fruitguy

On my way to work, at the corner of Petticoat lane market there is a fruit stall. Every morning, right after eight o’clock the stall owner smiles behind his table, and often has his wife to keep him company.

You cannot touch the fruits. “Hands off” –signs pop into your view between the various, delicious looking colours. 5 apples for £1. Bunch of bananas, also £1. Rasperries. Grapes. Pears. Strawberries. Avocados. Everything you need or might feel like.

“Oh, no love. Don’t take the nectarines. They are so hard that they will be good to eat on Christmas Eve.”

“Ah, well, the pears are a bit rotten today. I would go for the apples.”

And so I did. Stocked up my desk drawer with fruit supplies.

So I got five apples. For £1. And few extra ones. “Wait love, these were bruised in the van.” The odd apple had a miniscule brown spot, where the sun had touched them, or where they had bumped into another apple on the way. So I got three of them. In addition to the five I bought.

And so I was off.

Turned back to find out if there is any hope to find the couple from that corner during the weekend. There wasn’t. They left weekends for the younger ones and worked only during the week, weather permitting. What ever that means in England where it rains 110% of the time. Shame though. They have the best stuff in the neighbourhood.

“Have a great day love! And be careful with that bike of yours.”

All that for quid. What a bargain. And what a way to start the day.