STANDING knee deep in salvage scrap isn’t every girl’s idea of a stonking Saturday afternoon.
Luckily my girlfriends and I aren’t your average lasses, so a trip down the coastal path to Prestonpans for a peek around Sam Burns’ Yard was seriously the highlight of my week.
It was vintage heaven free from pretension. I could hardly contain myself strolling past a plethora of goodies from antique chaise longues to modern mirrors.
But I wasn’t here for me. My designer girlfriend, Carolyn, is just about to venture into pastures new. Taking her online dress boutique from the web to a little shop on Broughton Street.
We’ve all pitched in, stitching stock, consulting on wall paint – white fading to pink was my preference – and now cramming three pieces of large furniture plus two dolly birds into a Mini.
This was quite the challenge and of immense amusement to the patron and punters picking through piles.
The sofa went first, followed by a white wicker seat, then a 1950s blush velvet parlour chair last. Rapidly realising we were getting nowhere, the only logical way of stuffing a Mini was to balance one chair on the passenger’s lap.
The drive home was an experience, pinned by antiques with the boot open to the elements.
Whoever said fashion was glamorous was clearly fibbing.