To Cockpit Arts in Deptford, three floors of craftspersons' workshops in a former factory office block. There are interesting things to see and buy (came away with a Lush lampshade in pig pattern, mushroom coloured, plus various other trinkets) and interesting people to look at. Firstly - it is December, albeit a sunny day - a man of mature years in shorts, displaying very hairy and muscular legs, runners' legs, I daresay. Why? Is he the sort of chap who sits in a chilly garden shed eating celery because such activity is morally improving? More alarming was the woman of mature years with a short back and sides but long hair on top all greased and oiled and smoothed and drawn into bunches that fell down in line just behind her ears. Why? I'm opening a stall there selling funny-looking people. The ones who gab irritatingly are quite reasonably priced, but the real money is in the ones who are conversation pieces, remaining silent and smelling nice.
Then to Greenwich, where an author looked very uncomfortable as he pushed his book - something about an American having amnesia in south London - and where the market was heaving but still yielded further trinkets for the girls' stockings. Bought cakes and made nervous bus journey home praying no one would sit on lampshade. Prayers answered.
