These quite ridiculous boots called me across the expanse of car park at Brighton Marina and begged me to buy them (it ain’t called a car boot sale for nuthin’). And they were only £3. I have, in the week or so that they have been mine, worn them onstage and to a wedding – an informal outdoors event in a field, the groom a member of a bluegrass/American roots-folk-type band, so not entirely inappropriate – and have already evoked green-eyed jealousy in many, not least my onetime DJ-ing pardner, fellow Banjo Widow and comrade-in-cowgirl-crime ‘Calamity’ Kim (so ner, Kim, if you’re reading this). And don’t you get any ideas about snaffling them just yet either, dear bandmate Maria. I think I may have to pick my occasions for showing them off, however, as I wouldn’t want anyone to mistake me for a line-dancer (dear Lord, no).
Not a bad week or two for the Usual Shop, then, and some fine finds and gains. I did also get to another jumble sale at Plumpton, from which I can add a £2 Barbour jacket (of the classic conservative countryperson variety, not a trendy belted/quilted modern-day one), a checked flannel shirt for my friend C, a cafetiere, a stainless steel container for toothbrushes, and a pair of ‘twisted’ jeans D doesn’t want. The Barbour’s lost to the depths of my car boot under a heap of camping stuff right now, and the rest wasn’t worth photographing. It all pales into significance compared to the far more exciting fake fur and these boots, anyway.