'Got any air-rifles' asked a man in khaki trousers.
What the fuck? 'No, I haven't got any air rifles.'
'Er, no. Just give us a moment will you?' I turned just in time to see an old woman in the boot of my car holding up my raincoat.
'Oi! That's not for sale.' Get out of the goddamned car lady!
Eventually, with a certain amount of argy-bargy, we managed to get the stall laid out. And we did OK. £90. Not bad for a load of old tat.
Take our telly. Ten years ago it was worth someone's time and money to drill the oil, refine it, make it into plastic, mine the minerals, smelt them into metals, manufacture the components, solder them all together and ship the result halfway round the world so that I could watch Doctor Who on a Saturday evening. Now, because everyone wants flat-screen TVs the size of a door, I couldn't give the it away (having had enough of Doctor Who, we're going telly-free). I had to take it to the tip.
Western culture. We dig up the Earth's resources, shuffle them up a bit, then bury them again in a more toxic form. I know this isn't news and that the gurus have been banging on about this for millennia, but at the car boot sale it really struck me how pointless it all is (and that's before we tot up the impact on the environment). Where's the stop button? I feel ashamed at my complicity.
So afterwards we went to the woods to see the bluebells (and some early purple orchids). Sanity at last.