Walking on the ground you're breaking, laughing at the life you're wasting

Rowr.

I love Vinnies. It fucking fascinates me. You walk into a den of absolute chaos, trash and gold. Vinnies bursts at the seams with Catholic paraphernalia, AC/DC t-shirts and Margaret Fulton cookbooks. But there are also the gems. And the kitsch, oh the glorious kitsch.

The vast array of clothes worn by people long dead that feel itchy when you pull them on. And you wonder who held this strange troll. Or sat this fluffy tiger on the end of their bed.

Vinnies reminds you of your Nana, with all those formidable crucifixes and statues of the Virgin Mary.

There are records, not to mention hundreds of VCRs and tapes. Looking for Robert Goulet With Love or Disney's Christmas Favourites?

You're in luck, sonny.

Vinnies is a museum of suburban history.

And just for kicks, I tried on a wedding dress. Yes, it was a bit creepy. But I was imagining the bride who wore it fifty years before (1962 was on the label). And this Nana used to be one skinny bitch. I couldn't even get the zipper all the way up.