It is January, and the donations to Oxfam come in droves – well actually bin bags, collapsing boxes, crates that the donator wants back – but, ‘hey, could you empty that more quickly as my car is on a yellow line.’

And there is something about January donations.

They tend to be the ones that come from cleared out garages or attics.

(By the way, that is my mug and that umbrella has been there for several months.)

And that, dear regular reader as you must know, means they are damp, browned, aged – but not so aged they could be worth something…..

So, I went into the shop to re-arrange it, and a great volunteer agreed to do an extra shift to help me.

The thing is that we move (to Bognor or a re-cycling sack) a lot of books to allow space for the ‘new product’ Christmas stuff – and afterwards we can not quite remember what was there before and more to the point, we don’t have enough stock to just fill up those shelves.

(We had completely removed Self Help – as it never sells – whoever bought those ‘how to make your life better books’, did not find that having them on their bookshelves automatically sorted the issue. Self help books are usually donated in pristine condition.

But in January I need to re-instate that shelf – and do we have enough books to do that? You bet we do.)

I got permission from my manager to move the CD’s and extend the children’s shelves and generally move everything around so that we could re-fill the space left by the bedraggled remnants of Christmas stock.

It was a quiet Monday morning so the volunteer on the till and the extra-shift volunteer set to moving all things around.

Was I just issuing commands? Well, yes and no.

I was peering round from the door at the back issuing further instructions and generally thanking and praising, between dealing with ( and ‘dealing with’ means a lot of books into re-cycling sacks and relatively few into crates to be sent upstairs to be priced and shelved) an apparently never-ending slough of donations.

The teetering pile had had a dent made in it on Saturday by another sterling volunteer, but just as I thought I might me making headway on Monday, another smiling donator would bring in ‘the first of a few boxes…’

And so it went on – and on, and on.

By 3pm I had had enough, and decided to leave.

The shelves looked OK, the pile was cleared – but things are still amiss:

For the first time since I have worked there – and yes dear reader, that is some years – we are short of natural history books.

Those shelves, upstairs and down, are literally bare.

We usually have loads of books on birds, animals, insects, the geology of Cornwall (actually we do have one of those but it is not likely to be a great seller in Petersfield), the Natural History of Selbourne (Gilbert White lived just up the road), trees, the coast etc etc.

But right at this moment, nothing.

As you know, I change the table display every week usually on a Thursday.

This week, I am planning to put The Geology of Cornwall and the one, solitary, bird book we have, on the table with a notice saying:

Thank you so much to everyone who donates books here.

Oxfam could not do its work with the poor and war-torn without you.

Our bookshop could not survive without your donations.

We are grateful for every donation but we would especially be grateful for books you no longer need on anything to do with

NATURAL HISTORY.

Thank you.

What do you think? Will that work?

I do love a sparkly.

I am a big fan of jewellery and I have to say that my best beloved is a good sparkly buyer.

It doesn’t all have to be expensive – but more of that later.

A wise friend once told me that she bought a piece of jewellery for herself when anything significant happened in her life.

So, I took a leaf out of her advice, as it were.

I have earrings which commemorate my resignation from a difficult organisation, earrings which commemorate me finding this place to live, a bracelet for a good friend who died, another for a significant birthday…

The first ring my BB bought me, the owl brooch he bought back from Paris, the Saxon scarf pin made into a necklace he bought for a birthday, and the diamond ring from a pawn shop in Brussels to try and convince Washington that we were married – it was never needed for that purpose but I still wear it as if it was……..

My jewellery box is memories and, I have to say, is used to make sure each piece is worn with the right outfit.

Not all of my jewellery is ‘real’.

I have this necklace bought in Accesorize way back when.

It has large amethysts, small diamonds and pearls ( no, of course not real) and it decorates your décolletage, as they said in Brussels.

And when I wore it in Brussels so many people complimented me and ooh’d and ahh’d that I fell into a story.

