Everyone (or is it just the people I know) has his own list of the Three Great Lies. The only one which is common, and by the way the only one which is decent, is “The cheque is in the post.” The other two are usually racist, sexist and/or obscene; if you’re lucky!
In a similar way the injunction, “You should try everything once except for [add examples],” usually includes Morris Dancing (for obvious reasons) and some unnatural sexual deviation from the present norms. For reasons which will soon become apparent I would now include ‘car boot sales’ as the equal of Morris Dancing.
Today was the day when, with packed car, I ventured into Bessemer Road Market for my first brush with open air retail marketing.
I think that the most positive things that I can say about the experience was that when the official came around to take the entry fee of six pounds he castigated my neighbours for encroaching on the ‘common ground.’ This was the area along which the denizens of the area complete their passeo occasionally interrupting their peregrinations to bestow a few coins on the hopeful peasants lining their route with tables full of quaint rubbish for their delectation. My tables’ positioning was pronounced by the official to be “perfect.” One takes compliments where one can find them!
All human life was there. From eight in the morning to one o’clock in the afternoon I staffed my tables and watched the Cardiffian procession wander by. By their reactions, so may ye know them.
One of the object d’art that I set out alluringly on my tables was a more than usually hideous green, bulbous glass vase with a narrow, squat neck. People without number (well, lots) noticed this vase, picked it up and turned it upside down to glean what knowledge they could get from the little sticker on its base. I think that they have been watching too many ‘antiques’ programmes, but I bet that they don’t know what they are looking for. Presumably the ‘made for Habitat’ logo did not persuade them as the article remained unsold.
The parsimony that one and all displayed was breathtaking. Value for money took on a new meaning when trying to get filthy lucre out of that lot!
My conversations with customers ranged from frank mutual incomprehension, via a short interlude in fractured French, to a learned discussion about the auditory excitement of using an old Zenith SLR. But, these moments of interest were interspersed with long periods of waiting for customer involvement with the riches on display. Throughout my time ‘selling’ there was a raucous accompaniment from the butcher who was stationed on the periphery of the cars and was augmented with an unreliable microphone. His tedious, unfunny, homophobic, just plain rude and uninteresting commentary on life luckily became an ignorable irritation rather than an offensive screed. At once point he said that he had been at the market for twenty eight years and one shuddered inwardly for the weekly torment that must have meant for everyone within earshot.
The cultural diversity of Cardiff was clearly on display with the sort of cosmopolitan feel which in times past was only visible in central London.
I almost made triple figures from the takings for the morning’s work, but when I think about how much the original prices of the objects ‘given away’ were, I could weep!
However, I contented myself with counting the money!
In a similar way the injunction, “You should try everything once except for [add examples],” usually includes Morris Dancing (for obvious reasons) and some unnatural sexual deviation from the present norms. For reasons which will soon become apparent I would now include ‘car boot sales’ as the equal of Morris Dancing.
Today was the day when, with packed car, I ventured into Bessemer Road Market for my first brush with open air retail marketing.
I think that the most positive things that I can say about the experience was that when the official came around to take the entry fee of six pounds he castigated my neighbours for encroaching on the ‘common ground.’ This was the area along which the denizens of the area complete their passeo occasionally interrupting their peregrinations to bestow a few coins on the hopeful peasants lining their route with tables full of quaint rubbish for their delectation. My tables’ positioning was pronounced by the official to be “perfect.” One takes compliments where one can find them!
All human life was there. From eight in the morning to one o’clock in the afternoon I staffed my tables and watched the Cardiffian procession wander by. By their reactions, so may ye know them.
One of the object d’art that I set out alluringly on my tables was a more than usually hideous green, bulbous glass vase with a narrow, squat neck. People without number (well, lots) noticed this vase, picked it up and turned it upside down to glean what knowledge they could get from the little sticker on its base. I think that they have been watching too many ‘antiques’ programmes, but I bet that they don’t know what they are looking for. Presumably the ‘made for Habitat’ logo did not persuade them as the article remained unsold.
The parsimony that one and all displayed was breathtaking. Value for money took on a new meaning when trying to get filthy lucre out of that lot!
My conversations with customers ranged from frank mutual incomprehension, via a short interlude in fractured French, to a learned discussion about the auditory excitement of using an old Zenith SLR. But, these moments of interest were interspersed with long periods of waiting for customer involvement with the riches on display. Throughout my time ‘selling’ there was a raucous accompaniment from the butcher who was stationed on the periphery of the cars and was augmented with an unreliable microphone. His tedious, unfunny, homophobic, just plain rude and uninteresting commentary on life luckily became an ignorable irritation rather than an offensive screed. At once point he said that he had been at the market for twenty eight years and one shuddered inwardly for the weekly torment that must have meant for everyone within earshot.
The cultural diversity of Cardiff was clearly on display with the sort of cosmopolitan feel which in times past was only visible in central London.
I almost made triple figures from the takings for the morning’s work, but when I think about how much the original prices of the objects ‘given away’ were, I could weep!
However, I contented myself with counting the money!
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