MARKETS! I am now beginning to think that I have an addiction to markets, as I really do enjoy them.

I was going to say ‘love them’, but that makes me sound a bit of a nutcase, which my son says I am.

He can’t understand why anyone would want, never mind enjoy, rooting through a load of ‘tat’ as he describes it.

I think I got my love of markets from my mother.

The highlight of her week was going into town on a Wednesday.

Our first visit was to the butcher’s stall where he would be auctioning cuts of meat.

Having purchased a ‘bargain’, my mum, with a satisfied smile on her face, would then make for the second-hand stalls in order to look for that ‘magic find’ that could really make her day.

Of course, she had no idea what it was, but something would catch her eye and if it could be bought for the right price, we could go home triumphant.

That trip to the market was my mother’s big weekly day out.

My first recollection of those trips was catching the tram at Cherry Tree, having walked along the road and under the Arches all the way from Feniscowles, as the Ribble buses were infrequent.

I loved the tram and liked watching the conductor move the big thing that connected the tram to the electric wires overhead, and then go down swopping all the backs of the seats in order to face the right way.

He would ding the bell, rattle the change in his leather bag, shout ‘all fares please’, and we were off on another magic, bargain hunting and treasure finding day.

This week is ‘sort’ the wardrobe week; going to throw out those ‘might come in handy one day’ clothes, it’s so difficult!

Why? Well clothes are also keepers of memories.

You take out a dress that you know that you will never wear again, but to consign it to the dustbin is like slamming a door on your past, so, with the memories, back it goes again.