Talking of flea markets, I went back to see if the perfect white bowl was still there, and it was, but before putting down my thirty euros, I wandered around the market and there in the centre, a woman, bundled up in a big brown coat, scarf round her head against the biting wind, eating a sandwich, had all sorts of bowls, including a plain white bowl of the same sort of size. Asking her how much it was, I asked her several times because she kept saying eine, I thought to the woman next to me rummaging through the stuff. Finally she held up her thumb, "eine" to me. One euro, I couldn't believe it but quickly gave her a euro for the bowl, which she even wrapped up. Not perfect like the other one, not original thirties plain roundness, but perfectly good. The way using perfect as a modifier shows its' imperfection. In fact I like its' utility plainness. Tableware instead of china, but fine. On the stall I also spied a blue and yellow fluted glass bowl that had been hand-painted by someone, and pressing my luck I tentatively asked about the price. That she breezily said I could have for half a euro. Having gone there with the intention of buying one bowl for thirty euros, I came away with two bowls for one euro fifty. Not the perfect one but great. How satisfactory. Going back, I passed the writer D.B.C. Pierre and we said Hi. Well he looked bemused, (as he's familiar to me from television and his books), but friendly. In my elated mood I then spent another euro on some daffodil stalks and went home whistling I'd like to say, as it would convey my mood, unfortunately I have never been able to whistle, but you know what I mean.
