Task 56: Go mud larking

I've always been intrigued by the idea of mudlarking, looking for tangible pieces of history washed up on the Thames foreshore. Life as a mudlark in the Victorian period was grim and probably short, working hard in filthy conditions for a pittance. Being able to go home to a hot shower (although not in my case, as both bathrooms are still out of action) and doing it for pleasure rather than to avoid starvation puts a totally different cast on it. This was one of the 60 challenges I was really looking forward to.

What I hadn't realised was that last autumn a licensing system was introduced, which means that "Anyone wishing to search the tidal Thames foreshore in any way for any reason must hold a current foreshore permit from the Port of London Authority. Searching includes all such activities including searching, metal detecting; digging, or 'scraping'". There are two types of permits: a Standard one allows digging to a depth of 7.5cm, whereas a Mudlark one allows digging to a depth of 1.2m and access to certain areas prohibited to those who only have a Standard permit. However, to apply for a Mudlark permit you must have held a Standard permit for at least two years and have a record of reporting finds to the Museum of London.

If I'd known this before I compiled my list of challenges, I wouldn't have included mudlarking as it clearly couldn't be done within a year. I only found out when I started researching tide tables - which is essential, as the difference between high and low tide on the relevant parts of the Thames is 7 metres, the water comes in fast and the access steps are slippery.

I spent ages trying to find a way round the problem, as I was determined not to have to give in. None of the companies which had previously offered guided walks focusing on mudlarking still included this in their menu, as the licensing system made it too complicated and expensive. I did find one that would reluctantly agree to include the sort of activity covered by a Standard permit, but at a price that effectively ruled it out. 

The next route I tried was researching mudlarking societies and asking whether any of their members would allow me to tag along, so at least I could learn from them and get the flavour of the experience. I found two societies, one of which specialises in using metal detectors. A woman who blogs for the more traditional one replied within 24 hours, explaining that life was hectic at present as she is writing a book which is right up against the deadline, and is also renovating a house, working part time and looking after her young twins. Although she'd be willing in principle to consider letting me accompany her, it couldn't be until after Christmas, which would be too late for my challenges. She very kindly offered advice about going on my own, such as the best places to search, what I might hope to find and what precautions to take (beware the tides, wear protective gloves, etc).

A man who seems to be the leading light in the other society offered to take me out on a guided trip, along with two or three other people, but again the cost was pretty steep. I asked whether he might consider a barter deal: one of my paintings for a 3 hour trip. He replied saying "Show me your wares, girl", which didn't sound too inviting. He was evidently as impressed by my art as I was by his sales technique, so that was a dead end.

I then tried looking at press releases and book reviews about mudlarking, with the idea of contacting the authors to see if one of them might be willing to help. In the process I noticed that the foreshore at Chiswick, which is conveniently close and has accessible parking (so I could stash my muddy Wellingtons and protective gloves etc in the car), seemed easily accessible at low tide and according to one article yields some interesting objects. I decided the best - or least-worst - option was to apply for a 1-day Standard permit (costing £32) and go searching there on my own. Wading through the PLA instructions, however, I discovered that you have to apply at least a month in advance and specify the day for which the permit will be valid - even though you have no idea what the weather will be like, nor whether something else might crop up in the meantime that made the planned date unsuitable. Suddenly the idea seemed much less attractive and I was back at square one.

Glancing again through one of the articles, I spotted a reference to "The Secret Thames - the Archaeology Tour", by London Walks -  http://www.walks.com/our-walks/thames-beachcombing. It was clear that the walk, led by a distinguished intertidal archaeologist, had previously centred on mudlarking but had had to be substantially revised following the introduction of licensing. Now, instead of sticking to the foreshore in front of Tate Modern, it covers a range of the Thames on both banks, with Fiona (the guide) explaining the history of the area and showing us part of her collection of objects found while mudlarking. At the end of the walk, we would be free to go down onto the foreshore - which in itself isn't illegal, as long as you don't move anything to have a look at what's there - and would have a much better idea of what it was we were seeing. There was a walk scheduled in 2 days' time. Bingo!

