If you go down to Bessemmer Road today, you’re sure of a big surprise…

 Today I had a small, but enlightening adventure, which opened my eyes to the world of the car boot sale. My housemate and I awoke in the early hours of a Sunday morning (early hours being anything pre-8.00) to prepare for the trip, and as I haven’t frequented a car boot sale since I was small enough to not really remember it now; I was fairly excited at the prospect as I dressed for the morning ahead.By the power of Sat-Nav, we successfully navigated our way through Cardiff to Bessemmer Road in Canton (historically, the site of the largest and most significant trading market in the South Wales area) where we parked up and followed the steady stream of people and cars that were siphoning into a large fenced-off car park on an industrial estate.

 After stomachs were filled with a greasy bacon and egg bap from a burger van, we felt revived and energised enough to explore the maze of tables like bargain hungry Pacmen. The amount of trinkets, goods and junk available was more than Aladdin’s cave could pack in, with market stalls selling discounted cleaning products; families doing a spring clear-out; a middle-aged man getting rid of his 80s racing car calendar collection; to an old man with an array of war memorabilia and brass buttons – the car boot is truly as much of a modern day museum as any real one.
A grey haired butcher shouted out the prices of his thick steaks over a wireless microphone like a race-course commentator, a furniture salesmen gave us his business card after excitedly telling us about his various antique finds, we haggled over vintage leather bags, jewellery and clothes, and browsed the hand-written messages in beautiful italics in the front of children’s books from pre-1950.

 There was a completely eclectic mix of people of all ages and backgrounds coming together for the common purpose of bargain hunting; and I absolutely loved it. There was a middle aged blonde lady who, by the looks of it, was clearing out her wardrobe of Wallis and Monsoon (I’d like to think during a mid-life crisis in which she would then purchase a Harley Davidson and become a hell’s granny); there was an Islamic lady in a delicate lilac headscarf bartering for a floral table cloth; there was a huge gentle looking Welshman with hands like dustbin lids selling old books, pipes and paintings; there was a little Arabic girl stuffing pink sticky candy floss into her mouth as she trailed after her mother and then there was my housemate and I dressed in our Sunday best methodically and meticulously searching through the hoards.

The morning produced some true diamonds in the rough, and after a few hours of thorough investigation we bought between us: a large glass jug, a piece of Wedgewood pottery; a travelling case; two dresses; a skirt; a pair of high waist men’s jeans; two bags (one real suede, one real, thick leather); a belt; a tribal print scarf; a jewellery box; two bracelets; an iron; a BBC Spanish language book from 1978 and a real leather wallet – all for under £40.

I have to say I am now a true car boot convert. If you have the patience to spend a couple of hours to really delve deep, sleeves rolled up, into the boxes and rails; to hack the mysterious body odour that drifts by periodically; and to haggle your way to a bargain – then I strongly suggest greeting a Sunday morning early and getting down to your local car boot – you never know what you might find.