Twice a week it leaves a awful lot of mess which my council tax pays scary-looking machines to clean up. It's been going for hundreds of, if not a couple of thousand, years. It's held right in the centre of town on St Peters Street on Saturdays and Wednesdays. And it's called St Albans market.
Time to get one's own back.
Saturday, just approaching 5 o'clock in the afternoon.
The centre of St Albans is still bustling with shoppers, though there's a fair crowd pushing through with their bags back towards the car parks. Check your purse. Damn, you've only a ten pound note. Dive into WH Smiths, buy a paper and pocket the change. Saunter down St Peters Street, trying to look as if there's nothing you'd rather do on a Saturday than go to Woolworths and TK Maxx.
The market traders are packing up. Boxes, and shouting.
Get in there and snap up those fruit and veg bargains!
Market trader: '3 lots of strawberries for a pound, luv?'
Reply: 'Yes, please!'
Quick! Tip your pound coin in his palm, grab the bag and on to the next stall...
Random diversion:
A small town strawberry festival!
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