French Husband's childhood friends came to visit us. They are motorcyclists too. When they were here we asked them what they wanted to do... and music to my ears they said, "...go to a brocante."
Yeah, they are French and brocantes are everywhere, even in Brittany where they live. But when you have the brocante bug you have the bug even on vacation. Plus, the Provence offers different old things... or at least better prices they claimed.
Pull my leg, drag me... ha... off we went to hunt the brocantes.
As usual, whenever I take someone along to the brocantes, they find a million and one things... and when my friends ask me to ask the dealer for a price, it never fails: The dealer announces a price so low that I kind of grow green and shake my head and say to myself "Why? Dang!" Lucky ducks my friends.
French Husband's childhood friends found and bought more than their motorcycle could carry. I wasn't surprised. Whenever people come to visit, it seems they buy more than their suitcases, motorcycle or container can carry.
Hence two candlesticks are living in my shed alongside of Lynn's frames, Nicol's urn, Mary's stack of linens, Katie's mirror... I don't dare to bring them into the house in fear they might take up residences.