It's that time of the week when I rise early and lug the pre-prepared boxes out to load  up the vehicle and shamble down to the Market Place in Chesterfield for a day standing selling books and selected bric-a-brac.

Of all the things I thought I might be doing on a weekly basis this is not one of them - but love it and enjoy it I do so somehow the getting up early seems bearable.

As I have mentioned before I have taken receipt recently of a large number of books and the like for my Uncle who has been a dealer for over 40 years. The weight of books means that he can no longer manage in the same way and so I have been the beneficiary of his residual stock. Now this stock has amounted to over 150 boxes of books and so I have before me the prospect of hours and hours of sorting them out.  It a task that I am both daunted by and excited about.

One if the main outcomes of this excitement is that week to week I genuinely don't know at the moment which boxes I'm picking up.  The excitement, shock or uncertainty that I have built into my market stall is making me smile, cringe and giving my customers a need to return each week and have a browse.  Now I do t doubt that I need to get ahead and get organised but fir now I'm enjoying the gentle chaos of opening the boxes each week and only then finding out what I'm selling that week.

Why don't you pop down and have a look? You never know, and indeed right now, neither do I.