I don't know whether you browse much in charity shops. It's one of my favourite pastimes; as an inveterate collector of other people's past enthusiasms I enjoy entering with a few coins in my pocket and emerging with carrier bags stuffed with treasure trove.
Our house is spatially challenged, so much of the stuff has to go back after it has been listened to, read or played with, but the coins go to worthy causes.
What really happened?
Lately I've been browsing, courtesy of Help the Aged, through Margaret Thatcher's The Downing Street Years. (Having recently picked up biographies of Harolds MacMillan and Wilson, I'm on a bit of a nostalgic binge.) I lived through these events. I saw her cry on TV. Now I can read her side of the story.
