Starting in the spring, there's at least one Vide Grenier every weekend in the surrounding villages, and today it's our turn. Literally, 'Vide Grenier' means 'empty loft', and it's a bit like a car boot sale. We're excited because Small is selling lots of old clothes and toys, and she loves selling. I'm selling homemade lavender bags, and bits of fabric, and anything else I can find, but my stock is limited because I'm a hoarder and I usually buy at these markets - large green bottles, jugs and shapely brown carafes, antique French linen sheets, candle stick lamps, plates, a travel cot for the gite, a good quality coffee maker. Sometimes you get lucky and buy great stuff at bargain basement prices, sometimes you accidently buy junk, and other times you just marvel at the stuff people try to sell, and the chap who turns up at every vide trying to sell an old wire table - very pretty - at a mamothly huge (for here) price of 400 euros. But this weekend it's our turn, and as we get everything out, (Small has this all planned, it's a military operation) stamping our feet, we feel like proper market traders in our woolly hats, jackets and hefty boots.
Our boat friends come over and set up their stall next to ours and we make signs, hang things up, make more coffee. Gradually it gets light and people start arriving, This Vide is huge - running a mile each way on both sides of the canal, and we have high hopes. But Small quickly gets bored and wanders off giggling in French with her mates, boat friend has hangover and disappears to look round, and I am left sitting on the cold wall, smiling at the world going by, but selling nothing. Gradually though, as I sit there, the sun comes up and it gets warmer and warmer until it's t shirt and dress weather, and then all of a sudden, at lunchtime, it's boiling. We sustain ourselves with glasses of chilled rose (well, someone has to do it), and then in the afternoon the market really hots up, for Small at least, and things start selling. Suddenly she's sold her huge toy oven (thank goodness - a space in our junk room), and then there's no stopping her. While all the other stall holders complain, Small racks up a good 60 euros, I get 17 euros (but spend 30) and boat friend gets 40. Too big say the French traders, tout le monde est ici, too many people, too many stalls, shrugging grumpy gallic shoulders.
At the end of the day it's bargain time, as everyone sells off really cheaply rather than pack stuff back in their cars, and then gradually, at about 6.30 the place clears out and calms down until all that is left are the chalk marks on the roads marking out the pitches, and some people having aperetifs at the restaurant opposite.
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