To market to market

I mentioned in weeks passed that I planned on partaking in a boot-fair; in order to sell the amass of unwanted clothing building in my wardrobe. In all truth these items are hardly unwanted, in fact I imagine I would be one of those sellers unwilling to part with their things and end up tackling the buyers onto the floor just so I could keep that cardigan that I never had or would wear again.

Some people may call the condition of buying endless and un-needed items and storing them in the bath as hoarding, I like to however call myself a woman. I like to buy things, wear them perhaps once, or not at all in many cases and then put them in the wardrobe as something “I will wear someday".

I have trained myself into a fresh way of thinking, I now buy only those items in which I love, and I mean truly adore. My habit has luckily moved on from garments to household goods and decorations, which thankfully serve a more perpetual purpose as there is always some amount of need when buying them. 

Anyway I'm rambling. The true nature of this blog is to discuss the imminent boot-fair I planned on doing. Having re-located near to the apparently "trendy" area of Kilburn, I found the perfect place to sell my goods, just fifteen minutes from my front door.

I had settled on St Augustine's boot fair, held every Saturday from eight until two. Having never attended myself I relied on reviews to make my decision of where to set up stall. Once described as "one of London's most famous car boots" and claiming to have celebrity shoppers such as Agyness Deyn, I was hopeful for a good turnout.

The boot-fair was planned for today; the weather was to be hot, always perfect for wandering Londoner's in search of a bargain. Having no car, we had decided to transport the goods via cab, opposed to my boyfriends plan to walk the entire rail of clothing from West Hampstead to Kilburn High Road. If you’ve ever visited Kilburn, you would know that particular idea to be unwise.

Luckily for me my boyfriend shares my love of sleep, and loathe of early Saturday morning starts. We decided not to do the boot-fair as we excused ourselves as simply being unprepared for the task at hand. Instead we settled on visiting the boot fair at a Saturday friendly time and scoping out the crowds for when we sell the following weekend. I thank god that I'm a lazy oath.

I would suggest this boot fair has earned its acclaim by pure fluke and what was truly intended was the phrase "the most Infamous car boot". St Augustine's was the most stressful playground that I've ever been in, and I was raised in Hastings.

I felt like I was attending a cattle market; and I was the cow, being shoved in all manner of directions and constantly feeling that my purse could be stolen at any moment. The only way to protect yourself is by buggy or shopping trolley, both of which were used as weapons to trip and barge people out of the way so that you could buy one of the thousands of TV controls for sale.

My true dread not only arose from fear of being electrocuted by a cattle prod but I feared the pitch "owners". They sit huddled around their goods, which consequently are thrown onto a rug and trampled on. They glare at anyone who so much as looks at their items. Being too scared to approach any stall myself, I was content to simply listen in. The pitch owners leave no room for bargaining, you either pay the £15 for the second hand sequin shoes or you can fuck off. Both parties are equally unwilling to budge with most looking aghast at having to pay more than £2 for anything even if it is a genuine Gucci bag.

And speaking of genuine; the website strictly states that no counterfeit items be sold, a rule that every single stall seems to flaunt, everyone seems to be boasting a pair of brand new ray bans accompanying there Prada purse and Louboutin’s for sale.

One of the many "genuine Gucci" stalls

Timeout had promised me a haven of treasures and “quirky finds”, yet I hardly think a bulldog ring and oversized ear-rings warrants such a title.

The whole atmosphere felt unfriendly and hostile, unlike so many other boot fairs that I've attended where you leave feeling mostly calm and often content with the wooden letter holder you've just purchased for 50p. The only thing I would be satisfied to purchase at St Augustine's is a pram; so that I too can use it as a weapon against others and also as a means to escape to a less petrifying playground.

Aside from all my slander, the one benefit to St Augustine’s is that with the 50p entry after 11am, you also gain free entry to a boot fair down the road, an equally crap boot fair but it’s a boot fair all the same, and it’s free.

My free entry stamp