I got a picture of my chair. A picture of my niece sat in my chair from my sister.
There was another picture - a price tag -
Chair
£8
I suppose it wasn't really my chair anymore. It wasn't anyone's right now as it sat out of a charity shop looking to be bought. She found it about 3 miles from me.
I'd left it outside a couple of days before. It had gone pretty quickly. You never know how quick a door step offering is going to disappear - some go before the front door's closed, some will take a few days. A couple of times I've had to admit defeat and take a piece of furniture back inside - at what point would it become flytipping?
It went the same day but it should gone sooner.
I painted it a few years ago. It had been in the living room for a while, collecting dust when I decided that I absolutely needed,I just must have a reading chair. Not only this, but when I did have this reading chair, then I would definitely start, finish and understand Ulysses at last.
I spent a warm weekend painting it in the garden and got in in position in my room.
And then never used it again. Not for sitting on anyway, and certainly not for rocking. It was uncomfortable, cumbersome (I put it in front of a wardrobe and would have to move it to get to my coats), and didn't have the space needed to rock. Turns out I much prefer to read in bed or on the sofa anyway and I don't need a desingated chair - who knew?
Instead it became The World's Worst Designed Bedside Table. It held morning cups of coffee and little piles of clean clothes, night time reading, glasses of water, glasses to see and any other crap that didn't have a place right then. It would get the sun around 3 - at which time my cat would appear.
My dog took a liking to it. She chewed the bottom once. When I discovered her quietly knawing at the chair the damage was already done. It never really bothered me, you couldn't see this when you looked at it. I do think this is probably how it came to be in the charity shop though. Someone might have picked it up in haste and then gotten it home only to discover it's imperfections.
The chair, like most furniture I own was second hand. I don't normally think about the life of the things I own before or after me. But here I could imagine this journey the chair had taken over the last couple of days - kicked to the curb, picked up, taken home, inspected, rejected, taken to the chairty shop, getting a price tag and prime position outside the shop.
This was a week ago so by now it could have been bought, taken home, sanded, repainted and be a in someone else's home. Who knows? - someone might even use it for rocking.
