More Stuff

          I don’t recall when it was that charity shops began opening for business on the high streets of our towns. What I do remember is that they smelled of old things and unwashed clothes. Or maybe they didn’t. Perhaps I imagined it because of the stigma of poverty with which I associated them.

          Years later, the altered circumstances of traditional high streets (and of many of us who frequent them) have allowed such shops to proliferate and prosper. And, if they ever were as dowdy as I recall, good old capitalist competition has obliged them to smarten up. A sprinkling of retail fairy dust has been applied and many of them boast professional-looking window displays. The larger ones even mimic mini department stores, some of which have specialist ‘vintage’ clothes sections, with goods priced up accordingly. I interpret this as evidence of a budding alternative economy.

          It seems to me that there is at least one major flaw in the creed of capitalism – the assumption that there can be limitless growth of an economy based on extraction. Such a concept is plainly at odds with the fact that resources are finite, yet the main political parties seem oblivious to this conundrum, promising voters that they will deliver growth without limit, thereby implying more of everything for everyone. The younger me did not question this, preoccupied as I was with getting a living but, having eventually secured a comfortable situation, I also acquired the luxury of taking a different view. I don’t really need much more stuff but, if and when I feel that old acquisitive urge, I make a point of recycling: I go to the charity shops.

          This week, I visited my sister who lives in rural Lincolnshire, close to where I was dragged kicking and screaming into a classroom for the first time. Our family moved from there six years after that unseemly incident, but I do remember the place in some detail. Our nearest town was Sleaford which, with its cafes, shops and bus station, was the most exciting place in my little world. This week, my sister and I, along with our partners, went there for lunch and a mooch around and I was interested to note the ways in which it is trying to adapt to modern times. Like so many other towns whose main economic purpose has disappeared, Sleaford has had to change tack and, twenty years ago, made a bold start by converting Hubbard’s old seed warehouse into a craft and design centre. It thrived and is now nationally recognised as The Hub. We admired its showcases full of exquisite hand-made items, none of which I was inclined to buy, not only because I have all the stuff I need but also because it is so expensive!

          The bones of the old market-town are intact insofar as the banks, hotels and pubs dating back to the Georgian period remain in situ. Though most of them are occupied by other types of business, they remain a potentially valuable heritage asset. As for the shops, I have no interest in tattoo parlours, nail bars or vape stores, but they seem to do good business and keep the economy staggering along. It’s the charity shops I like. I’ve acknowledged that I don’t need any more stuff, but still I can’t resist browsing for a bargain while marvelling at all the items that are being recycled: all the odds and sods, ornaments, unused gadgets and superfluous neckties – the story of my life reflected and multiplied by the lives of so many others.

           But there was something that I couldn’t resist, something I didn’t know existed – a microwave omelette maker! My companions looked sceptical as I forked out the £2 asking price, but I was convinced that this gadget would enhance my life in the kitchen. On reflection, however, I feel this may prove yet another plastic artefact the world doesn’t need. Why else was it unused and still in its original packaging?