Up this morning to book a slot in the Battersea Car Boot sale. I’m all booked in for next Sunday. You have to book early in the morning.
It’s pretty civilised on the day. You get there from 11am and the only people you see for the first hour and a half are the wankers who try to skim all the value away before anyone actually gets in. If I’m organised I should be able to come with a large amount of good stuff and hold off against their assault. I wish I had means of taking payment online though. That’s the wave of NOW. I wonder if I can get set up on an izettle before Sunday. I’m hoping this will be an opportunity to move a load of bulk junk onwards, but if I’m not organised then it’ll just be another cost – the pitch was a massive £35 for early arrival. I haven’t had a good experience at this sale in the past…
A friend of mine once got me to help her out on her stall. She then overruled me on prices for the decent stuff when the dealers came to haggle. She overpriced everything with no value so it didn’t sell, and let the rest all go for peanuts. I got frustrated with her selling all the value cheap to dealers at the start of the day, and then watched her hold her ground on handmade candles she could have sold. She ended up giving all her unsold stock to some charmless scam guy with a van who assured her he would keep it for her until next week. I tried to tell her he wasn’t going to keep it. She rolled me over on it, as she had been strangely doing the whole day – told me she knew what she was doing. He nicked the lot.
I’m going back there on Sunday. Maybe on my own, or maybe I’ll persuade somebody to do what I did for my friend and help out / provide company. I promise not to be a nightmare. I’m just happy to move things on, frankly. I wonder though if anyone has any fold out plastic tables…
Anyway. That’s for tomorrow. I yoyoed up to Banbury today, then came home and met my poor nephew’s smug in-laws when I went to pick up a mattress topper from my half brother. Everybody younger than me keeps getting married. God help them all.
After the Jubilee, I’m tired. My sleep was fitful and plagued by unusual winedreams. This evening I’ve already run a bath, and I’m gonna get onto a trajectory that involves deep sleep soon. I think I’m supposed to be doing something tomorrow but I’m not even sure what it is and I’ve lost my diary. I’ll check my emails before I pass out.
I’m hungover. Let’s call a spade a spade. Even had a hair of the dog pint or two. That just made me tired. Bath. That’s the ticket. And bed.
AlBarclay 