To Market To Market to Lay a Fat Egg

I'm Almost, but not quite, Half-Crazed. 

It's saturday night just before eight. I've just posed on a pile of clothes & bags that hopefully I will sell tomorrow at the Rozelle Markets. 

By the way, I can't believe the Half-Arsed way I'm posing like I'm just about to star in my v. own MILF Film (Rude Films with Middleaged Mums having sex) - like  I'm a  salivating middleaged woman hungrily waiting for the Pizza Delivery Man to arrive with a Salami Pizza. Or maybe the plumber who's going to Unclog the Drain. 

Let me assure you, Nothing is Further from My Mind.

As soon as I finish writing this post, I'm going to cram all that stuff & more into newly-purchased plastic checked Homeless People's  zippered bags. Then I'm going to lug them about a hundred metres  to the Kings Cross Car Park where my car is stored on a lower level. And then I'm going to pop them into the Boot, or Trunk if I was in North America, but I'm not, so it's The Boot. Maybe I'll have to make a number of trips.

Then I have to immediately Get into Bed & turn the light off. Hopefully by 9.30. This is my New Official Bedtime because I read a book by rubber-faced ex-actress, but expert on ageing, Suzanne Somers who said that we all should go to bed at that time because all the Hateful Cortisol or whatever that makes us look a hundred & poisons us, leaves our bodies most effectively if we're asleep well & truly before twelve. Hope she's right.

Then I have to get to the market which is across town by 8.05 am. sunday morning.

I'm sharing the stall with my friend the Ex-School Nurse & her beautiful daughter, Guinevere, who incidentally I used to teach many moons ago. They are super-stylish & organised. 

I'm definitely hoping that some of that will rub off on me.

I have not much of an idea of what to charge for things.