I went for a walk down my local high street with a dear friend the other day and we took the opportunity to indulge in one of our favourite silly traditions.
I can’t recall how it started, but every time we pass a particular charity shop together, we scrutinise the items in the window and decide which is the most hideous. The store is particularly well equipped for the challenge, a dumping ground for tragic eveningwear, china figurines, questionable puppets and paintings from the outer suburbs of outsider art. (I did once spot a mint Hermes 3000 typewriter in the window at a bargain price, but it had vanished by the time I returned to buy it.)
