Yesterday I was up at the miraculously early time of 9:30am, but only because I'd asked Dad to wake me up for the Saturday flea market. It had been ages since I'd gone, so I thought I'd have a gander and see what was on offer, maybe pick up a few records.

All four of us went; Dad because he needs a crowbar to complete his Gordon Freeman Halloween costume sort out the fence (he's still planning on getting a German Shepherd, but as you'll recall the rescue people who did the home visit said our fence wasn't secure enough on Crazy Dope Guy's side), Nathan for the walk, and Ashley because he's still got a tenner burning a hole in his pocket since his 17th birthday last month.

Dad got his crowbar, Ashley had an embarrassing incident in which he bought a full-face bike helmet for 50p, tried it on, it was too small and he had to take it back. Lesson learned: try before you buy, if possible. As for me, I found three records quite to my liking, which came home with me...

( But because I'm a dreadful person, they're under the cut... )

Twas a cold day indeed in Liverpool - and everywhere else in the North West, for that matter. We're talking the 'OH MY GOD IT'S GONNA SNOW *panics*' kind of temperatures. Perhaps I shouldn't have said that; some nut-job might read it and start another meteorological riot. The first mention of 'snow' these days sends the whole of Britain into a frenzy.

Seriously, watch this: snow. AAAAH OMG IT'S GONNA SNOW WE'RE ALL GONNA DIEEEE. See? It's good to know for when you're A) in Britain and B) bored.

I'm glad I started buying Record Collector magazine, because every issue has a list of every record shop that stocks it (Kaleidoscope of St. Helens included), as well as a list of all the major vinyl fairs taking part over the next month. In the latest issue, I read with joy that there would be one in Liverpool on the 20th (today, as you may have guessed). Not only that, but it's run by a group called Premier Fairs, who do fairs all across the North of England on a regular basis. Their Liverpool ones are always at the Holiday Inn, which is just across the road from Lime Street Station.

Did I go? Of course I did! A record fair in my local area was an opportunity too good to pass up. So I put a bit of money aside, and waited for the 20th to arrive.

Before we go any further, I have to make a snazzy announcement. It's music-related, but nothing to do with this vinyl fair. Last Wednesday I got paid, and I spent just over £70 of that money on something very worthwhile.

( It's under the cut, though, because I'm an awful, evil person. )

Premier Fairs will be running another record fair at the Holiday Inn on Lime Street in April - the date will no doubt be in Record Collector and it's already up on the Premier Fairs website. If anyone's interested, it's literally right across the street from Lime Street station and they always put up a great big sign on the day. I'll definitely be going again, alongside my usual raids on the Saturday market record stall and Kaleidoscope. That way I can get a wider range of stuff!

Also, I'm considering bringing a new feature onto my journal - an in-depth catalogue of every vinyl, CD, cassette and book that I own. It sounds very nerdy but it would be a neat way to a) show people what I've managed to get my hands on and b) keep track of what I have.

It's nearly eight in the morning and I'm awake before everyone else. This is partially due to my excitement, but also because I'm intent on going out this morning to buy aforementioned SD card. It is, however, absolutely piddling it down, and I don;t much fancy going out in that!

I don't know how many people thought Mike Oldfield crazy when he wrote about his 'atmosphere antennae', but I can really see where he's coming from. Certain days and situations really do seem to have particular atmospheres to them. Summer evenings in August, for example. The first day back at school after summer, which I probably won't feel for another year or so if all goes well. The beginning of the Christmas holidays.

Years ago, when Mum had the money to come over here and take us back to Ireland for two weeks, the two days before she was due to arrive would feel great, like one of those promising days, only they've been electrocuted or sent on a sugar rush. It's been a long time since I've had that feeling, and when I woke up this morning it struck me smack-bang in the face. I'll be heading over there in less than two days' time, and today's got that "I'm about to travel!" excitement to it.

Dad's getting up, now. I can hear him bumping about, coughing and wheezing. Perhaps I can scrounge a lift to the flea market to avoid walking in the rain and getting soaked.

I checked my e-mails again this morning and there's no reply from Mum or Claire. It matters even less, now that my plan's free from holes.

It occurred to me recently that I'd love to write a book about Canterbury; something that would be part travelogue, part insight into the city's history and culture. I'd go there myself on foot (taking the safest route, of course), write about my journey and my experience there - interlinking the stuff about the city itself - and it would be my very own Canterbury Tale. To do that would be tremendous fun.

While I'm at the flea market, it might be of benefit to look into new shoes as well, while my orange ones ended up ruined.