Monday, 28 November 2011

The Homespun Fair, Portscatho.

T’was a month before Christmas,

The gals, Jane and Gertie,

Opened the doors of the hall

At ten thirty.

And in came the shoppers

Carrying baskets

Looking for gifts

Unique and fantastic!

The stalls they were brimming

With much vintage lushness

The shoppers were bustling

With a sort of ‘rushes’!

The music was festive,

Of the right flavour!

The goods on display

Were a feast, just to savour

There were stalls with pizzazz

And stalls with the glitz

Stalls with scarves

Stalls with mitts

Fine linens and cloths

Pretty embroidery

Bows, rings and bangles

Lovely jewellery!

Baubles and crackers

Vintage of course

Children’s toys and

An old rocking horse.

Puzzles and books

Dolls and stuffed toys

Something for girls

Something for boys

Christmas cards, calendars

Fabrics and quilts

Pieces of tartan

For making cute kilts!

Sewing boxes galore

Ribbons and beads

Everything for

The crafter’s needs

T’was the month before Christmas

This place full of fun

The fair…it’s name was

The Homespun!

For sure you can't beat

A good vintage fair

If there's one near you

Be sure to get there!

You'll find goodies galore

The high street it beats

And of course there are plenty

Of vintage treats!

So a big thanks must go

To Jane and to Gertie

For opening the doors

Prompt at ten thirty

AND a big ‘well done’ to

Gertie and Jane

We look forward to visiting

Portscatho, again.


BusyLizzie said...

Great pix as always.. and a poem too! Bless you! xxx

Anonymous said...

I recall the day I spent
At the Homespun, Portscatho
My wife was hell bent
On a fair prior to crimbo

She made me load the car
The night before, quite early
The fabrics, tea and coffee jar
Her smile so wide and pearly

On the road at six
Westbound along the A30
She's off to get her fix
Vintage, down and dirty

The day was as expected
Scenic, bright and blue
Full tables all erected
Shabby chic through and through

The visitors poured in and in
The deals were made and done
The ladies all parted with a grin
Their partners left hung drawn

And now the journey home
To masculine pursuits perhaps
No! Strictly come dancing
With TV suppers on their laps

So if you are ever asked
What is the very point
Of beer bottled, draught or casked
It's to pay the men and not for needlepoint.