Car boot looming!

Will it rain tomorrow or won't it? Will we need macs or sunhats and sunscreen for standing in a school yard for five hours or more? How many coathangers and plastic bags (supplied by me)? Will all my stuff fit in my pal Jill's small Micra, as well as her own?

Tonight I shall make my way from Hillingdon to Camden Town and camp out on her flop-out armchair in readiness for a 6.30 am start. I shouldn't think either of us will get a wink of sleep. At dawn, we will sip cups of tea, ashen with tiredness, and discuss whether it worth going and whether we're likely to cover the £10 admission charge. All we'll want to do is slope off back to bed, but the car is wall-to-wall bin bags, skewered by the poles of the hanging rail. Then the adrenalin will kick in and we will find ourselves in a queue of cars and the next panic will be whether or not we'll get a pitch. Once, we were the very last car they let in. That was a heart-stopper, that was, with boot sales being very thin on the ground in North London.

Once I get back to Hillingdon, totally knackered and hopefully clutching fistfuls of fivers, I have to go to a barbecue in Langley - unless I can persuade Mr G to go without me. I should imagine I shall be fit to drop by then. Anyone want a pair of Size 16 scarlet linen Debenham' trousers, unworn, bought for a pirate party I didn't go to in the end? Only a five to you and I'll even throw in the eyepatch. But not the parrot. I shall need him to sit on my shoulder and shout, 'Pieces of eight - show us your money, you landlubbers!'