Yesterday I bought a winter coat from Oxfam. It was an absolute find – a warm boiler jacket type garment by a reputable French designer. Perfect for the cold snap, and at only five quid I couldn’t leave it.

Charity shops hold a particular fascination for me, not just because I like a bargain. I love the sustainability of second hand clothes, and most of the things you buy transcend fashion in a way that Katherine Hamnett could only dream of. But most of all I love the unpredictability of the shopping experience. Quite often you will find something in your size that you don’t like, and something you really like that’s not in your size. Only very occasionally do you find a garment that checks both boxes.

What this boils down to for me is choice, or lack of it. Lack of choice is more often than not a cause for complaint, but in my opinion it is the redeeming feature of the charity shop. Maybe it’s because I’m a Piscean – or perhaps I’m just indecisive and there’s no astrological excuse – but too much variety is definitely not the spice of my life.

Sometimes I just want someone to make decisions on my behalf, or failing that, to remove variables so I am left with only a handful of possible outcomes. I am aware this makes me sound interminably dull, but there are many decisions in life that are either too painful to contemplate, or just aren’t worth the brain power.

On a recent expedition to Birmingham’s Bullring in search of the perfect winter coat, I was immediately struck with the sheer magnitude of my mission. Every shop is big, and crammed to the rafters with stock. I doubted whether I had time, let alone the inclination, to pick through each rail in every shop even without the kids in tow.

After about an hour of resolute browsing, my head began to hurt. I only had three criteria – right size, right style, right price – yet I managed to find about 20 coats that ticked all those boxes. The only problem was I hadn’t seen a single one that screamed “Buy me!” All I knew was that I needed a coat and I wasn’t going home without one so I grabbed the cheapest from the long shortlist and headed home in search of neurofen with a coat that would do.

One major decision in my life that I can’t seem to make is about where I want to live. My husband and I know we don’t want to stay in Birmingham forever, as that would inevitably mean our children would grow up saying ‘kipper tie’ when enquiring as to whether a hot beverage is desired. But where do we go? There are lots of places we like, but because neither of us have jobs in the conventional sense, we have no tangible reason to up sticks and leave. An overwhelming benefit of being an employee would be that my boss would get to decide where I live.

So if everything in life could be as simple (and ethical) as a charity shop, I would be happy. I would have far less clutter, I wouldn’t buy things for the sake of it, and the items I did buy would be less disposable because I would feel lucky to have found them. As for my town-bought coat, I’ll be taking it to the charity shop first thing!