The antiques shop was crammed between a motorbike shop and a dusty newsagents with its windows almost entirely smothered in small ads and posters for local events. It made for an interesting wander between bikes and cheap bookshelves filled with old paperbacks. The mess was so overlapped that I began to wonder if both business were owned by the same people.

The entire frontage of the shop was open to the street, with furniture seeming almost to tumble out of the vaguely wedge shaped unit like archaic fruit from some alternative cornucopia of wooden furniture, books, records and other less identifiable objects.