Few charity shop rummages produce treasure like the ones that are out of town. The ones that you think "the place looks like it should be condemned - I'll bet it's cheap". The ones you walk into, only to be greeted with a smell you cannot, and refuse to, identify.
You are about to leave when you spot a homemade cardigan. You convince yourself that it was knitted by a Nana. And for £1.50 you clutch it to you like gold.
Gold that needs a wash.
The Cardy, The Winnie the Woolen and the Shoes.
You wash it and dry it and put it straight on, with glee and gay abandon. You skip round your parents front room in it clapping and wishing you knew the telephone number of the Nana who knitted it. You want to buy her some flowers, you love it so.
Well. That is how I reacted to this bargainous beauty!