This Sunday I set off in anticipatory mood. I had casually bumped into my friend the previous day who mentioned, matter of factly, that he had picked up an old LB ABC at the local school's fete. I was determined not to be over-excited but, on hearing the book had a DJ, I swiftly arranged an early morning meet at CB1. Our mutual haunt.
It is a wise not to expect too much, so imagine my joy when he exposed from his professional duty holdall an Uncle Mac.
To be honest, I assumed any other finds would be rendered post-climaxic, and I was happy enough, with lacadaisical meanderings. There was the pair of life size ragdolls slumped on a retired rattan basket chair which gave every appearance of having done a heavy social-worker session, the crates of cheap toilet roll packs (can there ever be a false economy with that one and, if so, how?), displayed conveniently close to both washrooms entrance and snack bar and a much loved toilet trainer seat.
Surely I could not expect more? But there it was, for 20p - cosily tucked beneath the Chalet School Girls and Heidi, another Uncle Mac! I recalled the previous day's surprise Car boot sale where I picked up a DJ Garden Flowers for 10p.
Then I suddenly felt dizzy - what does all this good luck mean? But there was more... at CB 2 I found an Edward Lear's Nonsense Verse. In a cold sweat, I was forced to recall the bundle of books which had arrived in Saturday's post:- a 401 DJ, an original Bedtime Rhymes and an Inquisitive Harvest Mouse.
As if starring in a cookie 60's psychedelic celluloid, I flash-backed to the little shop in Malta, re-confronting the mint vintage line-up. However at the apex of my self-reflective experience I considered the following - I still haven't found Cocky and no one reading this will like me much any more... not at least until I can report a bad day at the car boot sale. Running to two conflicting agendas is bound to difficult.
More Car Boot adventures...