I ventured to a market today. It’s not something I do often, I have to admit. I don’t like the crowds, the noise, the mess, being hit in the legs by inconsiderate mums pushing buggies. The list goes on.
Anyway, my parents wanted me to go with them this weekend so I bit the bullet, wrapped up and off we went.
It must be over three years since I’ve been to a market and I have to be honest, walking into this one this morning was like hopping in the Tardis and going back three years! NOTHING had changed. Nothing. Nada. Zilch.
The stalls were all in the same places selling the same things (with the exception of the latest fake Beats and shambala bracelets). We arrived at around half 8 and we’re on our way home at half 9. There was the man selling goat curries, another with a full Chinese menu, one with chips and pork and stuffing rolls. The list goes on. The really strange thing wasn’t seeing the stalls there, as I’d seen them before. No, the strangest thing was seeing people eating crispy beef, noodles & prawn crackers at 8.30. A.M.
These food stalls were scattered amongst traders selling bags, make up, crap Christmas presents and even a stall selling dogs beds. Badly made dogs beds. Very badly made dogs beds. My Dad suggested I buy one for the dog but a little as she is, she would have reduced it to shreds in a matter of minutes so I decided against it.
I came away from this hour at the market with a solitary sprig of mistletoe, knowing I would never ever get that hour of my life back. And that it would be some considerable time before I visited another market.