I usually go a round of charity shops whenever I am in town or go somewhere; they tend to be in the same street. It is very seldom that I actually buy a miniature, mostly I buy something that I can recycle. But I have found some fabulous stuff here and there. I have also bought some things in fancy antique shops. What I hadn't discovered until last week was a flea market, a place where you can buy anything and occasionally find a treasure. I had asked my friends, but apparently I was asking for the wrong thing. More anon.
Last week we went on a spontaneous vacation in Norfolk, and I was sure there must be a flea market on a Saturday in a town described as "market town", so I dragged Staffan there, with no result, except the usual charity shops that yielded nothing of note. However, while driving on small roads, I saw signs saying "Flea market on Sunday" although it wasn't quite clear whether Sunday was referring to the coming Sunday or Sunday three weeks ago. I asked the hotel reception, and they had no idea because who cares about a village three miles away. But they informed me that there was something flea-market-like in a market town five miles away, every Sunday beginning at eleven and therefore called Late Market.
We found the first flea market, that only takes place once a month in summer. I had very low expectations, so I got tremendously excited when the first thing I saw on entering the tent was this:
I told myself to be reasonable, but I think my pulse and blood pressure sky-rocketed. I just hoped I had enough cash since I had not expected such riches, but my noble husband went to the nearest cash machine in the next market town, while I drooled over the table deciding what was imperative, highly desirable or dispensable. I don't buy things that I can make myself, and I like things that are handmade and unusual. As I kept adding to my purchase the seller kept giving me discount, and we chatted about miniatures until I finally was ready to leave. This is what I bought:
Note the pretty cradle. When I came back to the hotel and unwrapped my treasures, I could not find the cradle which I knew was the very first object I had chosen as imperative. I searched and searched and went down to the car and searched again and was very upset. And guess what? - my noble husband drove me back to the village, and the seller was still there. First she denied that she had somehow mislaid the cradle, but eventually she found it so the story has a happy ending.
But before that, we went to the other flea market, and now I know why I never got any sensible answers to my questions: because I didn't ask sensible questions. It's not called flea market, but car boot sale. So now I know how to find them, and there are many dangerously close to Cambridge.
Anyway, we went there, and it was a real flea market, not a tidy tent. The prices were accordingly. This is what I bought, from different sellers, for 20-50p at the most:
Except for the lovely pewter things, it's all horrible plastic that I now know how to improve. In the coming posts I will show and tell where the different things have gone and what I have done with them, so watch this space.