Mi name Varon, come London 1948. Mi see chair come, chair go.

Mi live top floor above de shop, but dat armchair keep we warm. But mi tell you, retro piece worth more than gold.

Wander Spitalfields, vintage wingback smell of years. Dem tings not showroom clean, but dem carry London inside.

When Notting Hill riot cool down, Armchair pass from father to son. Dat’s why mi love vintage.

We drag it on trolley all di way Brixton, but It creak but it strong. Mi can smell the leather now.

Every area carry different vibe. Kensington love velvet, wid velvet accent chair. Shoreditch wild, wid sofa in bright clash.

Modern flat-pack? Mi tell you straight – rubbish. Old funky accent seat tell history.

End of de day, mi take scarred quirky sofa over glossy fake.

When you pass market, stop an look round, and make it tell your story same as mine.