumper for £2, having resisted the lure of the Christian
Lacroix turquoise evening dress with marabou trim.
Tempted to put the jumper on
straight away, but as I shall be spending my evening reading about inflationary
pressures in early eighteenth century food prices and eating pickled onions
straight from the jar, I may wait for a more appropriate moment.
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