Triumphant scoffs

Do a car boot sale. Do it, do it, doitdoitdoitdoitdoit! It is a win-win-win situation, people.  You get rid of all your tat.  People PAY you for it. It's fantastic for people-watching.  And you pick up the odd item yourself, which, of course, was once somebody else's tat and you are saving it from a landfill site. I found an aluminium kettle, the type that goes on a gas ring and whistles, for 50p. It's coming camping with us.
On the downside, you have to get up at 5.30 am but when you have a baby in your life, all the world's an altered time zone.  And the loos are a horror story, but on a par with a rock festival in a field or, er, camping generally.

I'm still in shock that we managed to sell pretty much everything. Some 40-something Russian twins (I'm not making this up) bought a pair of speakers for a quid.  And all the items that were of any real value at all were snapped up within 5 minutes of our arrival by a professional car booter, who then sold them with a 500% mark up 5 stalls down.  Bye bye, Charles and Di mug, bye bye ugly vase! We made £80, or thereabouts, which I call a brisk trade.
Next jobs to tackle:  clean windows and fix leaking bath.  After that, we just need to get packing. 

The Swiss noose is tightening.