When I first returned to the UK (after fifty odd years) I frantically job hunted. It was a shock to discover I was past my sell-by-date. Degrees and experience meant zero. Fair enough.
I finally found myself a job. Managing a charity shop. And loved it. It didn’t pay much but was more fun than sliced bread. The volunteers, amazing people. Community Service, i.e. minor criminals – drink drive and so forth, serving their sentence. All had a story. The customers – from every walk of life. Some of them quite mad. The donations – many of which needed needed investigation – Gucci, Pucci, Valentino, serious designer gear. Collectibles – everything from vintage toys to solid, dated silver. Can you tell a real pearl from a fake? I can. Or a diamond from glass? Not so easy. A repro from the original? Almost every donation represented a challenge of some sort or other.
After seven years of this – I burnt out. The shop had been taken as far as it could go. So I headed for Spain.
Seven years on I am now more in UK than in Spain, although I do have options :-). Backwards and forwards, as I like.
I applied to volunteer for a newly opened Charity Shop. 15 minutes walk from where I live. It has taken 2 months for my application to be approved, despite the fact that they are clearly desperately in need of help. Fair enough. It is raising money for a hospice which do wonderful work. They have to be careful.
One shift of sorting clothes. (Good stuff – never been worn – all original lables still attached). 4 hours of serious hard labour – my back was killing me. Never the less, signed on for two shifts a week.
And now I have the f…ing lurgy! Sore throat, spaced out head, and a cough to skrik vir nix!!
No good deed goes unpunished :-).
I shall have to drag myself to the shop and grovel. No point in spreading it around. Hopefully they will let me back when I have recovered.
Meanwhile I have photographs (Can’t post without pix).
donations Never a dull moment, although seriously hard work. I