By 10am my legs are covered in tyre tracks and my fingers are covered in plasters, thanks to my ineptitude in strapping a plate rack to the front of a bicycle. My back end I have propped up on an easel because I forgot the stand. The easel I had to nick from the organisers.
Yes, it's the cycling craft stall. Peddling (oh how I am glad it is not literal) to a deserted bar where a group of crafters are selling delightful items to the discerning. Tables are not allowed. Bicycles only. Hence the plate rack, easel, and the Ikea seat I have duct-taped to the rear. It all nearly works, and much fondling of my knicker drawer notebooks is done.
Entirely worth it. The pain of the bike, and the pleasure of the sell.