There's a car boot sale that runs every Sunday approximately 10 minutes walk from my house. I'd never yet managed to haul my sorry ass out of bed before 10am at the weekend - given the choice of a lie-in in a warm bed and walking around stalls in the freezing cold, my bed will win every time.
However, this weekend I was up in time, so I pootled off down the road, enjoying some time to myself. The old man's farewell of "don't come home with tonnes of crap" and Ruby's plea of "bring me a present back" ringing in my ears.
It's an 'indoor' car boot sale, housed in a giant and dimly lit warehouse. I'm informed at the door that this is the last week, so at least I know I won't have to get up next weekend. There's a brazier outside, billowing out acrid smoke, so it feels more like I'm crossing a picket line than looking for bargains.
Inside there's lots of stalls over overpriced, rusty old 'antique' tools and several people selling off their entire collections of porcelain shoes. Inexplicably there's also a stall which seems to be selling nothing but pack of pot noodles.
Amongst the filthy tat, I manage to find a stall selling lots of sewing ephemera, and pick up a couple of wooden cotton reels to add to my collection and a card with miniature mother of pearl buttons which will be prefect for some craft or other.
She also sells me a vintage pair of pinking shears for £3. My current pinking shears are totally blunt and after asking around it appears they can't be re-sharpened and a decent new pair will cost me £40 minimum.
On the next stall I spot this beautiful old handmade cushion for £2. The tassels are a bit ratty and I expect will soon be having an appointment with my scissors, but apart from that I love it. Even the old man agrees I did well.
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