Monday, 30 November 2015

Be Afraid, Be Very Afraid of Car Park Markets

Geena Davis, The Fly: Be Afraid, be very afraid.
What they don’t tell you about car park markets:

1. Despite the sunny weather, it will be freezing under the car park, and your immune system will take a hit.

2. Your soul will be destroyed when no one even glances at your stall.

3. Your stall neighbour will be a lovely lady with a surprisingly bogan family that keeps hanging around.

4. A poor little boy from said bogan family will vomit behind your stand. Bogan family doesn’t bother to clean up the mess.

5. There will be at least one potential customer, commenting that your prices are rather low, yet she doesn’t buy anything.

6. No one said it would be easy, but… faaaaaark!!!

7. Bring a book to read. It’s going to be a long day with the neighbouring bogans.

8. You’re advised to arrive and set up at 7 AM. You get there at 7 AM to discover other stallholders have been there since 4 AM. They have prime position in the car park, and you are given the bottom’s end of the car park, right next to the bogans.

9. No amount of telling my friends that I got ‘experience points’ makes it right. Face it! ‘Experience points’ is code for ‘it was awful, don’t make me do it again’.

Sunday, 22 November 2015


As luck would have it the universe has a sadistic sense of humour, of which I tend to be the butt of many a joke. I spent a month preparing for a market by making dolls, tooth pouches and cute little foodie badges that have you wishing the pizza shop was open, like right now. The result of which was a past health issue rearing it's head spinning ugly head just in time for me to reap the rewards of my hard work.

I fancied selling my dolls and making enough money to finance a new line of dolls for the new year. It was going to awesome. Epic even. There was Rocky musical montage going on in my head of the future work process. You were going to see my work go in a whole new direction. Well things did go in a whole new direction. Toward the chiropractor I go. Yes my dear invisible readers, I am subluxated up to my eyeballs which means no dollmaking. Dreams of being the next Joshua David McKinney go on hold. And as I cannot go ten seconds without some creative outlet, my writing beckons me with wide open arms.

So to the laptop I go. Little machine elevated by my latest library find [Amy Poehler's Yes Please], because tilting my head in a downward direction is going to have dire consequences for my already skew-wiffy sense of orientation. Thank you subluxated atlas bone!

As much as I am complaining, I do realise pleasant opportunities do derive from my poor health. My body has declared marshall law and told my brain 'you will slow dow, or so help me, you will have vertigo 24-7'. And that is exactly what I am doing. Or trying to do. My brain is still firing in a million different directions, and I really, really want to design another doll. But here I am writing, listening to the backyard breeze, and feeling it. And I get to wondering, maybe the universe wasn't playing a mean joke on me. Maybe this, the writing, was where I was meant to be all along.

Saturday, 21 November 2015

Uptown Funk

    A Sunday morning share: this'll get you out of bed…