As a child I recall many weekends with my dad and sister surfing around West London car boot sales. Tess and I would wake up early and munch our way through pic n mix for breakfast before heading to Portobello Road market; our obsession with certain stalls shifting with age.
After custard tarts and a coke at Lisboa we would hunt for treasure, whilst dad flipped through endless rows of records or enquired about camera gear.
I found myself with an afternoon to kill in Georgia a few months ago and headed towards the Bridge market. It wasn't what I had expected. It was mostly antique art and then a row of stalls selling the same nik naks back to back. Each seller spilled out a pile of forgotten processions. Tiny rugs canvassed rusted spoons, old jewelry and random tools. This gent caught my eye, as he seemed utterly devoted to sifting through his endless collection of screws and various electrical bits and bobs. I would have loved a closer portrait but his concentration was clearly set on a task and I felt coy.
I asked, shot a few frames and walked on to try and barter with a man sporting a gold Leica.... "10 Euros?" I offered pointing optimistically.
500 Dollars he said with a serious tone