A quick pea about "The car boot sale of tranquility"...
About 8 years back when me and the ex were getting by on our means but still grateful for a handout we were offered the chance to join her parents on a caravan holiday in Somerset. Initially aprehensive I gave in when I figured a week by the sea for £70 (our share of the cost) was about the only break I'd get that summer. Plus I was still trying to gain favour with her family by showing I was a nice bloke and not a snob.

Having driven down in hot sticky furnace of a car at a pace that would make an undertaker get irate we arrived to a naff park of static caravans alongside a railway line with a glimpse of sea somewhere near Minehead.

I did my best to hide my dissappointment, even when we went to the pub for a plate of lowest cost highest markup deep fried imported sewer fish and value chips. The highlight of which was watching a family of scousers (i.e. about 15 of them) literally dressed in shell suits with perms just like the Harry Enfield sketch all arguing at another table while one of their criminal in training kids spat chewed up napkins through a peashooter drinking straw at the back of their grandads (i.e. about 45) head.

Anyway, after a few days of the mundane the ex could see I needed a dose of something I might enjoy (no not that) so we went along to a sunny car boot sale in a lush green field nearby.

The place was a haven of tranquil calm, the waves on the shore close by and all manner of bargains on offer. I sauntered around happy as anything, until the ex came up to me clearly a bit put out and explained about the no holds barred granny.

This old northern wench had pretty much steamrollered my ex out of the way having spotted a box of unmatched miscellaneous crockery on offer. Fearful this young lady may deprive her of a set of 5 assorted plates & bowls she waded in, taking no prisoners and loudly demanded to know the cost of such treasure. This much I had heard from several stalls away. Evidently a deal was had and you could see she struggled to get the coins out of her purse quickly enough.

Calm returned to the field and I continued strolling along, occasionally stopping to peruse some nik nak, until said brash granny caught up to me.

Like a Crow to a shiny trinkett she was drawn to something just out of reach and right in front of me. Obviously phrases such as "excuse me" or "could you pass that over please" were foreign tongue to her, so I watched as she stretched forward, counter balancing her box of assorted crap crockery at her side....

Then in slow motion her "Kankle" foot squeezed into shoes clearly not designed anything as impractical as grass gave way and she began to topple. Stood right next to me, I'm sure I had plenty of time to yell "Timber!" had the comedy of what was unfolding been realised, as instinctively she fell like a sack of spuds and the hurled the box in her arms upwards.

Imagine if you will the perfect serenity of a quiet morning at the seaside when the quiet is pierced by the comedy soundtrack of a box of 20 pieces of cheap crockery hitting the deck. It was like time stood still. The whole field turned to look in my direction to see a pair of Granny legs in Nora Batty tights pointing skywards, a fat old lady like a craggy island in a small sea of shattered crockery.

I'm sure I should have offered her a hand to get up.... however I had to focus on finding a tissue.... to deal with the candles of snot I accidentally decorated myself with as I failed to stifle a serious fit of giggles. I could only turn, go bright red as I sniggered as I sauntered away. By the time I could raise my head to look others in the eye it became clear I wasn't the only person to have enjoyed that and many of us exchanged looks of "that was good that" and "she deserved it" with all knowing smiles.
(golddust QOTW now revolves around being a cunt, Thu 21 Jan 2010, 12:32, Reply)