Glass hunting in Abingdon

I've been meaning for ages to get myself around the charity shops in Abingdon in Oxfordshire. The town is just next to where I work and although the journey time there can only be 10 minutes or so, through a series of pathetically short lunch breaks and early closing times of Charity shops, (why do they do this? OK you're a volunteer at the shop but do you have to go home at half past 4? You're probably an old retired Granny but what could possibly be waiting for you at home? Countdown? Poached egg on toast? Or has a colostomy bag only the capacity for 4 hours on your feet?) I've never managed to make it.

Well seeing as I was a half day holiday today I thought this no better opportunity to see what the winding muses and little back arcades of Abingdon might have to offer. The chap I work with, The Gash Man, is a resident of Abingdon and he is forever slagging it off as a dumping ground for all other inner city's nightmare teenagers. He lives in fear most of the time, timidly peeking around his curtains before rushing into his armoured car when the coast is clear to wheel spin down the gauntlet that is his local streets.

To be honest I don't know what his probably is as Abingdon looks on the surface to be a most pretty and picturesque town. If you park in the car park just over the river (60p for an hour - Mmmmmm) then you walk back into town looking at some pretty nice views. The river and the church and magnificent and some of the older buildings have a really nice "ye olde world" feel about them.

And I'll say this for Abingdon, it has some of the best Charity shops I've ever been into! Firstly they are all massive! Full of nooks and crannies and absolutely heaving with odds and ends. Even the shops where I didn't find any glasses were treasure troves of oddments and curios. I almost got lost in two of them and it was only because I'd left a trail of liquorice allsorts that I managed to find my way out.

And did I find glasses? Did I ever Trevor! I got two in the Red Cross shop and was served by a most friendly South American lady. Well I say South American, she might have come from Didcot and was just putting on a accent for a laugh, but she was one of those flirty types who instantly says "Good Afternoon!" as soon as you step into the shop. She wrapped the glasses in a triple layer of bubble wrap and then put them in a bag, which is quite hard if you're wearing rubber gloves as she was. "I 'ave to wear zee zings" she told me with a wink, "Zou neeeever is knowing what zou is findings in the bags" she added with a throaty chuckle. Well perhaps I made the chuckle up but her forwardness seemed almost like an invitation to see if she needed help with anything in the back store room. I then scored another hit in a local charity shop (The dead dogs hospice or something like that) where I was served by a polite but standard issue Granny charity shop worker, she didn't smell so her bag can't have been full yet.

The other thing I noticed about Abingdon, is that it is like stepping back in time, in both a good and a bad way. Firstly the good way, I found a whole series of shops that had been lifted straight out of a 1970's shopping arcade. They were "Ladies' Shops" selling "Ladies' Apparel" and the two I saw were called "Marie" and "Elaine". They're the sort of shop which are tiny, have a single mannequin in the window dressed in a summer frock and can only possibly stock three other dresses, four skirts and two blouses. They probably though have a full range of girdles, gusseted tights and hats in any shape or size you could possibly wish for. It's a complete mystery to me how on earth these shops survive, unless they're a front for a upstairs crack house of illegal poker den. And who on earth are their target shoppers? Does Abingdon have the only surviving enclave of Stepford Wives left in England. Does the Shake and Vac lady live nearby and often has the Bisto mum and the her mates round for lunch? I really can't see the gentle-ladies of Oxfordshire saying "Now I really do need another outfit for Gerald's work's do. I know I'll just pop down to Marie's and see if she's got anything new in" - Or perhaps they do. I must ask Gash's missues.

But on the bad side Abingdon is the proud possessor of a fully fledged Precinct. Now this isn't the ultra modern steel and glass constructions you mostly see nowadays. No, this was a concrete monstrosity, all angled and squared edged pebble dashed prefabs that sits right in the middle of the rest of Abingdon's genteel outside. The strange thing was, that underneath the hanging signs, advertising each shop (Yes they had those, although they could have been renamed to "Pikey Shoes" or "Nasty Clothes" for all they were worth) were the whole range of Abingdon underlife. Apart from the token drunkard and the truanting children were more Chavs than you could shake a hooped gold earring at. There were more tattoos on display than a bikers' fest in the Isle of Mann and more trainers and nylon than a basketball court. The place was littered with beer cans, fag butts and betting slips and just looked a rare old state. Highlight of the Precinct was a Woolworths trying to sell soggy papers (I know, I tried to buy one). But as soon as you stepped outside this Burberry prison you were back in the sunny world of gentle England. So either the inhabitants of the Precinct like it there, or they don't know there is a road past Woolworths and believe they really cannot go further than the Bacon's shoe shop and the Mister Minit, or like a homing pigeon, no matter where you place a Chav, they will find their way back to their natural habitat. Personally I think it's option 2, when you've got a Baker's Oven and a Threshers on tap, what more can you want?