A day in the life of a market trader

Well, not so much a day, as an hour. But it felt like a day.
One of the guys I've gotten to know in the market runs a Japanese animation stall in the Stables Market. He needed to go pick up keys to a flat, and texted to ask if I could cover for him.
So I spent the hour standing around, trying to find a way that I could watch the shop without breathing down the neck of each and every person who walked it. Someone asked about Dragonball-Z, and I had to mumble that it wasn't my shop, so I had no idea. Half-an-hour later I spotted some D-Z keychains, but she was long gone.
After about twenty minutes, the most exciting thing happened: Someone bought something! At the side of his little stall he also sells zipper bags. These aren't just bags with a zipper. They are bags made out of one long zipper; unzip the bag, and you've got a useless zipper, zip it up again, and you have a bag. Anyway, someone wanted to buy one. I was so excited!
They had been looking at the bags for about five minutes. I had to work hard not to stare at them while they browsed - didn't want to make them feel too awkward. But then the questions came. 'Do you have one of the black-and-white ones that shows more white?' I make a show of looking...'No we don't, sorry.' 'Do you take Euros?' What are you nuts? This is England. Well, ok, actually, I'd be happy to take Euros, but I don't know what the exchange rate is...'No, sorry, just Pounds.' So they pick out a blue and brown bag for six Pounds. The girl hands over a ten Pound note, and then her mom gives me a one pound coin. I open the change purse my friend gave me and see that it only has one pound coins in it. So I give the one pound back and start to take out four more for change. 'Don't you have any five pound notes?' Sheesh, I'm looking like a really unhelpful trader. 'No, sorry, just coins. But thanks, and have a great afternoon!' Gotta play up the happy American role...it counteracts the string of negative answers I've given.
The rest of my stint goes pretty well - I ended up selling five more bags, and had someone ask a question about an animé product that I actually knew about! Ok, so the question was 'What's in this box?' And my answer was 'Uh, it's a wallet.' But hey, I got to be helpful.
I learned a few things, though.
First was the absolute terror most of the traders must feel when they come to work every day, knowing that their livelihood depends on the willingness of the mass of shoppers to part with their cash. So many of the people who passed by would idly reach out and brush the merchandise, maybe make a comment to their disinterested partner, and move on. Clearly most people were in the market for the experience, snapping pictures when they could, drinking in the vibrant atmosphere. But that doesn't translate into spending money.
Second is the boredom/exhaustion. It's tiring standing up for long periods of time, and more so when there isn't much to do.
Third, and I think this is most important, is that the market traders are invisible to the average tourist. Except for the crazy-haired, multicolor-clad sales clerks at Cyberdog, nobody was interested in the people who were selling stuff. They just wanted to see the STUFF. Which is part of what has driven us to try to get to know the market traders and care for them. They are the forgotten element in Camden market.

Seder Meal

Last night is the date that Christians remember the 'Last Supper' - the celebration of the Passover by Jesus and his disciples. For some reason I haven't been able to figure out, the western Church Calendar does not coincide with the Jewish date for Passover.
In any case, last night we celebrated a very simple Seder meal. I found an English version here, and my friend read parts of a Hebrew version.
Seven of us sat around the table, and we started the meal by reading God's explanation of the Passover to Moses in Exodus, and then the account of Jesus' celebration from Matthew. Then we sat down to eat the Lamb, because everyone was so hungry, and afterwards walked through the different items on the table and their meaning. We both thought it went really well, though next year we'll probably take a little more time to prepare, as it can get quite elaborate.

Climber's Prayer

David and I decided we need a prayer for when we climb. So he set me the task to find/write one. I admit, I stole the first half from a 2,500 year old poem (aka Psalm 121).

I lift up my eyes to the mountains -
Where does my help come from?
My help comes from the Lord,
the maker of heaven and earth.
He will not let your foot slip -
he who watches over you will not slumber;

Father, thank you for this mountain,
and for the ability we have to climb it.
It is so much bigger than we are,
and reminds us how great you are.
Please keep our rope together, our knots tight,
our harness secure, and our belayer alert.
Through Jesus our Lord.

I got the fear

My friend Dave and I have been rock climbing each week for about 3 months now. We are planning to go up to Wales this spring for a climbing weekend. Outdoor climbing takes a lot of equipment, so we're slowly building up our collection, and our comfort with using it. We bought a rope and some quick-draws (those things you use to clip the rope into the anchors in the wall), and started lead climbing last week.
Lead climbing is different from top-roping, in that if you fall while climbing on a top rope, you don't really fall, you just kind of slip off the wall, because you're tied into the rope at the top of the wall. But in lead climbing, you start with the rope on the ground and clip into anchors as you go up. If you fall off, you fall twice the distance you've climbed above your last anchor. With anchors every five feet or so, you never fall very far, but it feels like a lot when you're clinging onto the wall.
On Tuesday, I didn't realize that I could reach a clip point. Dave thought I was getting ready to clip in, so he gave me some slack in the rope. I slipped off. Result? I fell about 10 feet, and in the process, got my leg caught on one of the quick-draws. I have a nasty bruise and rope burn on the back of my knee. But more importantly, it ruined my night, because after that I was under the control of fear, and I couldn't climb anything.

Off to Brazil

Fr. Nicholas, the priest in charge of the parish that runs the girls' school, left yesterday to be a missionary in Brazil. He is moving into the City of God in Rio de Janeiro. We will miss him very much, as God has used him to care for many people here in Camden Town. The photo is of him serving communion one last time yesterday. It was very moving to receive the bread from him. The girls had found a friend from Andi's class at the service, and she came up with us. Nicholas took it in turn to bless all three of them, and as he did, I got tears in my eyes.

Photos

A few photos I promised to put up earlier. First, two pics from the More Than Dust gig, showing my friend Alex and the bassist. Then a couple of shots taken by a friend with a better camera than mine during the fire.