The weather was lovely and Peter and I duly assembled outside Mansion House tube station, along with about 30 others, of all ages. As we started walking towards the riverbank, Fiona described the network of rivers in London and how most are now covered and have been absorbed into the sewage system. Apparently if you go to Sloane Square tube station and look up at the end where trains come in from the west, you will see the base of a large tube that contains one of the tributaries. In mediaeval times, the rivers would have been uncovered, filthy and stinking. Fiona pointed out the storm gate for the hidden Walbrook River, visible at the base of the left-hand strut below, which bursts open under heavy pressure:

We passed a black phone box - black rather than red, as it's in the City of London - and walked across Southwark Bridge. Looking down from the far bank, we saw a gull trying to eat a dead eel - without much success, as the skin is so tough:

It was a reminder of how successfully the Thames has been cleaned up, since the 1950s when it was so polluted that almost nothing could survive in its waters. Now there are over 125 different species of fish flourishing there, which in turn have attracted seals and porpoises.

As we walked along the South Bank under the Bridge, Fiona pointed out the murals depicting London's first Frost Fair, held on the ice when the Thames froze over in 1564:

The Thames was broader and shallower then, and the old London Bridge was built on narrow arches which concentrated the water into swift-flowing torrents, with the effect that in winter large pieces of ice would gradually block the arches. Eventually, usually only for a few days, the whole river would freeze over. The wording on the murals, taken from handbills of the period, is:

Behold the Liquid Thames frozen o’re,
That lately Ships of mighty Burthen bore
The Watermen for want of Rowing Boats
Make use of Booths to get their Pence & Groats
Here you may see beef roasted on the spit
And for your money you may taste a bit
There you may print your name, tho cannot write
Cause num'd with cold: tis done with great delight
And lay it by that ages yet to come
May see what things upon the ice were done.

Another unusual sight was the so-called Ferryman's Seat, which was intended for the convenience of ferrymen waiting to ply their trade across the Thames:

It's so narrow that only a child or a malnourished adult can use it, and the sloping back forces you into a subservient position, leaning forwards.

At the end of the walk, we settled down on steps near the Tate Modern to look at some of the objects Fiona has found since 1995, when she first started mudlarking. We were allowed to handle all of them except for the first one, an ancient hand axe made of flint for a right-handed person (you can tell by the shape of the grip):

Next were some small flints, fashioned as cutting tools with notched "serrated" edges (they're all but invisible in this photo, so you'll have to take my word for it):

We moved on to the sixteenth century, with a variety of clay pipes. It's relatively easy to come across the remnants, as the tobacco came packed in the pipes which were simply discarded once the smoke was finished. When tobacco first reached England, it was so expensive that the pipe bowls were tiny:

As their use became more widespread, they were produced in a wide range of designs, including the saucy (spot the lady's garter):

Fiona explained how they could be dated by the changes in shape and design, including whether the base of the bowl was flat or had a "heel":

One of her finds which particularly appealed to me was a late Georgian glass ink bottle which would originally have been in a writing slope:

The first present I ever gave Peter, for Christmas, was a Victorian writing slope, so it had a special resonance for me. I don't recall him using it once, but it's perfect for writing Christmas cards while sitting on the settee with half an eye on the television.

