Getting old and knowing it...

There is moments in live, that somehow your surroundings, tells you more about you then about the actual artefacts that make it up. One of those moments just happened to me.

It was a fleemarket, like you see many of them, when you are into fleemarkets. Big, cold, and stuffed with... stuff. I have been to a my fare share of those. Sometimes by accident, sometimes because someone tells you there is something special to be had, sometimes with new [girl-]friends who take you places you do normally not go to.





This visit was inspired by new friends.

It is a big ass flee market, with over 3.000 parking spots, with admission fees, with people rubber stamping each other, with rules and regulations: the works.

Anyway, people try to sell all kinds of stuff, old & fake, polished & rotten. Basically whatever was unwanted at one point of it's existence.




So I am surrounded by stuff and suddenly it strikes me: lots of it might be old,_now_, some of it broken _new_ and some of it unwanted _now_ by OMG*d: this is stuff that I saw enriching the world... when I was growing up!



The stuff that once you thought "WTF?" about and later made it, the things with features that you young people that for granted now but where _new_ and unheard of before.












I found out that I can remember each and every single Matchbox car I had, and the ones I did not have too. I saw most of them tattered and brushed, like mine where after 'they had an accident' but at least mine where loved and owned. The ones on the market where love-less.













The worst thing was this car. I got it on a Monday, loved it to death because it was so advanced. It was a little bigger then the normal cars. It had stuff in it that you could get out from the back. I took it to school, played with it day and night. One day my [Thursday] teacher Boudy de Vries took it from me. He disliked us boys playing with cars instead of listening to the same old, some old.

On Monday I collected all my witt and guts and asked it back. The sucker simply said [and I remember the smuck smile on his bearded face up and till today!] "I do not have it and never took it!"

The son of a bitch never gave it back. Boudy de Vries, I hate that guy with a passion.