Sofa, so good

Because I'm forty and single and love dogs (and like to try my hardest to conform to other dimensions suggested by that stereotype), I've got a sticker on the back of my car reminding casual observers that a dog is for life and not just for Christmas. It also makes me happy to drive around advertising to other motorists that I'm unlikely to stop abruptly and hurl a sad eyed puppy out of the window without giving them sufficient braking space.

However, at least a dog might have a chance of finding a second home should the worst happen. The same cannot be said for soft furnishings. I've observed a real spate of abandonments recently, almost to the extent that it seems as if the community has decided en masse that outside (the front gate) is the new inside (front room). Rather like those emotive mailings from homeless dog shelters that tell you there's a rush on for Staffie puppies but that no one wants to adopt Tessie the terrier because she's twelve years old and has a wonky eye, there is a similar hierarchy at work in the casting to the pavement of household items. Unscientific observation shows that television sets, armchairs, settees, and suitcases are the items we love the least. And of those, that armchairs fare the worst of all.

Which brings two questions into my mind:

One: Do people fail to notice that their homes already have the full quota of seating items and buy another by accident (rather like when you pick up a dozen eggs from the greengrocer and find when you get home that there are already 36 in the fridge)?

Two: Or do most people simply have more cash and-slash-or a greater sense of 'what's hot / what's not' in the soft furnishing department than me and grow quickly tired of their three piece ensemble?

It being an unscientific study and all, I'm not sure what the answer is. What I am sure of though is that an awful lot of apparently decent and comfortable-looking armchairs and sofas bite the bullet and end up on the pavement very frequently.

But what's a bad news story for the individual items of discarded furniture is great news for the eagle-eyed pavement emporium bargain hunter. I have certainly been the beneficiary of this largess on a number of occasions (the most timely find being a swivelling office chair in beige tweed with adjustable arms). I have also been the donor too - although I feel compelled to add that I have always attached a note to my reusable items saying (helpfully I like to think) "Please help yourself!" and describing any known defects "this TV is in full working order but never had a remote control".

My late Gran used to remark that in her long ago growing up days in Scotland, there was an 'appointed' day each week when folk up and down the close would leave outside the items they no longer needed so that others could take them if they had a use for them. This wonderful reciprocal system - proper recycling in action - must have meant that babies' cots, say, or extra dining chairs were almost endlessly reused without really ever leaving the community at all. Indeed, the flagship project my charity runs is a furniture reuse enterprise, a rather more formal version of pretty much the same thing that happened in my Gran's day. Their most popular item? Three piece suites, naturally.

Anyway, fast forward to this evening and I stepped outside the door to go to my yogalates class (see, I'm still trying with the attention to stereotype conformity). Walking along the road parallel to me were two men, laughing with great delight whilst pushing two Tesco trolleys with an armchair balanced on the top of each one. I'm quite certain that they had rescued these two homeless strays and were, at that moment, bearing them away - with justifiable glee - to their new home. But I do hope they remember that a sofa is for life, not just for Christmas.