The flea market was an absolute washout. I sat there for four and half chilly hours watching my hands go blue. In June. I didn't sell a thing. Since I also have barely sold anything online either, I'm starting to think, well... am I wasting my time? I love making things, but I can't just go on accumulating piles of necklaces and teacup candles if I can't get rid of them, in the nicest possible way. Maybe it's just not good enough or different enough? Again people were picking things up and admiring them, but not liking them enough to buy. I'm not going to do the flea market again, I think. In reality it is largely for people selling vintage items and also it's a shame it's not in a great spot. It lies in a street between the bus station, generally full of drunks and those who've been chucked out of the night shelter and are just biding their time until they can go back in again, and a busy thoroughfare. The street contains a fancy dress costume shop, the public toilets and a closed down pound shop. You know a place is in bad straits when the pound shop closes. The spot isn't the organisers' fault, but the city of Worcester council type folks really could do with taking a good hard look at the market place and smartening it up a bit (or a lot).
Anyway, by 2.30pm I'd had enough and packed up to go home. The cake stall lady next to me left about half an hour in, which was a shame as her cakes looked gorgeous and I think she might have done better than all the rest of the stands put together. One woman came along and asked where the cake stall had gone, as she'd been at the cemetery and had decided to pick up come cakes on her way back. Going to the cemetery seems an unusual way to work up an appetite but each to their own, eh.
The day improved however with a truly splendid Sunday dinner produced by Boyfriend. He surpassed himself, he really did. There was great danger of my exploding but I would certainly have died happy.
I've just noticed on TV how painfully thin Kate Middleton is. She needs to have a word with the Grandma-in-Law and get some swan down her, I reckon.