The butcher, the baker and the candlestick maker

I went to the Glebe markets on the weekend, browning my shoulders in the new summer sun, in search of some characters from olden times.


Alas, no beans. I guess these days everyone just goes to the mall for their butchery, bakery and candlestick makery.

Making up for the lack of meat and fresh bread, the Glebe markets are packed with stalls selling cool and sometimes stinky vintage pieces, and lots of this and that from all over. This pretty much sums it up:


I hope when I'm old, someone uses those words to describe me. In preparation, I should start collecting weird hats and wearing too much blush a la Anna Piaggi, (except she is so not obscure).

The sweet smell of almonds and peanuts tossed with sugar in a hot copper pot lures you inside and you can get lost wandering up and down the pathways between stalls, following the sound of the live band and whatever catches your eye.





Noni and Phil at Holy Kitsch supplement their online shop with a market stall selling Dia de los Muertos (All Soul's Day) knick knackery and Mexican religious iconography, among other things. I picked up the always important Luchador wrestlers. I may send them to my sister as a bribe next time I need a favour.


I love their collection of vintage photos. There are only a few listed on the website, but as you can see, there were boxes full at the market stall.


You could decoupage furniture with these photos, or hang tons on the wall, (as long as your landlord isn't a gnomey, anally retentive freak who counts the holes in the wall on each quarterly visit).

I love these creepy, colourful skull candleholders and boxes. I wish the skull images were printed on clothes, because really, who wouldn't want a dress with a big weird smiley skull on it?



A few stalls down, I came upon these two guys who seemed completely disinterested in actually selling anything because they were so enjoying themselves serenading passersby.


They freestyled a song to me about a "Filipina bonita" which pretty much made my day. They insisted I was Latin American, but I'm just one of those clever chameleon people whose parents aimed to diversify the gene pool. As a result I can blend in almost anywhere.

I can't say I actually liked the stuff in this next stall much. The guy did a lot of denim corset tops sewn to neon rah-rah skirts and weird bomber jackets cobbled together from leather, needlepoint art and more denim which made for strange clothes and an eye-catching display. Unfortunately he didn't like to share the photo love and grumpily told me I couldn't take pictures. I snapped this one before he got all uppity and shut my operation down.


IN YOUR FACE grumpy 80s guy.

I realise that I didn't take that many pictures of clothes at the markets, but that's because I just can't get down with the vintage. I'm not one of those people who can search for hours to find the one treasure elusively lurking amongst the old jeans.


But all was not lost: I realised I can take inspiration from the colour stories at the markets. My favourite came from a stall run by a hippie Japanese girl. She was very mellow and edited her display very well. These pastels are not boring. They're dusty and beautiful:




And I love the wood tones accented with blues and whites from this stall selling handmade picture frames:



After a full afternoon of strolling around by myself, I wandered home, purchases in tow, to take a nap. I'll tell you all about what I bought another time.