Zzzzzzzz...

Any First-Market-Prepared-At-Late-Notice wrap I have for you, features the veritable skill with which I have crafted myself a whole new timezone. What with the manic rush and a default setting for ‘night owl’, I’ve adopted the wide awake at 3am, crash and burn at 1pm, approach to school holidays. A timezone with parental limitation.

Luckily Daylesford is always mighty gorgeous, as is this lovely local, as are all the excellent bloggy types who popped by and others who sent sweet wishes, as is this talented fellow-stallholder. A generally fabulous time was had on Saturday – with the possible exception between 1.45pm and 3pm, whereupon Gina arrived and spruiked tea towels, while the loo was located in an entirely urgent fashion.



Somewhere in those pre-Market wee small hours, I’d concocted a new range of greeting cards which are based on entire randomness and whatever seemed a good idea in the pre-dawn, I-think-I’m-hallucinating-now, time. Because we all know of my penchant for the bracket (right?), you will be unsurprised to learn that this extends to fronts of greeting cards...

Happy birthday (you Spring Chicken, you):



Like a bull in a china shop (I’m sorry):



You’re fabulous (For you, I’d walk 500 miles. Then I would walk 500 more):

(And yes, that bracketed bit is best sung Proclaimers* style, with a la-dada-da! or two to top it off).



I am no salesperson worthy of a hard sell, so if you want to see all six, best you meander over to the shop. As far as this better at being a buyer than a seller goes, when this translates to markets, you’ll find I am more likely to be singing renditions of ‘Daisy, Daisy...’ and discussing the finer points of granny square end-weaving-in with customers, rather than actively flogging stuff. In my last (wincing) effort to convince you that I am indeed related to an extended family filled with car salespersons, you can buy any five Myrtle and Eunice cards and I’ll lovingly package ’em for you and won’t charge you a cent in postage.

Enough.

Finally, just to prove that I haven’t given up on these suckers, aforementioned granny square end-weaving offcuts:



The most boring bit of market craft, ever conceived. Over the course of eight hours, I achieved the grand sum of twelve, ready to join, granny squares. One hundred and forty-two (and possibly a lot of markets), to go.

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* You so know you should click that link.