This weekend, I went to a baby nearly new sale and was amazed that so few things sold. At 25p per baby garment, I thought the place would have been emptied in twenty minutes. Over the course of four hours, I sold just enough to cover the meagre stall fee.

In Bury the following day, I happened to walk past Mothercare and saw people queuing to buy baby clothes for £7-15 an  item.

I just don’t get it. All of this waste – it’s just so pointless. Not just from a ‘this’ll end up as landfil’ perspective, but from a money perspective. Surely your child would appreciate it more if you saved as much as you could on baby clothes so that you could save up to get them a car at 17, or put them through uni without any debt if that’s what they choose to do.

But it got me to thinking about myself. I charity shop/bootsale all the time for household things and clothes or toys for Bub, but they’re never the first place I look when I think of clothes for myself. I have decided this has to change.

I don’t care all that much about clothes and would certainly rather keep my car/get the garden stocked with edible plants/get more computer games/a million other things than have fancy clothes. So, having very few winter things (having got rid of all my clothes when I fell pregnant so that I didn’t feel bad about not fitting them any more) I went charity shopping for me.

This is where being able to sew just a little/being prepared to mess with things really comes into its own. Whilst I found a nice shrug in my size, the other things I liked were far larger so needed taking in along the seams very quickly. The 100% New Zealand lambs wool sweater I got for S- will need dying but for £1.99, who can grumble. Finally, I bought a t-shirt, with modification in mind. Husband called the fancy sleeves ‘armour shoulders’ which totally sold this to my nerdy sensibilities.

Now,I realise this will seem like a tangent, but Husband wore a kilt to our wedding, and kilt socks which you have to buy, rather than rent. They’re fairly ornate. In Denmark, it’s tradition to cut the toes out fo the groom’s socks so that his new wife has something to darn straight away. For a giggle, I was going to darn said socks and post a picture to all the a-holes who said ‘it’d never last’ with the caption “best. wife. ever.” But then I thought, I’d rather have warm arms and so sewed the elaborate socks into the armour t-shirt as sleeves. Ta da!

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