This morning, us not having anything planned, my little nest of vipers suggested we visit a rather large Sunday market wot’s not too far from where I’m sitting now. It being a grey, drizzly kind o’ day best suited for fire front duty, off we went. As you do.
The first clue something was amiss was when we rolled-up and the queue to enter the market was all crawl from a couple of miles up the main road. We crawled along, turned into the approach to the car park and finally found the cause of the delay. Hay, it’s the second of December, right? So it’s not a Sunday market with free parking now; it’s a Christmas market and thus a festive pound a pop car parking fee.
You know wot? They must’ve made a bomb – no Christmas market pun{?} intended - as the car park and thus the market, was absolutely heaving. The main attraction, as seems common with these types of markets, being the big truck hosting the meat auction. Man, that guy was moving some meat.
After about an hour and being unable to locate anything remotely festive, other than our parking ticket, we left having purchased absolutely nothing except for four hot, sugar laden doughnuts. Four of which I did eat all on my own and by myself...
Quote; Tom Vanderbilt.
“The way humans hunt for parking and the way animals hunt for food are not as different as you might think.”
No comments:
Post a Comment