The World’s Shortest Let

What an amazing weekend. The first proper day of spring. Hell – I was even able to strip off the cloak and boots and bask in my frilly shirt, frock-front waistcoat and straw tricorn…

Benedict sent me a lovely pic of daffs in Greenwich Park which lifted my spectral heart – though I confess to also having a soft spot for the slow-burner versions outside the Maritime Museum – which open in blocks, slowly, over the next few weeks.

We must have ALL been in Greenwich Town Centre on Sunday judging from the crowds – there were moments in the covered market where I stopped even trying to walk on my own feet, and just let the crowd carry me along.

But there was one place I couldn’t bring myself to go to – the last day of the Stockwell Street market.

The whole shutting of the market has been shrouded in mystery and unanswered questions – for instance – why now, when there doesn’t actually seem to be anything in the way of concrete plans to do something with the site? I can see it sitting there for years now, an unofficial car park, shopping trolley repository and buddleia plantation, instead of being a vibrant, slightly bohemian part of an increasingly ‘official’ town.

I’ve been watching it week by week as more and more stallholders give up and leave, and I just couldn’t face seeing it in its final death throes, but Benedict, on his way to the daffs, did manage to get this photo – of the world’s shortest-term let:

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