Until now. Today’s email is not a rejection. And it takes about three minutes for the joy to turn to mild panic. The show is in four days and I have no table, no set-up, no nothing. I don’t even think I have enough cards. I am entirely unprepared.

I would like Peter’s help with everything but instead I ask:

Could you come help me on the day? Maybe you could keep me company around lunch-time?

That all?

That’s all. And maybe you could bring coffee. xx

If you’re sure that’s all you need I’m happy to oblige, but I’m here if you need more.

The next few days are filled with doing things I really should have done months ago. I cancel all my plans, including a yoga date with Tilly, and refuse any additional meet-ups, including another rendezvous with Colin.

Instead, I get insurance for my stand. I come up with a pricing strategy (by which I mean I put actual prices on all of my cards). I beg/borrow (and also steal, in the case of a small succulent – sorry, pub) things to brighten up my display table. I make a sign. I also try to think of funny things for new cards. I fail miserably at this, and decide to recycle some of last year’s bestsellers instead. A perk of being unknown is that they aren’t recycled in many people’s eyes. Every cloud.

And sooner than I would have liked, Sunday, aka Independent Art Fair Day, rolls around, and I’ve managed to squeeze all my card paraphernalia into the taxi. The driver isn’t happy about how long it has taken to load all my boxes, but finally everything is in and I can shut the door. One issue: I can only shut the door with me on the outside.

‘You’re never gonna get it all in with you inside, love.’

I think for a while, imagining I am playing a game of Tetris instead.

‘Hold on, I have an idea.’ I open the front passenger door. ‘Can I …?’ I don’t wait for his OK before I move the seat back. I rearrange the boxes and shut the door. ‘Perfect! That will be fine there.’ I hope. I then grab the box that’s sitting on the back seat and sit down, with the box on my lap. ‘OK! I’m ready.’

We are leaving about thirty minutes later than I had planned.

Clinging on to the box as we round corners unnecessarily fast, I’m a ball of apprehension. Despite all my preparations, I still feel woefully unprepared. I don’t remember the brownie stall organization being this stressful. But there wasn’t so much riding on that, whereas I want my cards to succeed. Today I take a step towards that goal. Today feels important. Today I will see people’s reactions to my cards first hand. I can’t help but think that by judging the cards, they’re also judging me.

If anyone had seen me this morning, they would already be judging me badly, but luckily only I was witness to my panicked last-minute preparations and changes in plan. The annoying thing is, I’d been worried about the logistics for days, particularly the taxi, but had been so paralysed by fear that I couldn’t face it until the morning itself. A terrible idea.