Donned in my finest clothes (luncheon date a little later) I popped out for the papers and tube of Ibuleve muscle rub, anyway as I left the chemist I felt in need of more excitement so off I drove to the charity shop around the corner the one near the tattoo shop. Both were open but I only visited one...


I was met, as usual, by crazy old Joan whose face flooded with blood as she hugged me.
"Ooooh you do look smart today" said Joan as she towered over me.
"Thanks Joanie matey" I smiled "I'm off out later for half a shandy and pickled onion"
I thought her face would explode so loud was her laugh, so puffed her veined cheeks.
We bantered for the next couple of minutes about my drink problem and her daughter's do over the Easter break. Loads coming over apparently and all wanting trifles and legs of lamb.
Poor Joan, she seems to be everyone's mum.

After I'd extricated myself from her grip she let me wander around the shop where I found:

A largish cream coloured conical shaped bowl, now home to various fruits. £1. (Oh God I'd love a cottage)

A small gift for a small friend. £2. Gift could prove lethal in hands of exuberant creative young man. Wooden toys a.k.a post-lunch missiles. Bless:(

A plastic suit protector. For my fox fur. Free. That is how much Joan loves me.

After much banter regarding my clothes I coyly hitched my tweed skirt behind the counter showing a hysterical Joan my Tank Girl Boots.
She is such fun and so willing to play with me that splashing out cash in her shop is more than just pleasure it is essential for our health and general well-being.
A laugh a day keeps the men in white coats away.
Lol.

Anyway after she'd got her old dying breath back we walked to the door and that's when I saw it.

Standing outside.

Its beauty lit by chilly weak sunlight. It was big, it was beautiful and so I said
"That's going home with me. Bag it"
More hysterics and a call to the big bloke out back, the one with the ring through his nose and purple Mohican hair.
Out he ran, his size 22 feet lumbering like elephants.
"I'll help you get it in the car" he boomed.
And so he did. With a lot of hard work.
The coffee table was stunning, shiny brown chequered wood, made in Norway and as heavy as a boat of rocks. Boat of rocks? Hmmm I like that.

Anyway after dismantling nearly the whole car we finally managed to shove it in, the boot though couldn't close. So I tied a couple of plastic bags to one of the legs to warn fellow motorists, then handed over £3 to Iron Man and drove off.......... very very cautiously:)

Arriving home was blissful.

New bowl and new table. All I had to do was unload.

Ran inside with bowl, dropping it on mum's knees, then very carefully I eased the table out, taking every precaution didn't want to risk scraping or scratching the divine top. By divine top I mean its top is gorgeous. Lacquered? Squares in varying shades of tawny brown, tan and mid-nutmeg. Beautiful definitely and really really heavy and awkward to move. But slowly does it and so slowly I did it and before mum could say "Tea please" I had it polished.

A fair morning's work I'd say.

Cheerio:)

Of course I'll post a pic...