Moving into the twentieth century, Fiona showed us the detonator head from a German incendiary bomb during the Blitz:

Once the walk was over, I was keen to get onto the foreshore and see what I could find:

It was frustrating not being able to pick up anything, as there were plenty of objects that caught my eye:

Amongst them was an assortment of old nails, which don't show that well in the photo but it was interesting speculating about how they'd come there and who had first used them:

I was surprised at how many fragments of terracotta there were. Most looked as though they were pieces of roof tile and I wished I could have handled them, as Fiona had explained how the shape of the holes for attaching them to a roof had changed over the ages. At first they had been round and smoothed by hand on only one side (the underneath didn't matter, as it wouldn't be seen). Then, as skills developed, the holes became diamond-shaped and looked more sophisticated. Not being able to inspect the ones on the foreshore, I could only guess:

There were also various pieces of glass in different colours, mostly pale blue and green, along with some shells. Oyster shells are plentiful, as oysters were for centuries a cheap source of protein and eaten by the poor. It was only as the supply dwindled and prices rose, that the rich showed any interest in them:

I thoroughly enjoyed this walk and would certainly recommend it. If you think you might be interested in mudlarking, it would provide useful information on what to look for and its potential significance, and help you "get your eye in". Then, if you want to take it further, I'd suggest getting a £75 permit for 3 years, rather than a £32 permit for only one day. I'm tempted to apply for one, as it was so tantalising seeing objects that I wanted to pick up and couldn't touch. With a permit I'd be able to dig down a few inches, so that I could prise them out of the mud and have a really good look. I'm not expecting to find anything valuable, but simply holding a piece of history in my hands and thinking about  who else might have held it, and when and why, would be very satisfying.

Task 12: Sell something on eBay

Over the years I've bought a few things on eBay, using the Buy Now option by default, as my attempts to bid successfully for anything at a price that seemed reasonable always came to nought - or I wanted it enough to offer the Buy Now price. Listening to my friend Linda talk about bidding techniques, I realised there seemed to be quite a knack to it and presumably the same applied to selling. As I love selling things and can't persuade Peter to stagger up before dawn to do any more car boot sales, I decided it would be an interesting challenge to sell something on eBay.

Dutifully I read all the guidance I could find, which was plentiful, and then had to choose what to try and sell. The idea of the DVD of Hell or High Water, which I'd bought on eBay to watch for one of the other challenges, was appealing. I wouldn't want to view it again and there was a pleasing symmetry to seeing it go as it had come. Also I could streamline the effort involved by using much the same blurb as my seller had. Simple.

Or not. You may notice that my photo of the DVD looks rather blue:

That's because I took it in the conservatory and I'd forgotten that the replacement roof had an anti-glare tint. Still, I reckoned it would do as it wasn't really a question of trying to present the charms of the DVD in the best possible light - someone would either want it or they wouldn't, and price would be the determining factor. I decided to offer free postage, as I find it irritating when you see something advertised quite cheaply, only to find they're charging way over the odds for postage. I wanted the starting price to be sufficiently low to be sure of selling it, so that the challenge would be achieved, but on the other hand it would be satisfying to make enough for the effort to be worthwhile. I therefore chose £3.99 as the Buy Now price and £2.99 as the starting bid price. What I hadn't realised is that the Buy Now price has to be at least 40% higher than the starting bid price, so it was bounced until I made the necessary adjustment.

As it's the holiday season, I thought it would make sense to opt for a 10 rather than 7 day selling period, to maximise the chances of getting a sale. It was handy finding that you can set your start time and date in advance, so I set it to start (and therefore end) at 7.15pm, when most people would be back from work and hopefully in the mood to buy. I hit the relevant button and waited for the action to start. It did, immediately, with a message saying that it had been rejected because the start date had already passed. It took me a while to realise it was a 24 hour clock and I'd selected 7.15am, not pm. Duh. I made the correction and sat back with some excitement, waiting for a bidding frenzy (in my dreams).

To my surprise, it sold in less than an hour to someone using the Buy Now option. Rather a damp squib, really, but at least I'd learned how the system worked. I'm now keen to try it again with something more ambitious, so I'm roving the house, looking for an interesting and easily postable object that we no longer want. A combined compass and whistle, anyone?

