‘Traders will be round, looking for an early worm.’ He climbed into the van. ‘If a man called Dennis comes looking for me, tell him I’ve got the stuff and I’ll be back in a minute.’

I gave him the thumbs up as he drove off, although I hadn’t got a clue what stuff he was talking about.

The market had sprung to life whilst I’d been engrossed in putting out my stock. There were four separate lines of stalls down the runway, most of them being dressed and in various stages of completion. I was gagging for a look around. I waited for Paul to return, stamping my frozen feet, hoping that it wouldn’t rain and that I’d have some customers, I didn’t want to go home at the end of the day without having sold anything.

I got my first customer within a few minutes. A woman in a padded jacket and fur hat, another trader I assumed, came to run an eye over my stall. She picked up a blue jug, studied it for a minute and asked, ‘What’s your best on this?’

‘Fiver?’ I suggested.

She nodded wordlessly, handed the money over without ado and wandered off. Well, I thought, that was easy. With childish glee, I wrote my first sale of the day in my notebook. Paul returned, carrying coffee. I clasped my frozen hands gratefully around the plastic cup and told him proudly about my sale.

‘She didn’t argue about the price?’ he asked, eyes narrowing doubtfully.

‘No, not at all,’ I told him happily.

He grimaced. ‘Traders always haggle. You probably had it priced too cheap.’

I must have looked crestfallen and he told me to cheer up. ‘Why don’t you wander around? Go inside the hangar and warm up. Get some breakfast. We may be busy later.’

I needed no further bidding. All agog, I wandered the avenues between stalls selling any amount of old tat. At least that’s how it seemed to me. But I’m not inspired by Dinky cars, train sets, medals, coronation mugs, toys, tin or plastic, or figurines of little animals. Some people, it seems, will collect anything. Eventually, I found more interesting stalls, some selling costume jewellery, and took careful note of prices. One displayed nothing but kitchenware: wooden breadboards and rolling pins, chipped enamel jugs and breadbins, scales with brass weights, in fact, a lot of stuff that Nick still had in his kitchen: all highly collectable, apparently.