Selling your soul to a man in a field.

I was going to tell you how we were up bright and early this morning to catch the early birds at the car boot sale, but as Mr Lemur isn't given to early rising, we made it at 7.45. The LAST sellers to arrive onto the field.

That wasn't such a bad thing though as we had more room to s-p-r-e-a-d with no one on the other side of us.

We usually manage a boot sale per year and as I stand behind my stall I always feel a little exposed as all the things which make me tick are there, displayed on my second best wallpaper pasting table for all to see. As the first few people find stuff they like , they start asking the prices. When told that the beautifully embroidered denim shorts cost all of 50p they drop them to the ground as if scalded. Maybe it's me who has to hand over the 50p? A beginners error!

Then there's our collection of vinyl records. Eclectic? Definitely. Tasteful? Maybe not always. I didn't listen to the Falco and Brigitte Neilsen single more than about twice. I did have to have an inward cringe every so often when a bloke thumbed through the entire box of LP's , found nothing to buy but looked up at me deadpan. They didn't actually enquire after the state of my mental health, but you could see the thought did occur.

Have you ever done one of these sales? Isn't the worst thing when one of your friends suddenly comes into view and you have to do the swift mental reccy, making sure that none of the unwanted things was something that they bought/gave you.

Two thirds of the things we took along were sold, but the hard thing after that is to bring all the unwanted junk back onto the house. If my hubby had his way, we would have swung by the tip on the way back, it seems so wasteful to do that.

So that's my next job, decide on the final resting place.