To market, to market

==7:41==

We’d thought that today ought to be a museum day, but when we got up it was so utterly beautiful out that I whined ‘I don’t wanna be inside!’ and we decided to go to the Camden Town Markets instead.

Camden is the site of the Camden Lock.

The Camden Stables Market is decorated with a herd of fine bronze horses – this one helping a shopkeeper display her wares.

The website made it sound like there’d be all sorts of cool vintage and antique stuff, but it was a lie. There was one made-in-China dress I saw being sold in ten stalls, and the same turquoise PVC purse in fifteen.

It was a lie, but not of the dirty rotten variety, because we did find one shop with vintage clothes. I bought a pair of short boots for a bit too much money. But they’re comfy, and if they’ve already lasted forty-odd years, they’ll probably last a few decades more.

My mother swears she owned exactly the same boots when they were new. Is it her pair, traveled across the Atlantic? Sorry mum, not unless your feet used to be a lot smaller.

A typical hallway.

We needed overnight bags to take to Wales this weekend, so she got a lovely teal leatherish one, and I got a fabulous plasticy one from a very talkative Lithuanian.

Around 3 o’clock we were peckish, but not so peckish that I wanted to eat fair food. We wandered down a side street into the Bar Solo. It was empty of patrons, never a good sign, but the atmosphere was nice (skylight, The Kinks) and the menu looked tasty so we stayed.

And we were glad we did, because Oh my god those chicken livers and Oh my god these poached eggs and smoked salmon in hollandaise.

My mother had something involving chicken and mushrooms but I was too busy having a foodgasm to notice.

Chicken livers. Ohhhhh.

After that we’d done with Camden, so we took the tube back back to Trafalgar Square, where we swapped some I’ll-take-one-of-you, you-take-one-of-us photos with a couple from Australia.

I was finally able to get up close to Nelson’s column. Touristy dream: completed.

The Square, with the National Gallery and St.-Martin-in-the-Fields in the background.

She wanted to go to Watkin’s Books and I still hadn’t been to Foyles so we split up. (I of course got to carry all the bags.)

All Barnes & Nobles should be immediately knocked down and replaced with Foyles. Not only was there any normal book you’d want, but also an entire floor of foreign language and language-learning books. Nick Hornby in Czech, Haruki Murakami in Russian, Harry Potter in Thai or…Dari, whatever that is? They’ve got it.

I gave myself a spending limit and astonishingly came in slightly under budget.

I bet I can get something for £3.04, so I may have to go back.

Yes, that is a Totoro keychain. Yes, that is a Nahuatl grammar. And yes, I am a strange, strange woman.