So after the race on Sunday, Mrs E. and I went to a junk shop in Fort Langley. Fort Langley is the old “capital” of what is now BC. It was a trading fort in days of yore. They moved it a bit supposedly, then moved the government seat wholesale to New Westminster (so named because the British soldiers couldn’t think of anything more imaginative). It was then moved again to Victoria to make sure Canada kept the whole of Vancouver Island and didn’t have to slice it along the 49th parallel.
It calls itself “The Village Antiques Mall” does this place, and is basically a clearing house for people trying to sell tat.
I’m being a little rude (of course!). It’s actually a great place for displaced Brits to kill a couple of hours on a wet weekend. You wander around its winding aisles continually saying things like “WTF?!”; “Oo – my mum had one of those”; “Hey they’ve got my dad’s razor/plane/random tool”. The first is in reference to plastic junk relating to North American TV programmes we’re not familiar with (who the hell is Gilligan?!). The latter to pretty much everything else. The shop it seems is stocked with the contents of the houses of dead rellies… who seemed to be primarily English. There is an unaccountably large collection of Charles’n’Di memorabilia. Also – an awful lot of (empty) tea tins – the black ones with that Chinese bald kid and red/gold trim.
I was nominally in there looking for fountain pens and perhaps a cotton decorative doily. I found both but not to the standards I was willing to part with cash for. I did however discover a hand-cranked apple peeler and good ol’ Robertsons golliwog badges (no longer deemed PC… and therefore ridiculously expensive. Especially as they were originally free with marmalade wrappers soaked off for the purpose of trading!).
I nearly fell through the floor though, when I found a fireplace set EXACTLY like the one I grew up with at my parents house in the UK.
I distinctly remember the Scottish thistle motif and the curiously non-flammable bristles on the brush (Wha’?! I was an inquisitive child…). Also the vaguely creepy “fingers” on the claws of the coal tongs. Ah… memories.