A Bank Holiday means a car boot sale, a sunny Bank holiday means a busy car boot sale.
Armed with loose change and plenty of carrier bags, we set off in search of treasure.
I think I'm more fascinated by the boot holders than the things they are selling. The people who are doing it for the first time, with a wallpaper pasting table that will sag within half an hour. The ones who are selling plants from their allotments - my personal favourites, the dealers getting rid of superfluous stock, the old couple armed with a copy of Millers Antiques 1983.
You never buy what you went for, but there is always something, an enormous bronze Beswick window vase, a beautiful copper mug, and countless digitalis plants yesterday. The haggling, the noting where things are and going back an hour later to see if it is still there, the endless trips back to the car to allow hands free to rummage.
and a silver rose bowl, which i filled with bits from the garden and a few leftover wedding roses, it is now sitting on my 1930's dressing table, looking like a scene from Miss Marple.
It is a weird thing florists do, spend all week arranging flowers and then do it in your spare time too. I should probably get a life, or take a husband.