I’m not sure how factual this is, but I’m convinced my first words were: “Excuse me, how much is this?”
I had my tote bag, wired earphones, and a performative dream.
There’s something about a car boot sale that makes you feel like you’re either about to find the bargain of the century or accidentally buy a haunted lamp.
I spent the morning at St Michael’s and Bilsborrow Car Boot, and honestly, I couldn’t stop noticing how much of a community thing it all is.
Children who had never met were sitting playing together with mismatched Lego pieces while their parents rummaged through piles of pots, pans, and old DVDs that definitely still had Blockbuster stickers on them.
It also really makes you think: how much stuff do we actually own? But I won't go down that rabbit hole today.
Seeing all these items in real life that looked exactly like my Vinted saved folder was genuinely thrilling. No buyer protection fee. No delivery cost. No waiting five business days for someone to maybe send it. Just immediate gratification and a slightly awkward cash exchange.
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The beauty of a car boot is that you genuinely never know what’s around the corner.
One minute it’s neon platters and dusty teddy bears, the next it’s an authentic Indigenous didgeridoo leaning against a folding table next to a George Foreman grill.
What did surprise me, though, was the amount of golliwog dolls on sale.
If I had a nickel for every individual stall I saw selling one, I’d have four nickels. Which isn’t a lot, but it’s weird that it happened four times.
I found it quite interesting how all of the sellers were hesitant to answer my questions about the dolls; one of them even asked me to stop taking pictures.
After successfully resisting buying things I absolutely do not need simply because they were “vintage”, we ended up at Cafe Blanc in Blackburn.
I ordered what can only be described as the final boss of all club sandwiches. I grabbed a pair of gloves and mentally prepared to demolish it – except I didn’t.
This thing took me two days to finish, with saucy peppers and onions, coriander peeking through every layer and the filling stacked so high it even got the seal of approval from my husband, a former structural engineer.
It paired with a mint and coriander green chutney mixed with sweet tamarind sauce, it balanced the flavours perfectly – bright, herby, and just sweet enough to cut through the spice.
The masala fries tasted exactly like Cofresh chilli and lime crisps in chip form, taking me straight back to Eid 2008 when I tried them for the first time.
A successful day overall: no haunted lamp purchased, saw a few racist dolls, and approximately 47 moments where I nearly said: “You just don’t get this on Amazon.”
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