To Market, To Market
It’s Friday afternoon and I’m knackered. Are you? The most accurate representation I can muster up of how I feel right now is this picture of a Frenchman passed out in a park. He looks to have fallen into a torpor hotspot. Very dangerous, those.
It’s going to be hot here this weekend, so our plans include fighting other Sydneysiders with bigger cars for a parking spot at the beach. Speaking of spots, I had a successful online swimming costume buying experience. Will wonders never cease? I bought this spotty bikini top and bottom from Asos. I shall wear them while letting down the tyres of the Range Rovers that will almost certainly push in front of our little hatchback at Balmoral tomorrow.
We’ll also go to the local produce market, where we will drink Witham’s coffee, barrista’d by Witham himself, eat bacon and egg rolls with chilli jam, and buy cheese from Willowbrae. We’ll do a lap of the market, sampling everything that’s on offer, then we’ll swap shirts and put on hats and sunglasses and go round again, so they think we’re different people and not just extremely greedy.
Here are some pictures I’ve taken* at other markets around the world. I’d call them better markets, but better is such a judgy word. It’s not our local market’s fault it’s not in Barcelona or Sarlat.
Anyway, have a wonderful weekend. Oh, and lest you think it’s all orange whips and skittles around these parts, we also have to fleabomb the flat. Hooray for summer!