I’m long past that awkward, self-conscious stage.
I was never fashionable and so never had any street cred. But still, being around twelve or thirteen, I would steer my Mum away from the Oxfam window she was about to look in, lest any school friend should see us.
“Scav!” would be the gibe.
Thrift shops I think the Americans call them.
At what point do your scruples change?
Last week I got a pair of jeans for £3.50. I’ve also picked up a jacket for £7.00.
Is this my market now? Falling into my fifties.
It also seems appropriate that I’m mulling this over while passing through a late autumn afternoon, dappled fields lost to a host of daddy longlegs and spiders; ground conceded to the worms of the earth.