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you were trying to rip them off and all the while clutching a mouldy old sandwich toaster that
they'd bought for €2 next door. Yeah, good luck with that purchase, you fruitcakes.
The final straw for me was when Samuel, having been off on one of his forays, returned
with a batterypowered robot that was actually bigger than Thérence and which then sat by our
stall and gained more enquiries than any item we were actually selling. Tempers shortened
as the day went on, and as the rain started at about four o'clock there was an almost palpable
sense of relief from the whole market as everyone realised that they could legitimately start
packing up; nobody was having a good day and many of them stated, quite categorically, that
they'd never do it again. I would have done the same, but realised the futility of such a ges-
ture, knowing that Natalie regards brocantes in much the same way as childbirth - the pain,
inconvenience and exhaustion all quickly forgotten as the next one is planned.
And by the end we still had the pram, the baby-walker, the mountain of clothes, the naked
Action Men, the lot. There seemed to be no dent whatsoever on our 'stock'. I only got rid of
the bike because, after everything Natalie, Samuel and Maurice had bought, I couldn't actu-
ally get it back in the car.
'Why don't I just take all this stuff straight on to the déchetterie ?' I suggested hopefully.
'No,' Natalie said pensively, 'we can try again in the spring.' Fortunately, spring seemed a
long way off.
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