Task 14: Learn all the functions of my iPad

For so long I've been aware that I was using only a fraction of the capability of my iPad and that I didn't know much of what it could do, let alone how to use it. On plane trips I often seemed to be sitting next to a bright young thing, watching her tap away on her iPad, organising lists, watching videos etc. Meanwhile I wasn't even using mine as the battery was dead, having been exhausted playing Candy Crush while waiting to board. This had to change and once again the Challenges provided the required spur to action.

What I hadn't hoisted in was quite how much there was to learn. The manual runs to 357 pages and some days I couldn't take in more than 20 at a time, as I needed to try out so many of the functions. I was able to speed up once it occurred to me that instead of reading and trying to memorise the instructions on my iPad, and then switching to the relevant facility on the iPad to see how it worked - and having to keep repeating the process as I nearly always forgot part of it - I could use 2 iPads at the same time. Although my old iPad doesn't work that well, I was able to download the latest version of the manual and view it with no problem, leaving my newer one available for testing out what I'd learned:

The most useful things I came across were:

• adding the iPad user guide icon to the home screen, so that I could access it immediately.
• opening the iPad by simply placing my forefinger on the main button rather than having to key in my 4 number password.
• in the evening, switching on the night setting which gives a softer light, making it easier on the eyes and apparently more likely to give you a better night's sleep.
• how to type a letter that has an accent. You hold your finger on the letter and options will appear. Slide your finger across and select the accent you want.
• how to search for a word or phrase on a web page and to find other instances of it in subsequent pages. This should save a lot of time and frustration when googling for information and coming across documents in web sites that apparently contain the key words, but because they aren't on the first page of the document it can take ages to find them.
• how to open a link on a website in split view, so that you can read the linked web page while still being able to see the original website.
• how to download my music and playlists from my desktop to my iPad. I've been meaning to do this for years, especially since last time I was in South Africa I thought I'd use Spotify instead, only to find that it doesn't work overseas after the first 2 weeks.
• the wonders of Siri. For example, you can use it to dictate an email (not perfect, but very handy if for some reason you want to keep typing to a minimum); identify music you hear by asking Siri "What song is playing", and Siri will tell you the name and artist of the song (which you can buy or add to your wish list if you're so inclined); play music stored on your iPad, by any particular artist or album, simply by asking Siri to play it; get directions to a location by car, on foot or public transport, showing traffic conditions and weather, and the current journey time; and find places of interest, eg if you say "Hey Siri, find a coffee near me", it will show you on screen the nearest cafes and restaurants, and give you the distance - with links to their websites, expedia/trip advisor reviews, etc.
• podcasts. I've rarely used them in the past, but now I realise what a rich source of entertainment and information they are - and free, too. It's particularly useful if you have to do something like exercises at home, which are boring but necessary and you want something interesting to listen to, to alleviate the tedium.
• in Maps, you can face a different direction by rotating the image with two fingers. Peter rolled his eyes when I was enthusing about this, as he can't understand why I need to have the map facing the direction I want to go in. I know I'm not alone in this, though.
• in Messages, how to send audio messages rather than just text.
• how to make text in Messages more interesting by using special effects, eg invisible text that's too blurred to read until you swipe it and which afterwards reverts to being blurred (could be useful, provided you're confident that your loved one or whoever isn't familiar with this feature); handwritten text that appears to the recipient as if it's being written while they watch (and you can save standard phrases like "Thank you", so you don't have to create it each time); messages including showers of confetti, balloons floating up the screen, attractive images (my favourite is of a teddy bear swinging its arms, which was how I felt after finishing my first gym session in years) etc. I owe my friend Rowena a big thank you for her patience in giving me feedback on my various attempts to master these features, so this particular teddy bear is for her:

• taking photos using the volume buttons (either of them) on the side of the iPad, rather than pressing the shutter button on the screen. This helps to get a steadier image - and reduced the number of times I accidentally included my thumbs.
• how to see the photos you've taken recently, while staying in Camera mode rather than having to switch to Gallery and back. You tap the thumbnail image below the shutter button, then swipe left.
• adjusting the exposure when taking a photo, by tapping the sunlight symbol next to the exposure rectangle on the screen.

