Shopping

It’s 7.59am on a very hot, hazy Sunday morning and I’m standing on the Holloway Road with some other waifs and strays who include: two Japanese students in homemade T-shirts and skinny jeans; a crumpled old couple with a plastic tartan-print shopping trolley; a smackhead with a dog, a bike and an ominous Morrisons carrier bag; and a line of cars full of chairs, plants, cardboard boxes and general junk. Is it too late to go back to bed, I wonder.

This is the world of the hardcore car-booter, a strange breed who are quite happy to start queueing at the crack of dawn to ensure a good ‘pitch’. I’m feeling nervous and out of my depth. Will anyone want my flower-print mini Polaroid or the four cocktail shakers I have somehow accumulated? And surely not my muddy old Nike walking shoes? Feature continues

Quality pop classics going (very) cheap at Holloway car boot

London car boot sales certainly lack the quiet glamour and grace of Portobello Market on a Friday morning with the aroma of freshly brewed coffee wafting from Cafe Lisboa. And they’re nowhere near as laidback as sitting at your PC uploading pictures of your wares on to eBay. But then that’s not the point. Car boot sales are about freeing yourself of years of accumulated clobber, emptying your spare room and, of course, making a bit of extra cash. Over the past decade I’ve accumulated all manner of stuff, from a Stella McCartney sunvisor to Burberry perfume, floral wellies, scented candles, T-shirts and cheap costume jewellery. Why get paid for getting rid of it all?

There’ll be plenty of likely buyers, I assure myself. Apparently Britons now spend approximately £1.4 billion a year at car boot sales; that’s an average of £10 each, nationwide. That makes for a lot of potential customers and London turns out to be the most profitable place to hold a sale, with the average Londoner making almost £100 a time (in Wales it’s only £80). In the same way that shopping in Topshop is seen as cannier than shopping in Harvey Nicks, buying at a car boot sale is considered cleverer and cooler than a trip to IKEA. Why face the hell, the ubiquity and the flat-pack assembly when you can find a one-off bargain that none of your friends will have?

Cheap as chips: what looks like old tat could be worth as much as £8

As it turns 10am, my car is directed to be lined up in the school playground. First step: unload, set up table and unpack. Easy enough I think, until I see the swarm of shoppers heading my way from all directions. Before I’ve even unpacked the first bag, about half the population of N7 – hooded kids, Arsenal-shirted twentysomethings and eagle-eyed old ladies with violet-coloured hair – have descended on my pitch and are rummaging through my bags. ‘How much for this? How much for this?’ ‘£2.50. A tenner… Jesus! Waaaaait a minute!’ I frantically sell a pair of Orla Kiely wellies for £8 to a posh bloke who has pulled them out of a box and barely stops to ask what size they are. Result. One of the Arsenal shirts has spotted the Burberry perfume. This garners a lot of attention and suddenly there’s a bidding war going on. ‘How much, how much?’ he asks. ‘You can have it for £20,’ I respond. Another pipes up, ‘I’ll give you £15.’ Another with gelled-back hair and box-fresh Adidas trainers yells: ‘I’ll give you £16.’ I sell it immediately in an attempt to gain some order and control.

This doesn’t happen for three hours within which time a feeding frenzy has occurred. ‘It’s because you are new,’ says the man next to me, who gave up his full-time job eight years ago to make a living from car boot sales. He now spends his time collecting antiques and junk from house clearances and skips. ‘People know that you will have some genuinely good bargains.’ He’s right, my ‘boot’ has been attracting more attention than the regulars simply due to the novelty factor.

Retro radios at Wimbledon

By lunchtime I’m absolutely frazzled. This is turning into one of the most exhausting, exhilarating and hilarious days of the year and I am loving exchanging what I consider to be my rubbish for hard cash. I’ve learnt a few things too. Like that in car boot world Burberry is considered more prestigious than Balenciaga (though Chanel perfume goes down a treat) and my rather lovely Cacharel top is ignored while River Island is revered. Indeed, there is no room for subtlety and sophistication in the car boot car park. And sometimes labels don’t count at all. A fellow car-booter tells me how a lady was interested in a tracksuit she was selling, but only offering her £2. When it was pointed out that it was a brand new Reebok tracksuit, the response was: ‘Don’t come at me with your fancy labels.’

As it approaches 2pm, the stall is looking empty and the need for a very large Sunday lunch and beer is intensifying. I’ve made £228 from nothing and even got rid of the muddy Nikes. Then I realise I haven’t sold the Stella McCartney sunvisor that’s been shielding me from the sun all day. I decide it will be my final triumph. ‘Anyone for this beautiful, practical and most wonderful sunvisor?’ I yell. A 4'9" Indian man who was eyeing it up earlier returns. ‘I’ll give you £1,’ he says. ‘£2,’ I bargain. We agree on £1.50.

‘Stella McCartney… is that you?’ he asks. ‘No, she’s a fashion designer. The daughter of Paul McCartney…? The bloke that used to be in The Beatles…?’ He still looks blank, but wanders off happy into the sunny afternoon with the plastic lilac visor, designed for teenage girls, perched proudly on his head. Final takings? £228.