Ode to Old

Without history there would be no such thing as mystery: it casts shadows in broad daylight that cannot be seen; and even when you're grasping it in the palm of your hand - you can never really hold all of it.

Growing up, my first dictionary was a battered old thing. The edges were worn, the paper was creased, the pages were yellowed and the cover was fading. I don't know where it came from, my whole life it was just there. Even my parents couldn't comfort me with an explanation. It looked less like something you'd find in Angus & Robertson, Borders and Dymocks – and more like something you'd find on the bookshelf of a haunted castle.

Adding to this already stoic quality, the first page bore the words 'This book belongs to Amelia Butler'. The words were of an untamed, messy quality – kind of like mine at that age.

The name haunts me – and yet only a part of me wants to know who Amelia Butler is. The rest of me is addicted to the mystery. And I think this is what gave birth to my fascination with op-shopping.

Where other people see smelly, cheap old things – I see beautiful vintage just waiting to be bought, begging me to add my own history. And to think, some of these things have probably been around longer than I have been alive.

I love knowing that I can never really own the old books, jewellery, clothing or handbags that I buy. Rather, I am sharing it with the ones that came before me, and the ones that will hopefully come after. I feel connected to the past through strangers who share my taste.

I am lucky to have a friend who shares in my sentiment, and we have vowed not to make the same mistake of our mothers by throwing old stuff away. Now, or should I say later, our kids will be the coolest!

If the best things are life are free, op-shopping comes second, with capitalism in third place.