There were two things I found surprising. One was that iTunes covers vastly more than just music, which is a little confusing. The other is that the safety instructions come at the very end of the manual, which was a big relief as it meant I could whizz through the last section, but I'd have expected them to be at the start. I was amused by the instruction that "Sleeping or sitting on the Lightning connector should be avoided". 

This challenge took much longer than I'd expected but it was definitely worth the effort - even though at times this section of the manual felt strangely familiar: "If iPad can't regulate its internal temperature, it goes into deep sleep mode until it cools". 

Task 17: Explore a UK city I’ve never been to before

Like most people, I don't know my own country as well as I should, so exploring a UK city I'd never been to before seemed a natural challenge to include in the list. Googling a list of all the cities, I was surprised to find there were 18 in England alone that I'd never visited, out of a total of 51. Selecting Chester was an easy choice as I knew it was attractive and historically interesting, and I could put together a short break including 2 other challenges - visiting the Tate in Liverpool and the Lowry Gallery in Salford. Given that I'd also want to include places like Port Sunlight and the Lady Lever Art Gallery, it could end up being more like a week, but that seemed fine.

Since then, free time has become a bit scarce and particularly trying to get more than a few days when there's nothing else already booked. With the end of the 60 at 60 year getting uncomfortably close - just over 3 months to go, jeepers! - I decided to look at the list of the 18 cities again, to review the other options. Chelmsford had the advantage of being the nearest and also the most recently created city in England, having been granted city status in 2012. At a pinch, I thought, it might be possible to squeeze it all in in a day, with an early start and a late return home. That would open up the possibility of doing the Tate and the Lowry in 2 day trips, which would make the logistics much simpler.

Decision made, I started doing some research on what there was to see there, resigning myself to limiting it to "must see" options. Turning to Wikipedia, I found the Places of Interest section was remarkably brief. The best on offer seemed to be a small cathedral, a railway viaduct, the eighteenth century Hylands House (only open on Sundays and Mondays, and I was going on a Saturday) and a museum. Maybe the official tourism website for Essex would have richer pickings? Nope. The most it could offer was that a visit to Chelmsford would "leave you entertained for hours". Not very promising. 

Widening my search to places nearby, I came across Ingatestone Hall, a smallish Tudor stately home with two priest holes and a Summer Parlour providing light lunches. It is normally open only on Sunday and Wednesday afternoons, but fortunately it would be open to "casual visitors" for self-guided tours on Saturday 19 August, as a historical reenactment event would be taking place in the grounds. That sounded like a plan.

Peter and I set off reasonably early, in rather heavy traffic, and arrived at the Hall at 12 noon. The event was described on its website as "A re-creation of everyday life in the years following the Restoration of the Monarchy in 1667, staged with impressive attention to detail by The Essex Militia, a well-known historical re-enactment society, with Musket, Cannon Fire and Archery Displays. Mingle with the gentry, soldiers, tradesmen and country folk as they go about their business". We were told that the Militia would be starting with a march at 12.30 pm in the main courtyard, so we decided to have a look around the outside of the Hall in the meantime:

The motto of the family Sans Dieu Rien (Without God There Is Nothing) appears on the attractive tower over the entrance gate:

In the grounds we found a few men and women in historical dress, but time was getting on and not a lot was happening. Apparently they had "lost the king" and couldn't start without him, so we retired to the Summer Parlour for coffee and a slice of delicious carrot cake. Eventually we heard a drum roll and wandered out to the courtyard to watch the action:

