Car Boot fairs are where you go to argue and barter with people with less teeth in their heads than eyes.
The obligatory shit car is filled with …er…..shit tat which eventually makes it way to a painter and decorator wallpaper pasting table. There’s nothing more soul destroying than seeing an old woman who’s still bearing the exuberance of her once lost youth by means of tasteless tattoo’s around her neck, arguing over the price of a wooden dildo in the middle of a Saturday afternoon.
Carboot sales are where people that should really be in counselling or doing community service frequent in a vain hope to bag a bargain, and deprive someone who clearly is already deprived of the only thing of worth they ever owned.
You see it in every other episode of Dickenson’s real deals, the tea reading gypsy with the French lalique bowl she found at a carboot sale for a quid, but Id rather see the poor ripping the poor off than some salmon trouser posh tit profiting from some old dears misfortune that’s just evil.
To describe a Carboot fair to someone whose never been is to say if you threw a fence around the perimeter of it all you’ve basically got a scene from ‘Escape from New York ’ with most of the characters in tow, your sure to meet someone called ‘Snake’ looking to sell you some shit.
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