‘My great great grandmother had to flee Russia just after the revolution and she brought it with her. Almost the only thing she managed to get out. It was sewn into the hem of her dress and though her husband had promised to follow with the rest of the family jewels, he didn’t make it out.

She married a man she met in London when making her living in the East End and said that the necklace would always be passed to the eldest daughter.’

And that, dear reader, was me, as I told a breathless audience of Brussels cocktail party women.

Anyway, just before Christmas I was shopping, as you do, and trying to tick off everything on the list, as you do, when my sis rang me.

She was doing the same, and had had a moment of missing our mum – no one to check the arrangement details with, however frustrating that was now and then.

Mothers leave a very significant mother-shaped hole in your life.

As I was walking back to the car park, laden down ,as you are, and wondering how much time I had left on the car-park ticket, I stopped to look in the window of a second hand jewellery shop.

I  saw an opal ring and went inside.

I waited whilst the rather elderly woman served the previous customer and he was collecting a mended something for his wife of 50 years and they talked about it, and his long marriage.

I was conscious of the time ticking away but I stayed, and when she got to me and asked what I wanted, I got to try on the opal ring.

It fitted exactly, and I explained that I was looking to buy something to remember my mother by – something I could wear that she would have said, ‘ Oh darling that is lovely’ and every time I put it on, I would hear her say that.

‘I am retiring after many years in this business and I like stories of how my jewellery will be worn so let’s halve the price and you will wear that ring and I will think of you wearing it,’ she said.

For once I was not so pleased by the bargain as for the gesture, and I am wearing it, and I hope both she and my mother are pleased.

Buying something from an auction is as much a rescue mission as a shopping expedition,  I tell my best beloved.

And here is a tale of one great rescue mission:

I went to a country auction looking for a chair to re-upholster and I was in bullish mood – a button backed one, I thought.

(To non-upholsters, I need to mention, button-backing is a more than usually fiddly business in an already time-consuming business, so you need to gird a few loins if you are going to do one.)

I found this one.

(It is Victorian and won’t have the gold draylon on it when I have finished with it.)

This auction requires you to go and have a good look around on the Friday and give up a lot of your Saturday to be there for the bidding.

Of course, you see several chairs and have to juggle your bidding.

Lot 100 at 11.30 maybe be a goer as far as you are concerned but lot 320 at 1.30 is a much better bet – but can you chance missing the first lot and then be outbid on the second…. you see what I mean.

Anyway, I wandered around, looking for the chair that I wanted,  pulling and pushing to see which chairs were strong, and so on.

I saw other stuff which was lovely and should I have won the lottery and moved to a much bigger house, I would have bid on.

‘Brown’ furniture may be making a come-back in London but here in the depths of the countryside you can get it for a song – and for some of those pieces, I would have sung.

There was this lovely arts and crafts/art nouveau dresser.

Hand-made, of course, in oak with brass fittings and carving decorations and, and, and.

I had seen it and admired the side-racking, the proportions and, and – and  thought it would make at the auction, say, £700 given that this is not retail, so you get things cheaper.

So, I identified my chair(s) and went back the next day and waited, and waited.

My first choice of chair – dear reader, I have a better eye than wallet – went for far more than I could afford, so I was hanging around for the next lot.

Whilst viewing I had seen a croupier’s rake.

Smooth, light, old – no doubt with a lot of stories to tell and very tactile.

The lot came up and no one bid.

I looked at it, reached over to where it was lying and touched it.

‘Come on madam. There’s a whole new career beckoning  you,’ said the auctioneer.

So I bid, and got it for £5.

And then, when I was waiting for my chair lot, the dresser came up.

‘Ahh,’ I thought, ‘ I always have a better eye then wallet.’

But, dear reader, no one bid at all.

I got it for £50.

Of course, there was the commission, and to pay for it to be delivered – and persuade my best beloved, who I have to say, was easy to persuade, that we should swap our old pine dresser for this one.

But all in all it cost me just over £120.

Old (and indeed not so old) pine is still in fashion and so we sold our previous dresser online and we have made a considerable profit.

And we love our rescued dresser.