Saturday, November 29, 2008
Way up in the middle north, in a desolated spot once housing a WW2 barracks billet post,there lies a weird and wonderful, and mostly deserted Aladdin's cave. Two disused storage shelters have been converted into a shop of sorts, calling itself "Jurby Junk". It is owned and run by a sweet old lady who may very well have some of her own fond youthful memories of this place as it once stood. It is far from easy to find your way here, there are no signs and the roads are few. But is certainly very well worth a trip. Piled from floor to ceiling in glorious squalor, everything you never wanted but can sorely do without is guaranteed to be found, from moth-eaten fur coatsworn out gramophone records,jumbles of mis-matched buttons,to 70's mannequins and original (crap) oil paintings, it's all here for the taking.Take your pick, from second-hand golf clubsto battle-fatigued hockey sticks,it's a cornucopia of veritable trash far too vital to bin.As in Stephen King's "Needful Things", there is bound to be one particular single item to set your mouth to a-drooling and eyes aglaze. It was the hat-boxes that did it for me, what chance did a poor girlie stand in the wake of these piles of heavenly houses? It crushed my heart not to buy the lot outright, but even I knew fifteen quid a throw was far too steep for sense.So I settled my heavy heart and self downto be consoled with a rummage between the stacks and stacks of pick-and-mix, higglety-piggelty, almost ready to topple over on me books instead. It turned out to be a fine old afternoon indeed.