Or car boot / garage sale / bagagliao dell'auto vendita / motor boot koop / Flomarkt / Prodazha zagruzki — surrealism; depending where you live.
Keening to find some new replacement water glasses, as We (menopausal woman and adolescent boy) have smashed most of our stock, we headed off to a village holding a VG about 10km away, with a back up further village another ten minutes drive.
There were other things on the list: funky lamps, atlases, clothes of interest, DVD of The Shining, a bread making bowl, a metal day bed and Mark's personal vinyl fetish (LPs)
On parking, we noted an absence of other cars, not a good sign. And yes, there were only about ten stalls, mostly selling baby clothes and bright plastic land-fill.
One stall - there has to be one - had various chewed looking bits of china with mad price tags like 70€ for a teapot with a faded picture of Sacha Distel on it.
All was not lost however as I did find a delightful hardback book, circa 1910, on DIY autopsy. Actually it was a serious journal for medical types, but its delicate line drawings and suggestions of what you might do with 'cette petite couteau' - small knife - did remind me of books called Happy Sunday Afternoons with Mrs Beeton, The Housewife's Helper and the like.
Ezra bought a book on chemistry also dated from ninety years ago or so from the same couple whose stall otherwise consisted of underwear and hexagonal plates.
So, onward to Esperaza, home of famous Sunday Market, an exceptionally ugly bridge and, usually, very good VGs.
Although the sun was shining, the scene reminded me of Brick Lane Market, or rather the end of it when a few desolate folk sit amongst odd shoes and non-purchased heated rollers.
So . . . nothing found or bought except an old Woody Allen - Everything You Always Wanted To Know About Sex, and a bag of peaches (new ones).
Mark drove home while I read my autopsy book and felt sick — not from the book, from the fact I can't read in the car.