The subterfuge to why I ended up here was helping out with Mues, but really it was all about getting enough pocket money to afford a holiday in the Lakes, hanging out with good people. So in between the vastness of time spent being treated like a princess and a true protector of Narnia, I helped out on a few markets. My first outing was a regular Keswick Farmers’ Market with Tim. Still not trusting the heatwave over northern England, I was wearing my woollen top and Mrs Cottingham’s survival boots (with double woollen socks to make them fit). By about 9.30 am I was both boiling AND selling the Artman Classic faster than butter melts in sunlight, in spite of my thick Scandinavian accent and inability to remember the ingredients of the Tropical Medley.
Beat that boys.
The charm of a local market for a big city girl was almost overwhelming and when butcher John from Low Howgill Buchers and Deli in the stand behind gave us a bacon butties with black pudding I was almost tearing up. This is the life, I thought.
All caught up in the emotion I went and bought a sheepskin and a big latte and started to talk to an old man about how I loved his accent and that I was going to practice all week to get a similar one. He smiled and put his massive wrinkly hand on my arm and said (in a LOVELY accent) “No, continue as you are love, that’s just perfect”.
Being a Swede in an apron on a northern British market does wonders for your confidence, I can tell you that. And I can swear on my great grandmother's grave that if Luke’s mum wouldn’t have bought a lot of muesli for herself when she was helping out at Penrith Artisan Market, we would have had the standing sales record this day. Amen and out!