Money for Old Rope

Today was boot fayre day. Up at 5.30 we were! Five thirty!! It was just getting light and we needed to load the rest of the car up with our tat, I mean, treasures, from this week's attic clear out, the boot itself all ready crammed to bursting.

Anyway, off we set, the car barely able to keep its undercarriage off the road. I'd raided the chicken's piggy bank for change for a float and we had a tenner for the pitch fee. The boot fayre itself was only a ten minute drive up the road.

'I'm going to ask twice as much as I want for everything,' I said, 'because I am anticipating a lot of haggling and bargaining going on. I need to build in a good profit margin.'
'You're not going to take this too seriously, are you?' said Andy, who had already hinted he was willing to sell stuff for 10p a shot just to get rid of it.
'No,' I said, 'but neither am I going to be taken for a mug.'

We are boot fayre virgins, Andy and I. The woman on the pitch opposite us was the equivalent of a boot fayre strumpet. She was a wonder to behold as she worked her pitch, accosting unsuspecting men with her faux lady bosom stress balls and her selection of entertaining hats and suspect books. At one point she was brandishing an 18 inch curved knife, the kind you might have seen in Carry On Up the Khyber tucked into Bernard Bresslaw's belt. I'm sure there are laws against selling things like that at boot fayres, especially when the only people interested were a couple of ten year old kiddies. To the boot fayre strumpet's credit, she did say she couldn't sell a lethal weapon to minors and then did a pretend chase with them, waving the knife in the air until they disappeared, screaming, from her pitch.

There are many things to be learned from working a boot fayre. Here are some of them, in list form as I am too tired to work them skilfully into the main body of the text:-

1) That stuff is not worth nearly as much as you imagined it to be
2) That people will eat beefburgers at 6.30 in the morning without being sick
3) That tea from a polystyrene cup tastes better than tea from a plastic cup
4) That some people will argue over 20p
5) That the environmental efforts of supermarkets to cut down on plastic carriers means that plastic carriers are in very short supply and hot demand at boot fayre's for carrying loot away
6) That it is best not to think how much you paid for that book/DVD/ ornament/ pair of curtains originally when you are selling them on for less than a pound
7) That even if you're feeling a bit rough around the edges, you can feel quite the glamour puss in your pinny as you watch other people go by
8) That not all parents take responsibility for their light-fingered, lolly dribbling, noisy, stick waving off-spring
9) That old people like to stop and have a chat about Jane Austen, and 'B' movies, and how it's taking a long time for the tomatoes to ripen this year
10)That someone will be aware your husband is a vet and bring over their Doberman with it's head wrapped in sticky tape for an impromptu consultation.

Yes, this really did happen. The poor thing had had half its ear bitten off by another dog the previous day and the owners were keeping the bandage in place using that dark brown, 3" wide packing tape. I have never seen such a world weary look on such a patient dog. I gave her some healing and wished her well.

At about mid-day it seemed the whole field gave a sigh and people, almost as one, started to pack up to leave. I reckon we'd sold nearly half the stuff we took with us. And a quick tot up at home revealed we'd made a grand profit of £54.25.

'Well, that was better than I thought,' said Andy.
'Me, too,' I said. 'And I reckon I've only got a dozen trips to make to the charity shops this week instead of two dozen.'

I was amazed at what people would buy, and what they wouldn't. I guess it's true what they say - that one man's rubbish is another man's treasure.

And when we got home we found a tile had come crashing from the roof and smashed onto the path. So that'll coat us about fifty quid to repair, I reckon.

You see how the universe gives and then takes away? It's all swings and roundabout, life. It all balances out in the end.

Hot Up Top

Blimey it was hot in the loft yesterday. I mean, it was hot outside, a really nice sunny day when we should have been wafting around the garden with a long cool drink, then resting on the patio with a good book and maybe some cheesey nibbles and fresh fruit. But did we waft? Did we read and nibble? No. We went into the even hotter attic, where there was not a breeze to be had, and we lost about a stone each in sweat as we tried to be ruthless with our myriad collection of tat.

'Where do we start?' I said, after we'd spent the first ten minutes moving things from here to there and back again and achieving nothing. Andy shrugged. He was feeling edgy. He was twitching every time I laid a hand on one of his sci-fi books or electronic gadgets. He was like a coiled spring, ready to leap into action should they make their way towards the area marked out for 'Tip.'

We'd got as far as designating areas. Three to be precise. One for things to go to the tip, one for things to go to the boot fair or failing a sale there, to the charity shop of our choice. And one for 'Keeping.'

'Right,' I said, 'I am going to start in that corner there.' And I pointed to that corner there. 'And I am going to be RUTHLESS!'

As I clambered across the mini-tat mountain range to that corner there, I sent up a prayer to the God of Ruthlessness who is called Clive.

'Dear Clive,' I said, 'give me the strength to be ruthless in my task of clearing the attic. Make me firm of mind and void of sentimentality. Make mine eyes clear to the fact that if I find something I haven't seen or used for the last five years I am unlikely to use it in the next five years. Help me put aside childish things like 'Mousetrap' and jigsaw puzzles. But please let me keep my wedding dress, amen.'

I experienced a moment of weakness when the God of Clutter, Sandra, interrupted my contemplation and said, 'Better keep the Junior Scrabble. You want your grandchild to be a good speller, don't you?' but as I said to Sandra, by the time Grandchild goes to school the Government will probably have done away with literacy in favour of basic grunting, thus rendering Junior Scrabble redundant.

For the two hours we managed to survive the desert heat of the loft, we made good progress. Luckily, most of the stuff we got through was mine and as I was being ruthless we got rid of a boot load of stuff down the tip, and have another boot load and a half to go the the boot fair and/or charity shop of our choice. There is an impressive space in the loft now. And I'm not quite sure how we came to have so many duvets. Or stereo systems. Or soft toys. But now we don't. Except for the duvets because they all seemed new and you can never have enough duvets.

And now Andy has seen how ruthless I can be and what a liberating experience having a good clear out is, I am hoping he will be just as enthusiastic when it comes to clearing out some of his stuff.

But I fear I may need to ply him with copious wine and then sneak into the attic when he isn't looking and set about his boxes of treasure myself. And when he says 'Where's my collection of 'The Rhibard Xening Tales of Kfling Dint Burble (1959 ed)' I shall have to say (with fingers firmly crossed behind my back), 'Oh, you sold those on e-bay AGES ago. Don't you remember?' and then run for the hills until the fracas dies down.

Don't worry, Andy. I won't really do that. (Bluff.)
'Is she bluffing?' thinks Andy.
'I'm not bluffing,' I say. (Double bluff).
'Or is she double bluffing?' thinks Andy.

It's a cunning craft, the clearing out of a loft.

P.S There are various areas of the Much Malarkey Manor website open for business now. Yesterday I created the Culinary Experiment Blog which can be found at www.mmmkitchen1.blogspot.com and details Mrs Flanbottom's experiment into making yeast (Part 1). I hope you find it as entertaining as this blog.