Bad porn in Preston Market
(some bad camera pics to follow)
A woman who looks older than she probably is, is trying to sell a wilting 50 Shades of Grey rip-off for 50p.
‘Its dead good-there’s like a dead good plot and that and yeah, the plot’s really good.’
I do not see whether the over-deliberating potential purchaser ever purchases the dog eared clit lit but I would still quite like to know what the plot is.
Maybe the sharp suited enigmatic older man and his beautiful naive protegee go to Preston Market and buy some slightly peeling and ill-fitting PVC hotpants before having a baked potato with a toppling pile of chewy grated cheese and coleslaw in a polystyrene container with a cup of parched peas from the baked potato man with the calloused hands before going for a quick bad shag in the bandstand in Avenham Park.
Recession Erotism Northern Style. And for under a fiver!
I am at the Flag Market in Preston. The Flag Market remains in these strange impoverished yet relentlessly upselling times resolutely itself.
There are no pastel frosted cupcakes and there is no artisan bread sold by a beaming yet vaguely harassed looking woman with slightly frizzy hair and a Home Counties accent.
There are instead cold defeated looking women in niquabs selling fuzzy Per Una skirts for four pounds. There is the occasional amazing gem (in my case of a brand new black furry mini-dress with grey fur sleeves for three quid recovered from under a Tsunami of bobbly George at Asda)
There are sticky and garish kids toys in plastic with the peeling stickers from their previous small owners stuck firmly and faithfully to the cracking neon.
Split cardboard boxes show yellowing pictures of thatched cottages at Buckfastleigh. No-one could possibly expect to find the advertised 1000 pieces still remaining. It is a recipe for disappointment but only three pounds. Everything has a price.
I like the 50p stall where the bad porn resides and buy a flowery hair-clip, a not unattractive bowl and a china brooch featuring the Virgin Mary. I realise the brooch fitting element is broken when getting it home but I am still pleased with it. It is now a Project That Will Never Happen.
I will skip down the stairs in a good mood, the sad face of Mary with the sticky bit I can’t remove will look at me sadly from the sanctity of the fruit bowl containing no fruit and I will be depressed at my inability to Be Crafty or even find and do a Something with some Blu-Tack which are pretty much one and the same thing in my sluttish book (not the 50 Shades of Grey one)
Antiquities clutter for space with hookahs, racing bikes, sexy dresses, foul cardigans and goth boots. There is a genial chatter, occasionally with a hint of threat. No-one is selling a ‘Keep Calm and….’ piece of merchandise and for that alone, Preston Flag Market, I salute you.
I am glad you still exist.
Trans cultural mass produced Victorian street selling should never ever die.