In spite of a few sherberts last night I was up at a reasonable hour. Needed some exercise and needed some fresh veg for the hot pot later so, killing two birds with one stone, decided to bike it over to a market. I've often biked it over to the Borough market but this morning it was going to be the East Street market ~ it has to be done early before things get ugly
Cosmopolitan doesn't begin to describe it; it was heaving with all sorts from everywhere ~ Chinese making fresh noodles and dim sun, a new Caribbean food stall called O'bama's offering
'american sandwiches ~ over stuffed', wet fish stalls, tat, Christmas tat, clothing ~ one gent proclaiming
'All brand new; none of yer ol' rubbish. Come on you bargain 'unters' ~ and a host of different fruit and veg stalls.
Apparently it hosts over 200 stalls and is a relative newcomer - since 1880 - and also prides itself as the birthplace of one Charlie Chaplin.
I had to wait my turn for the veg as an old boy on a motability scooter was being served; it went something like this:
"Mornin' Bert! 'Ow are yer?"
"K" says Bert from his seat.
"What can I getcha?"
"Some o' them" says Bert, pointing.
"Clementines? How many?"
"Nicker's wurf"
"Anything else?"
"Yeah. Some o' them". Bert points again.
"Nanas? How many?"
"Nicker's wurf"
"Ok. Anything else, Bert?"
"What's them?"
"Kiwi fruit, Bert"
"Kiwi's a fuckin' bird in't it?"
"It's fruit Bert!"
"Piss orf"
"So that's all, Bert?"
"Yeah. 'Ow much then?"
"Two nicker, Bert."
"K"And with that
I buy the veggies
I like markets
