About the Monkey

Hello, and welcome to the madhouse. I'm Lee, and this is Furry Pink Monkey — a small, independent treasure shop based in Brighton, built on one simple, slightly stubborn idea: that the best stuff in the world is usually the stuff somebody else gave up on. The forgotten, the unfashionable, the "oh, just bung it in the 50p box" — that's my bread and butter. I find it, give it the love it deserves, and send it off to someone who'll treasure it all over again.

How it all started

Every business has an origin story, and mine is a properly daft one. It began in January 2024 with exactly twenty quid, a folding table at a car boot sale, and a hunch — that the boxes of so-called junk everyone was strolling past were worth a good deal more than the people selling them realised.

I started small. The very first things I sold were humble bits and bobs: little Disney hardback books, plush teddies, and a few video games. Nothing flashy — just cheap finds that I cleaned up, photographed and passed on for a bit more than I paid. But it worked, and the buzz of turning a pound into a tenner was instant and completely addictive.

The more elaborate stuff came later, once I'd found my feet. A bundle of old games consoles, cleaned up and sold on for a tidy sum. And then, riding a wave of slightly misplaced confidence, I went and bought 10,000 football programmes for £200. Yes, ten thousand. There was a moment, staring at that towering pile of paper, where I genuinely wondered if I'd lost the plot — but bit by bit, sorted and sold in bundles, that gamble paid for itself many times over, and taught me a lesson I still lean on every single day. (If you fancy the full, slightly mad origin story, you can read it here.)

From a box to a business

From that first twenty quid, things have rather snowballed. Furry Pink Monkey has now shifted over £100,000 of treasure and more than 10,000 individual items — every single one sourced, cleaned, researched, photographed, written up, sold and packed by hand. What started as a punt on a cold Sunday morning is now a proper little operation, with stock live across eBay and Vinted and parcels heading out of the door daily.

It still makes me chuckle that I started with a £20 float and these days wouldn't think twice about spending £600 in a single weekend when the finds are good. I've even managed to land myself a rather wonderful problem: a storage unit stacked floor-to-ceiling with treasure I haven't listed yet. Thousands of finds, already bought and paid for, all patiently waiting their turn under the camera. Some people would call that a backlog. I prefer to call it the best lucky dip in the world — there's always something brilliant to discover next, and quite often it's something I'd half-forgotten I even had.

What you'll find here

So what do I actually sell? A bit of everything wonderful, is the honest answer — but with some real favourites. Over the years my shelves and boxes have been home to things like:

• Retro gaming — consoles, games and bits and pieces for anyone chasing a proper hit of nostalgia
• Vintage collectables and curios — the lovely, the unusual, and the "where on earth did that come from"
• Trading cards — from old-school sports cards to the collectables people happily hunt for years
• Programmes and ephemera — football, theatre, music and beyond (you don't buy 10,000 programmes without learning a thing or two)
• Oddities and genuine gems — the one-off finds that make this job endlessly interesting

The common thread is simple: things with character and a story, sold to people who'll actually appreciate them. I'd far rather find exactly the right home for something than just shift it for the sake of it.

The thrill of the hunt

If I'm being honest, the money is only half of why I do this. The other half is the hunt. There's a particular little jolt of joy when you spot something brilliant hiding in a box priced as if it were nothing — a flash of recognition, a quiet "well hello, what are you doing here?" — and that feeling genuinely never gets old. It's what gets me out of bed at silly o'clock on a Sunday and off to a muddy field at 6am with a bottle of squash and a Ginsters pasty for breakfast.

And yes, before you ask: come rain or shine, hail or heatwave, you'll find me there in shorts. No exceptions, not even in January.

Reselling, done properly, is part treasure hunt, part detective work, and part history lesson. You learn to spot value where others see clutter — to recognise the maker's mark, the rare variant, the quietly sought-after thing everyone else walked past. And every find comes with a story: where it's been, who made it, why it matters to the person who finally tracks it down. I get a real kick out of being the bit in the middle that reunites the two.

How I do it — my promise

I try very hard to do this the honest way, because I reckon that's simply how it ought to be done.

Every item is described as truthfully as I can manage — flaws and all. If there's a chip, a crease or a bit of wear, I'll tell you and show you in the photos. My prices are fair: I'd much rather sell something at a sensible price to someone who'll love it than squeeze out every last penny and leave a sour taste. Parcels are packed with proper care, because a battered package is a rubbish way to say hello. And I answer my messages like the actual human I am.

There's a rather nice side-effect to all this, too. Nothing new gets made in the process — I'm simply rescuing good stuff from landfill and giving it a second life. The seller gets rid of something they no longer want, I make a fair margin for the graft of finding and selling it, and you get something brilliant with a bit of history behind it. Everybody wins, and the planet's a smidge better off for it.

A day in the life

People sometimes imagine reselling is all glamorous bargain-hunting in dusty antique shops. The reality involves rather more photography lightboxes and parcel tape. A typical day is a steady rhythm: pull stock from the unit, research anything I'm unsure about, batch-photograph a stack of items, write the listings so they genuinely help buyers, get them live, then process the day's sales — packing carefully and posting everything out.

It's repetitive, sure, but there's a deep satisfaction in it: treasure in, parcels out, repeat. And every so often the research throws up a lovely surprise — something I paid pennies for that turns out to be worth a proper sum. Those moments are the cherry on top, and they keep the whole thing endlessly moreish.

So... why "Furry Pink Monkey"?

Ah, the name. Furry Pink Monkey. I know.

In a world absolutely stuffed with beige, sensible, instantly-forgettable shop names, I decided to go the other way entirely and pick something that makes people smile and then flatly refuses to leave their head. It's a bit daft, a bit different, and frankly a lot like me. I figured that if I was going to spend my days elbow-deep in other people's cast-offs, I may as well do it with a bit of personality — and a name you actually remember is no bad thing when you're a small shop trying to stand out in a very big crowd. The pink, before you ask, isn't going anywhere either.

Who's behind the monkey

Behind the silly name is just me, Lee. I do the lot — the hunting, the photographing, the researching, the writing, the listing, the packing and the posting. It's genuinely run from home: no warehouse full of strangers, no faceless call centre, just me, a mountain of treasure and an alarming quantity of bubble wrap.

I'm a one-man operation doing a big job, and I wouldn't have it any other way. Being hands-on with every single item means I actually know what I'm selling, I can answer your questions properly, and I genuinely care how your parcel turns up. It's the bit that makes Furry Pink Monkey feel like, well, me — and it's the bit I'm most determined to hang onto, however much it grows.

Where I'm headed

I've got big plans, mind. Furry Pink Monkey is growing into more than just an eBay shop — a proper home for the finds, the stories, and the people who love a good bargain as much as I do. There's a mountain of stock to work through, a heap of ideas I'm itching to try, and a community to build around the simple, daft joy of the hunt. I'm growing it carefully rather than chasing being big for the sake of it, because I'd far rather build something I'm genuinely proud of than something I have to apologise for. (You can read more about where I'm heading over here.)

Come and join me

So whether you're here to grab something brilliant, sell your own bits and bobs through me, or just have a good nosy at what I dig up next — you are very welcome indeed. The best way to keep up is to join my mailing list: you'll get first dibs on new stock before anyone else, the occasional story from behind the scenes, and a front-row seat for the whole adventure.

Come along for the ride. The best finds are still ahead of me — and it's a lot more fun with company.