Icon: more forays from M. de B'Argain
 Alain de B'Argain

Shop talk with
Alain de B'Argain


Our charity shop critic lands on stormy Stornoway - to a deservedly frosty reception from the locals

I HAVE A NEW IDEA for a charity: Save the Children…from Fudge.

My latest charity shop appraisal found me in Stornoway in the windblown northwest of this scepter’d isle. The Brunette’s Uncle Murray has an annual Hogmanay at his Hebridean lodge and we were obliged to go, if only to lessen the chance of the old letch visiting us in Belsize Park.

To avoid his laboured banter over New Year I used the time to offload our unwanted Christmas gifts in the nearby bustling metropolis that is Stornoway.

I’m not sure the capital of the Western Isles is quite ready for a Morphy Richards breadmaker. I am not, and nor will I ever be. To explain: Sally and Rod Cavendish are dear, dear friends of ours, but they are inept when it comes to Christmas gifts. A bloody breadmaker. For moi? God in heaven! Or should that be God unleaven?

The breezy Brunette Rod keeps threatening to come round to sample the Brunette’s warm baps, a joke I do not find remotely funny given an alleged incident twixt the pair in Johnny le Croix’s pool last summer.

But I digress. Wandering down Church Street I found four charity shops on one corner. The startling fluorescent lighting of Save the Children drew me in like a moth to the inevitable pile of Top of the Pops LPs. But, shockingly, there were none. Surely a first. Instead, I was assailed by boxes of fudge.

The beauty of charity shops is that you can find anything, but some items should be banned. Among these are autobiographies by weather men, combat trousers and that most evil of confections, fudge. It is not the taste so much as the hysterical presumption that no British holiday is complete without spending £2.99 on a box of rancid sugar decorated with a Technicolour castle scene.

Actually, I hadn’t realised they were into fudge north of the border, although perhaps I should have guessed by the fetid state of Uncle Murray’s teeth.

Unimaginatively I bought the Brunette a tartan scarf, but one so garish that I can only imagine it associated with the McEyeburn clan. I also paid £10 for a pair of extraordinary tartan loon pants with ‘Scotland’ emblazoned across the front. Let’s call it a moment of charitable weakness. Yours for £1.95

My purchase elicited some Gaelic giggling from the two biddies behind the counter. As one totalled up my bill, which included a cribbage board for 75p and a natty brown trilby complete with grouse feather for £1.95, I quipped that as the lighting – and the tartan - in the shop were so strong, perhaps they might consider doubling as Stornoway’s first, and much-needed, tanning centre.

The ghostly silence that enveloped the store was finally broken by the ‘parp’ of the Calmac ferry ushering me back to the Brunette. I hastily gathered my belongings and sped off, breadmaker still rattling around the rucksack.

Bustling her briskly up the gangway, I breathed a mighty sigh as the craft edged away and Uncle Murray merged into the mist. Over the seas & away, I was whisked to freedom, but alas, the fabled Morphy & Richards didn’t make it. ‘Tis forever a watery grave… At some stage I will persuade Rod that his gift is better off raising money for children or pets or pensioners. But for now, I think I will “fudge” the issue! Ho ho!

Next month: London (thank God)
Save the Children: in their own words
Save the Children UK : in their own words
Save the Children fights for children in the UK and around the world who suffer from poverty, disease, injustice and violence. We work with them to find lifelong answers to the problems they face.

We are achieving real and lasting change for children by focusing on: health, education, hunger and protection. We work for a world that respects and values each child, listens to children and learns, and where all children have hope and opportunity.

See our profile of Save the Children UK