One Man’s Offensive Object with No Discernable Purpose is Another Man’s Treasure.

There is a lot to be said for the ‘so ugly it’s beautiful’ aesthetic. (To which anyone who has been witness to the Crotchety Nana Throws A Tea Party In A 70’s Bachelor Pad styles found at my place can attest). Inspired by the ‘so wrong it’s right’ school of thought, this philosophy of decorating is accessible to anyone, provided they have a robust sense of humour and are prepared to defend their lounge room at short notice.
(Phrases useful for such defence include: “Don’t fight it – you know it works”, “I asked myself, What would Buck Rogers do?”, “Well I didn’t invite you over because I thought you had vision” and “Stop laughing, you’re spraying soda stream on my shag pile”.)

In one of those mystical acts of alignment, I have discovered Palmerston North to be home to the sort of deliciously dodgy second hand objects that a connoisseur of fugly lives to possess. Favourite sources include Roslyn Trading Post on Russell Street, The Red Cross Store on Pioneer Highway and Arohanui Hospice Shop on Ngata Street, 3 of about 10 worth browsing.

To fully embrace this panache you have to take it beyond the breakfast nook and onto your person. Alladin’s Cave on George Street is a stone cold God send. It’s an experience beyond the printed word; a narrow and dated interior, saturated with stock and making no apologies for it’s ‘quantity > quality’ world view. (Don’t take a large bag/umbrella/lapdog and attempt to turn around. You jangle the bejesus out of it, you bought it.)

My theory on the appeal of mustard yellow formica, textured wallpaper and squat, orange salt pigs is that it’s an attempt to recapture the environment in which you were happiest as a child. The strange thing is I don’t remember living in Bruce Forsyth’s conversation pit the first time around.