Charles II - the tall one at the back - had been found and was bringing Nell Gwynn to visit Lord Petre and his wife, the owners of the Hall. The militia were a bit thin on the ground but the three musket-men (one of whom was an elderly woman, who struggled with her hat, musket and sense of direction, accidentally bumping into the king at one point) did their best. Lord Petre welcomed his guests with a drink, the king made a speech and we toddled back to the Parlour for toasted sandwiches, feeling how eccentrically English it all was:

After lunch we explored the house, which had been built in 1541 and has remained in the family since then, passing through 15 generations. There are eight principal rooms to see, with helpful information and friendly guides in each of them. The family still lives there and it has a pleasantly relaxed atmosphere, especially once you move past the slightly chilly great hall:

A few of the female members of the militia had reappeared inside, demonstrating various occupations of the period, including spinning, wig making and carving gilded gingerbread:

They were all very knowledgeable about their craft and happy to talk about its significance. Although I was aware that spices were precious in the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries, I hadn't realised that a small wooden chest containing mace, nutmeg, cloves, star anise, cinnamon and black pepper - about the size of a large tupperware box - would cost the equivalent then of a decent house in London. To offer spiced and gilded gingerbread to a guest was to make a statement about your wealth and establish your status.

The wig making was less fragrant but equally interesting. Two main techniques were employed, both of which were demonstrated: creating a kind of crocheted lattice-work from the (real) hair, forming a fine base from which the hair then hangs, or using a piece of mesh through which the hairs were pulled and knotted. Peter was given the opportunity to try on a splendid Restoration wig, made of artificial hair, long and full of curls. He rather fancied the effect, noting that it automatically made you throw back your head and look haughty. He does haughty rather well, although it isn't in character. Unfortunately no photographs were allowed, otherwise that would have been Christmas cards sorted.

The two priest holes were reasonably spacious inside, although not for prolonged periods. Surprisingly one wasn't discovered until the Victorian period and the other far more recently. The priests must have been brave men - and the family too, retaining their Catholic faith for hundreds of years, despite the penalties for doing so.

Finally it was time to move on to Chelmsford. In the car park there we faced a dilemma, having to choose how many hours to pay for. Two might not be enough, especially if we wanted a cup of tea, so we plumped for three. We started with the cathedral, which was originally built - as St Mary the Virgin - about 800 years ago and rebuilt in the fifteenth and early sixteenth centuries:

The nave partially collapsed in 1800 and had to be rebuilt, and the interior was extensively refurbished in 1983:

One of the stained glass windows, in memory of a wife and mother who died in 1905, was particularly attractive with rich and vivid colours:

There was a curious and unexplained use of Byzantine imagery, which was especially striking in the "icons" high on the chancel wall, near the ceiling:

Two other interesting features included the modern painting of the Tree of Life, shaped to fill the tracery of a former window which had been discovered fairly recently when the organ had been moved to allow for the extension of the vestry:

There was also the Mildmay Monument and tomb, dating from 1566:

Thomas Mildmay and his eight sons are shown on the bottom right, and his wife Avice and her seven daughters on the bottom left. The rather moving Latin inscription at the top translates as:

Almost everything else in the cathedral is modern and dull, so we moved on to explore the rest of the city. Well, that didn't take long. Charles Dickens, on a brief stop there, wrote to a friend: "If anyone were to ask me what in my opinion was the dullest and most stupid spot on the face of the Earth, I should decidedly say Chelmsford". There didn't appear to be any buildings that were interesting, old or attractive, the shops were the standard fare in two characterless malls, and the high spot in our search was a bridge dating from 1785:

I wondered why Chelmsford had been given the honour of becoming a city five years ago. It seems there was general bemusement at the decision, and even the locals such as Simon Heffer couldn't understand it, remarking in an article that "only a mother could really love Chelmsford". The BBC News noted at the time that "the Cabinet Office would not say how it reached its decision about how to award City Status".  We found it completely charmless and returned to the car after less than an hour. I think Chester would have been rather different....

