Tuesday, May 8, 2012

Empty Loft

It was a public holiday today in France - the Tuesday as opposed to the Monday. We opted to get rid of as much as possible via the car boot sale in Millas (pronounced (Meeyass)..less said about the range of puns I could extract from that, the better. Why empty loft you ask? That's becaause car boot sales which, are hugely popular in France are called "vide grenier", which literally translates as "empty loft".

The French take these very seriously and I mean very seriously, with the government through local council's controlling how many each commune can have a year 4 - 6 and strict regulation as to how many each person selling can attend each year - 4. There is also supposed to be no "professional" selling, but the slow drip of entrepreneurial desire is very apparent around the vide's these days, with clearly a range of stall holders selling goods as new and as a businesses.

Of course, there's still plenty of keen amateurs selling and buying each others rubbish...and boy there is tat at these you could not imagine would be put out at even the most insalubrious car boots in the UK. Many of the vide's are frequented by in great degree the Gitane or gypsy population down here and as you're setting up at 5.30am (yes 5.30 am) they are coming round in the dark with their torches shining on your unpacked goods and rifling through your pre-display boxes looking for old mobile phones and anyhting electronic, offering desultory amounts and grunting complainingly when you refuse to accept 50 centimes for an impeccable dress worn twice by your five year old, that set you back 45 Euros - 6 months ago in Perpignan's best boutiques.

Still needs must and I did let go two pairs of the Brute's (Milo our 13 year old son) old trainers and a pair of discount shoes I bought at Auchan 4 years ago and loathed by CB which, I have never worn. All for 5 euros. Better 5 euros in the pocket now than a box of junk, half full stuck in the cellar I say. The chap seemed happy, despite having agreed the price and then trying 3 euros at the point of coin proferring. I stood firm on the demand for paper and no doubt he punted them on by 11am for twice the price.

I headed off around 6.45am and left CB and Milo to do the main shift. Returning to the office and our three girls for the rest of the day until going back and taking over the afternoon shift at 2.30pm. CB's superior French comes through on these ocassions and she displays a remarkable talent for shifting goods. She'd made up two excellent batches of cup and fairy cakes (hugely popular with the French) and these along with other assorted goods had flown off the shelves (or rather shelf...well actually the door that's off the 1st landing stairway, with the handle and lock removed) on my return.

Christine explained that there was a particular Warden (all beard and glasses and glowing with self importance and officiousness) who was patrolling and told her she was not allowed to sell food (there's always a bloody jobsworth) yet more evidence of French petty bureaucracy (a hard word to spell right), woebetide those who would think to set up a cake stand at such events in France.

Anyway, I wrapped up by 5.15 and was home with our unsold goods and kit along with our friend and next door neighbour Marie's, who shared the stand with us by 5.30. A tidy profit towards school lunches and a trip to Decathlon for this season's swimming gear, jingling in a jar and folded in jean's pockets.

It is likely a bottle of the delicious Saint Roche Cote d'Roussillon Villages Red will find it's way onto the table between CB and I over the weekend as a thank you to each other for the effort involved...5 O'clock...she had me up at 5 O'clock...!

What's enjoyable about these market trading capers, is not the banter (generally I get the impression it's not something the French go in for at markets) but bumping into lot's of friends and chewing the fat. Great for improving my appalling French. We did one in Perpignan a few months ago and it really put us off them, no one we knew and lots of extremely rude people taking offence at you not wanting to sell them your genuine diamond encrusted Rolex Oyster for 75 centimes. So much nicer to do near one's own home turf. A sense of belonging and even bumping into other stall holders you've vaguely seen before...all, who of course acknowledge you from other Vide's, but of course officially denying that they were there...wink wink...Well you can only do four a year remember!

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