I woke up at 6am on Saturday.  This is not normal practice.  However, Saturday was different.  Saturday was the day of my first ever Boot Fair!!! (cue fanfares etc …)

No dinner at Nobu for me … no dashing off to Bond Street to stock up on ‘essentials’ … no eyebrow threading or lady garden maintenance … oh no, Boot Fair’s are where it’s at.  Fact. 

So, during the week, I had been gathering all sorts of crap clothes to sell off to the general public. Sequinned tops I’ve never (thankfully) worn; brand new party dresses; old work clothes I can’t fit into anymore; too short ‘careful love, you’re showing your coochy’ shorts … and a whole bunch of random clothes in between.

I met my best friend there at 7am.  Toast?  Check … Vat of coffee?  Check.  Disguise?  Check, check, check!  I’m kidding … I’m not a snob really.  Although one really does draw the line at those terrible jeggings the other stallholders were wearing …  🙂

We spent the next hour setting out our stall.  It took longer than it should because every time I took a piece of clothing out of the (8!) bin liners, I’d have the following conversation.  With myself:

Me: Could you wear that to the office?

Me: Yes, but it makes my arse look massive.

Me: Your arse IS massive.

Me: Fair point.  Move on.

Me: Would you really ever wear a multi-coloured flared mini skirt?

Me: I have done for the last three summers.

Me: You’re forty years old.  Stop it.  Now.

Me: Spoilsport.

Me: Oooh, shiny sequins!!!

Me: Step … away … from … the … blouse.

You get the point.  It took a long time.   I finally decided on what items I’d sell and the doors opened.  Suffice to say, there wasn’t a mad influx of people all eager to get their hands on my used goods … more of a steady trickle of half a dozen people.  Naturally, the first two items I sold were the brand new dresses I’d paid £45 for that I ended up selling for £2.  That’s right, £2.  A little part of me died right then … but once I’d cried into my bacon bap, I felt a little better.  It’s not like I was going to wear them … but £2????  Seriously?!  (I’m currently in counselling for this … hoping to make a quick recovery.)

After I nearly had a full blown argument with a woman who refused to pay £2 for a brand new hoodie (I don’t do haggling,) I had a blanket policy of £1 for everything.  Pitch fee, baps and weak arsed tepid tea aside … I managed to make a profit of £25.  That worked out at £5 per hour.  I’ve been paid worse.

Would I do another one?  Hell yeah!  I was a born saleswoman … albeit selling used clothes … but I really enjoyed my first Boot Fair.

Yes, the packing, unpacking and packing again is a pain and perhaps I do take people trying to barter over my ‘amazing’ clothes a little too personally but we did have a good laugh … and I bought some beautiful jeggings.

A right bargain they were!

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Published by Kate Sutton

Writer, Mother, Dater.