Gilet. Posh girl hair. All the spare change.
Armed and ready, we pottered off to Nether Edge (a leafy suburb of Sheffield, obvs) and were swallowed up in a crowd of fellow gilet-wearers with kids called Tarquin and Hugo.
I gave each pretty little stall a good peruse, pretending to muse over trinkets made of gems circa 1995, but I knew I wouldn't buy.
Because the main attraction of a farmers' market is always MEAT.
For me, farmers' market = the grown up equivalent of going to the fair so you can eat candy floss and bat your eyelashes at boys.
We rounded a corner, and that's when I saw it. Buffalo burgers, being fried right there in front of us.
BINGO! That was where my money was going.
Buffalo, I've learned, is low in fat. So I added a slab of cheese and a big white bun, y'know, to make sure I'd have enough energy to get round the rest of the market.
It was pretty tasty. I batted my eyelashes at my husband.
Then we came across a vegetable stall selling a lot of kale. I'm relatively keen on kale so this was a happy discovery.
Next stop, sitting in the sunshine at the bowling club eating a peanut butter brownie.
I spent the last of my cash on some olives stuffed with whole chillis, before we rolled home.
Giddy slash still experiencing a sugar rush, we opened the most ridiculously expensive bottle of wine and whiled away the evening munching the olives.
A very sweet Sunday.
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