Brocante. Part Two.

Okay, I think I have almost recovered from The Brocante last Sunday. It pissed down, so I was drenched by 10am.
And then this very nice man next to me let me budge up under his awning. So I didn’t get quite so wet after that.

I had a bit of a wander around, in the vain hope of getting some advice, but no one else, French or English, had ever done this before. What a laugh. However, none of them looked like prats, so I decided that I didn’t either.

But oh my goodness, I didn’t half learn a lot. Should I ever need to know this again. Which I doubt.

Put a price on everything. No one likes to ask how much because they don’t want to have to say No Thank You.
One Euro seems to be the going rate, and since you will only be selling old rubbish that you don’t want, then One Euro is better than having to cart it back home again.

Don’t eat your packed lunch before 10am. But someone will be making much more money than you are by selling food. Ditto booze. Oh, and coffee. No Tea. Take your own Tea.

Take some sort of umbrella if it looks even remotely like rain. Or better still, don’t go.

So what was my sum total?

I bought a really neat Meat Cleaver for 10 Euros, for which I have been looking for many a long moon. And a very nice and totally useless, painted metal thingy for One Euro which will be great when I have to bring in my much treasured Cacti come Winter. My Cacti spend all Summer, for what it is worth, in the garden. I must be mad.

I sold eight of my Hydrangea cuttings for One Euro each, and have since worried that they might not get treated all that well. Hydrangeas are much more susceptible to neglect than most people realise. They ever need water. But they do have to be on their own eventually.

I also picked up four Elizabeth George novels that I didn’t have, and for nothing. That was a really good one. I am a passionate fan of Elizabeth George. She is American. But like Diana Gabaldon, her research is phenomenal. These two women know their subjects. And both are pretty glorious.

So all in all a really nice day. I eventually staggered home at 4pm, having scuppered a bottle of cheap Fizz that I just happened to have had in the back of my van. Quite by accident, of course.

I am not sure if I will ever do this again. I simply don’t own that much that I would seriously want to get rid of, apart from plants, which I can always give away.

I met a few really nice people who I almost certainly will never see again. More is the pity. But maybe I might.

4 Responses to “Brocante. Part Two.”

  1. thelastfurlong Says:

    Nice post! Reading at 4.45 AM because my pills didn’t give me a good night. Your fizz sounds a solution to stress though. You sound like Mr Furlong. He collects knives. For cooking – a skill he excells at. Getting a cleaver must mean you do too. 🙂

  2. elenamitchell Says:

    I just occasionally need to hit meat with bones in. I can buy a whole leg of Lamb quite cheaply, but there is no way that I want to cook the whole thing in one. So I need something to hit it with.

    Homeopathy. Sulfur and Phosphorus. If you need more information then just ask.

    The Fizz is just poor man’s Champagne. 1 Euro 20 centimes a bottles. And you are never going to get pissed on that. Well, not very.

  3. John LEON Says:

    Hi, I did not suddenly up and go to France, it had been my desire for many years. I didn’t get a job but did start a small business that strangely keeps on bringing in the centimes. I married a French girl and life is very good right now. Where are you in France? Just curious because here in the SW there are lots of non intergrated ex pats who I never seem to mleet and when I do seem to resent I am well in with the locals. Not that I am the only one by any means but there are far more nons than ins.

  4. elenamitchell Says:

    Hello, John. Another follower is always very welcome.

    I live in Morbihan, Brittany. Near Baud.

    I really does all depend on the sort of person you are. And to each his own.

    I did eventually finish up doing a relatively lucrative gardening round, Mowing, strimming and cutting down the odd tree. Whatever was required really. And ever being reliable. That is the thing. Reliability.

    I don’t get on very well with ex pats, perhaps because I have always had to work, so I don’t have the snob value of too much money, and a smart car, on HP. I drive a beaten up old van, and pay for everything up front.
    And oh my God, you should see my kitchen. It is still in the dark ages.

    But I love this place with a passion. Twenty years now, and always alone. And I am entirely incapable of telling anyone how amazing it is.
    I simply don’t have the words.

    Where are you? I did once get on a French train and go down to Bergerac, but it wasn’t a good experience. So I am saving that one for a Blog when I no longer feel distressed about it.

    Tis so nice to hear from someone who is more or less like me,

    Stuff Ex Pats. They know not what they miss.

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