Spent a couple hours at the Sunday Market
this A.M.; a chance to say ‘gidday’ to old
friends (articulated in Australian the
same way the word sounds), went to catch
up on gossip and see what was ‘going down’.
The truth was nothing much – though there
were a pony club, gymkhana and equestrian
trials on simultaneously in the centre ring;
but no bloody customers was the common
theme and, well, it’s too hot anyway.
We shopped judiciously for fresh vegetables
and new season fruit on offering; Anita knows
all the Stall Holders worth going to – our good
friends Daph and Clem were still selling orchids,
Jack and Di flogging limes and lady fingers.
We didn’t linger, said our giddays and shot
through. Markets where you’re not selling you
don’t dither in – Jesus, you’d lose your credibility
quicker than you’d lose a quid. But mostly you
don’t hear the bullshit we invariably use.
© 11 March 2007, I.D. Carswell
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