Hjälp!

We have to move. I am fast filling our small city flat with junk. So much so that we are looking at buying a house in the suburbs, eeeek! I never thought I’d see the day...

During my summer holiday up in Norrland I discovered the delights of the loppis. Much to my Swedish in-laws dismay and mirth, I became obsessed with spotting the small hand drawn signs with arrows hiding in the bushes. Unfortunately for them I am becoming increasingly accomplished at the art of loppis locating.

They are amazed that I can find the signs and even more amazed that I can find such fun in collecting apparent debris. Of course to me a Swedish colander is much more exciting than the English equivalent. Who could have predicted the pure ecstasy in finding a wall mounted tray holder for 10kr. I’ve already got orders from several friends requesting the next tray holder goes to them… one man’s tat is another man’s unusual kitchen accessory…..or something like that.

 

It has become such a serious addiction (got to be better than crack?) that I found myself unreasonably upset as we drove past a loppis on our way home one day. My heart sank as I imagine the very best of ‘fynds’ in this now forever lost barn. To be honest I had already bought enough on this trip to open a little boutique of my own but still I craved more... I had no idea how we would carry all the stuff back to Stockholm on the coach; I left it to my trusty pack horse (the boyfriend) to worry about the logistics.

 

Now here is a strange thing, The Swedes don’t seem to want to haggle. Honestly, I have tried in earnest to barter. It’s not like I offer pathetic amounts, far from it, I believe I am very fair. At first I thought it was because of my obvious English accent “huuur mikett?” that I received short shrift from the loppery, but no it’s obviously a completely alien concept for most Swedes. Not only that but most stall holders look at you as if you have asked to sleep with their mother rather than knock 20 kronor from an over-priced vase, I did however buy the vase. I have given up on bargaining, well at least until my Swedish gets better and/or I get braver.

 

My dream of course is to discover a Stig Lindberg original in a loppis hidden in the woods. This however has evaded me thus far. Although I did manage to buy some of the quintessentially Swedish ‘picnic’ service from a vicar in Hudiksvall at a good price. For some reason I felt guilty because he was a vicar, maybe I felt God knew I was getting a terrific bargain? I’ll keep on searching for these mythical finds as I have heard of serious charity shoppers making amazing discoveries. I’ll carry on digging through boxes of china whilst holding my thumbs for a Lisa Larsson figurine.

 

Mostly I like to loppis on my own as others don't have the stamina or foolishness (depends how you look at it) for hours sifting though rubbish in the hope of discovering a discarded gem. It takes a certain mentality to be 'good' at loppis; a peculiar combination of determination, imagination, thriftiness and bravery (I am in constant fear of coming across a dead rat in a dank corner, or even worse a live one). I have, however, turned a couple of Swedes on to the wonders of flea markets. My first convert took a while, too many visits ending with me laden with bits and bobs and them returning empty handed, Our poor friend Micke, after a long day of fruitless exploration finally found something he liked, he spotted a playboy plimsole in a crowded cabinet and asked to try them on. Much to all our amusement the woman behind the counter told him there was only one shoe, as far as she knew, and would he still like to try it on. He now joins me, hobbling along each week, looking for the other shoe.

 

 

 

Two school chairs, one old wooden hanger from a 50s Göteborg clothing store with a butterfly embossed on it. (I gave this to my friend Kim back in the U.K. She loved it and has added it to her collection.) A wooden apple with a little face on it, a pottery owl, some Swedish folk albums and singles with lovely illustrations on the covers (I haven’t even listened to these yet), all manner of jugs, mugs and rugs, one wooden lamp shade, hand bag, carrier bag, travel bag, plates, bowls, ice buckets (yes plural), teak salad servers, tiny spoons for coffee, a book of Swedish songs with jolly drawings, a 30’s filing tray which swivels on my already crowded desk, a small bedside table, hat and coat rack big enough even for Moomin papa’s hat, a lovely pair of cream leather boots, a handful of colourful scarves for dressing up outfits and a 50s Italian bathroom cabinet in perfect condition.