Clothes Cull

I were that bored today I tidied out me wardrobe. I'd already done as much housework as I can take on a Sunday morning (20mins), it was raining outside and I had a nagging voice in my head reminding me that it should be done. Soon. Before the next visit of my flea market lady.

So I pulled out all my clothes and barely hesitated over the ruthless cull of mistakes and optimistic mis-purchases. I got rid of most of my skirts; I don't like skirts, I prefer dresses and trousers, but sometimes I get an idea that I would wear a skirt and so I buy one. We're not talking big money here. My flea market lady's average price is €15, so a skirt might be €20.

It's hopeless really because I then never get to wear it. I think a lot of my dislike is because they don't fit properly. I'm not an odd size, but I don't like clothes that don't fit, and most skirts sit uncomfortably round my middle and then ride up on the waist when I sit down. As I spend a lot of time sat in front of a computer this annoys me like hell.

So out went all the little buggers. Out too went jackets I haven't worn for 3 years, a parachute suit I bought when I was 18 and is really snazzy but, let's face it, one doesn't look the same over 45 as 18, various tops, a couple of dresses - one is for a taller willowy type woman, makes me look like a foreshortened gnome; the other is cut in half high on the waist and I'm never tanned enough there to make it look good.

I filled two large plastic bags. They'll go down the road to a friend's house to see if anything suits for her daughter (I doubt anything but a couple of tops will) and I would then take it to the Secours Catholique, but she has suggested doing a flea market stand and lunching on the proceeds. She still has the clothes from my last throw-out session which were too good to give away to the wallies in the SecoCatho but we can't be fagged to put them on Ebay.

Hopefully we'll make enough to have a bottle of wine too!

Catto Plouc

I had an altercation with a plouc at the Secours Catholique yesterday.

During The Big Clean of my youngest's bedroom, a fair amount of stuff had been set aside to go to the Secours Catholique. Other stuff was destined for the dump. Little by little I am ridding my life of previous crap. It's very therapeutic.

Last weekend, my TWDB and I cleaned the garage. That resulted in another trip to the dump, a swept garage floor, room for 3 bikes (not the 7 there previously were) and a BMW GS1200 - its summer quarters.

I still have a number of 205 GTI wheels that I need to get rid of that came with the 406 in the boot and I have never got round to either selling or taking to the breaker's, and a dismantled wardrobe whose bits I've probably lost and would never put back together anyway...

So yesterday's task was dumping a boot-full at the Secours Catho. It included a box of Nintendo stuff. The shop is at the top of some stone stairs, so I carried the box up and saw what I can only describe as a plouc loitering on the terrasse looking dodgy. He was quite small, very skinny, half naked (top half) and had dreadful pock-marked skin. There was a boy of about 9 with him who looked much more presentable.

I put down the box and went back to the car to get more stuff. When I was going up the stairs for the second time, the kid was walking down with my box. Oi, said I, where are you going with that? He replied that the lady had said that all stuff in the corner (where I had put my box) was to be thrown away. A bit disingenuous there and now obviously from the same plouc stock.

I told him I'd only just brought it, it was not for throwing away and he had to turn round and put it back. He did, and I removed the box to a safer spot. The dad muttered something incomprehensible which I ignored.

The next time I came up the stairs I saw the plouc walking down with the box. Did you pay for that? I asked. He said he had, and I could check if I wanted. I said I would do just that, and went into the shop. There, I found some batty old dear who looked like she was in a flap. I asked, loudly if she had sold a box of stuff to some guy. She looked confused, so I repeated my question fixing her with a 'for god's sake, please concentrate' look. Light dawned and she said he had, so that was okay.

I didn't ask how much, that wasn't my problem but it was probably ridiculously cheap.

So I came out again and saw the plouc. So? he said, I did pay, didn't I? Yes, I replied not giving a shit as long as he didn't steal the damned box. I'm not thief, he replied. Good, said I, and he started muttering insults and said he would 'get me'. Ooh, I said, I'm scared...! mocking his empty threats.

I took up the last of my stuff, ignored him and his kid and drove off wondering if I would take stuff back to the Secours Catholique again or just chuck it all in the dump as it seemed to amount to the same thing.