Task 22: Visit Columbia Road flower market

It was about 30 years ago when I first heard of Columbia Road flower market and I've been meaning to go for ages, once I could brace myself to be there for 8am on Sundays, when it opens. Including it as one of the challenges provided exactly the impetus I needed, and I was delighted when my friend Angela said she'd like to go too. Unfortunately she has been ill this year and not really up to long outings, so Peter good-naturedly agreed to go in her place (also the football season was about to start and he was possibly interested in getting some Brownie points). If you're reading this, Angela, I'd love to go again once you're better.

Columbia Market, in Tower Hamlets, was first established in 1869 by the heiress and philanthropist Angela Burdett-Coutts, as a covered food market with 400 stalls. It never really got off the ground, partly because traders preferred the less regulated system of roadside pitches, and it closed less than 20 years later. The French Huguenot presence in the area fostered a demand for cut flowers and a flower market became established. Originally it opened on Saturdays but with the influx of Jewish immigrants this changed to Sundays, to accommodate their need not to trade on the Sabbath. It also gave Covent Garden and Spitalfields traders the opportunity to sell their leftover produce.

Following a long period of decline, the market started flourishing in the late 1960s with increasing interest in gardening programmes and it is now full of life and colour:

It has a cosmopolitan atmosphere, with many different nationalities - predominantly European - among the crowd. The main attraction is the flowers, shrubs and herbs, but there are also plenty of quirky little shops which are mostly open only on Sundays or by appointment:

Having failed to get there until about 10am, partly because it took a long time to find a parking space (there are no tube stations nearby, but the parking is free and there are some areas that aren't restricted to residents only), we decided to start with a coffee and a pastry. The weather was lovely and we found a vibrant Spanish restaurant with its doors and windows open to the sun, which was perfect for watching the local scene:

Suitably fortified, we wandered out to listen to the jazz, browse the shops and look at all the stalls. The colours of the flowers were wonderful and I was sorely tempted to buy some huge blue and white hydrangea heads, but decided there was no point while our house is full of building dust:

Having looked at every single stall - and there are a lot of them - we noticed an intriguing shop that seemed to be a combination of a specialist wine seller and laid back cafe. The coffee was in styrofoam cups but delicious, and we enjoyed sitting on cushioned benches at a long wooden table, imbibing the atmosphere along with the caffeine:

While Peter was trying not to think of how Newcastle's first match of the season was going (they lost), I decided it would be a good idea to look at all the stalls again and make a few purchases. With so much choice and such low prices, it wasn't easy to make up my mind. I bought a few plants and we went for lunch at an unusual Italian restaurant on the fringe of the market - the Stringray Globe. 

By the time we'd finished it was getting on for 3 o'clock and the traders had nearly finished packing away - the perfect opportunity to see if there were any bargains to be had. By then you could get 4 hydrangea heads instead of 3 for £10, and four bunches of cornflowers for only £5, but commonsense prevailed. On the other hand, it would have been daft not to buy a white orchid - admittedly a bit the worse for wear - for a mere £1. In the end I came home with the orchid, 2 penstemons in pink and mauve flushed with white, a Cambridge blue salvia and two pink purple fuchsias, for the princely sum of £8:

It was a lovely way of spending a sunny Sunday and I'd highly recommend it. Even if you aren't interested in buying any plants or flowers, it's a fascinating place to wander around. There's no need to get there as soon as it opens, as the traders have plenty of stock and you won't miss out if you arrive later. It's worth waiting for lunch until about 2 o'clock, when the cafes are more likely to have a free table, and then scooping up some extra last-minute bargains while the traders are packing away. I also found it intriguing reading about Angela Burdett-Coutts, who was a remarkable woman in so many ways, including proposing to the Duke of Wellington when she was 33 and he was 78. He declined, wishing her to marry someone younger who could offer her years of happiness together. This she did at the age of 67, when she married her 29 year old secretary, William Bartlett - probably not quite what the Iron Duke had in mind!