It's been a week of deaths, and funerals, and sadness, of finding lost friends and hanging out and eating with close friends and discovering the remarkable properties of Sloe Gin. Suffice to say we shall be out there picking those Sloe berries... 


We did the garage sales yesterday. One lady pointed out that those who like to get there at 6.30am (who does that?) come tearing in and go tearing out, looking for that underpriced treasure so they can sell it. Then they rush off to the next place.

It's not that I'm not a morning person, I'm more not a waking up person.  I prefer to make a more dignified progress, have a chat to the sellers, it's really not that urgent. Often they find some little treasure for you, at the bottom of a box or the back of a shelf. I enjoy the chat.

Why DO garage sales have to start so early?  What's wrong with 9am? Because I would really want a bunch of strangers gathering in my yard (no respect for privacy, here) at dawn. Does the term 'leisurely breakfast' mean 
nothing to these people?

I came home empty handed, although my sister found a lovely old illustrated encyclopedia and a couple of other bits and pieces.

I might check the oppies tomorrow, you never know...