When I started this blog I set myself a rule: no whingeing. I need to amend that slightly. No personal whingeing. Which leaves me free to whinge on behalf of others.

Yeasterday [ I like that misspelling, rather Joycean don't you think? Used the day after one's been on the beer?]... sorry, yesterday afternoon small knots of traders gathered here and there, glum, whingeing. Whingeing, softly, gently,bitterly, viciously, [ I'm a fan of adverbs, parentheses and ellipses, by the way]. Whingeing with good reason, which is why I report it. Trade was poor despite the delightful spring weather. Stallholders with excellent goods for sale, many locally produced such as our own, were just not taking enough money to earn a living. This concerns me. It's part of a general decline of markets in this country. For years market trading has offered a niche for people like myself who, for whatever reason, don't like being employees of large organisations whether they be corporate or public sector. We thrive as people when in a position to be ourselves with all our idiosyncrasies and eccentricities and thereby contribute to the richness of the social world: the 'Dickensian Dimension'. Without us there wouldn't be much colour in the world. We're the raw material! Artists, poets, novelists, songsmiths need us!

Politicians come round markets before elections [Norman Tebbit, do you remember going round Leicester Market? All those fruit and veg traders jeering? On yer bike, Norman, on yer bike...]. I hope they come round this year. I really would like to talk to them. I've plenty to get off my chest.

Markets are part of the still rich ecology of urban life. Those that survive still offer colour and some kind of reality that Supermarkets and Malls will never be able to provide. Those corporate spaces are a Hell Realm to those who value personal freedom and individuality, zones for the generation of landfill and alienation. Avoid them! Come back down to the market!