I do love a rummage through a car boot sale. Spending hours silently judging people for trying to sell jars of their own toenail clippings, standing for too long deliberating whether or not I need this battery powered back scratcher and arguing with a man till I’m blue in the face till he knocks a couple of quid off the cardboard cutout of Katy Perry, that I’m not even going to be allowed to have in the house anyway..
“You should come along to the Jack & Jill sale!” said The Roobs, “It’s basically like a car boot sale except it’s indoors and full of toys!”

In hindsight, I should have clicked she was up to something. This wasn’t so much an invitation to a joyful occasion, as it was a sly request for a tag team partner to help fight through the mongol hordes that infest these events.

You see, the ‘Jack & Jill Sale’ is held monthly in hotel function rooms all around the country, where parents hire tables to set up stall and try to offload all their kids old shit to other parents who also enjoy rummaging through (and judging) other peoples crap. After spending five minutes there, I Iearned quickly and painfully that this is nowhere near as civil an experience as a car boot sale.

People will try to cripple you with pram wheels to make you get out the way of their next purchase. Grown men and women will throw elbows like a mixed martial artist to beat you to that toddler snowsuit that’s just had a large, neon star attached to it saying ‘HALF PRICE!’. Hell, I had a small Asian woman butt-check me out of the way of the box of kids books I was looking at, and when I went to lean over her to replace the book I was holding, she shot me a look like Bilbo does in ‘The Fellowship of the Ring’ when he sees the ring again in Frodo’s hands.

I’m pretty sure they only named these events ‘Jack & Jill Sales’ because someone had already trademarked the ‘Ultimate Fighting Championship’. It was like the Lord of the Flies in there, except instead of using rocks to bash in each others heads with, it was plastic JCB digger toys with googley eyes and detachable scoops. I saw one woman spear her way between three other people who were crowding round a display of Baby Gap jackets, sending at least one person pirouetting off into a rack of ripped and poorly patched up Batman costumes (ages 5-7).

I’ll stick to the Car Boot sales thank you very much. Less chance of having a half chewed teething ring rammed between my eyes there.

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