First time out the house in 2009, three, yes three, whole days after celebrating the new year.
In the time between getting wasted and recovering, our house became somewhat of a squat, with random wasted people sleeping down corridors, food piles extruding from the bins, and a congregated phobia of daylight. After overcoming the unnerving task of opening the curtains before dusk with a combination of tea and oversized sunglasses, we decided leaving the house was now an option, as unwelcoming as the frosty bastard was. It was the only way.
Deptford market seemed like a reachable target, due to its vicinity. On our arrival, shivering and complaining like our elders, we discovered there was a chance to kill a pair of avian fellows with one proverbial lump of rubble. Our collective senses had taken a turn for the worse, like an asthsmatic with no ventolin. The market provided us with the perfect remedy for all five traumas.
+ A heavy dose of trippy colours, radiating from the eastern european fruit stalls. We purchased some passionfruit and bananas, and continued to look at them for some time.
+ The sonar battle between stall holders, the friendly competition of reeling in customers with enchanting, sometimes melodic deal mantras.
+ Fine organic fabrics beckoning us with waving tassles, then covering our skin, material protection.
+ Streams of fish aroma undulating past our noses, not terribly pleasing, but restoring our smell all the same. As a thankyou, we regretfully purchased red mullet.
+ A FAT FUCKING FRY-UP. Whoever Jenny is, she deserves a medal; best damn veggieburger in the south-east.
