Yes! My abilities almost scare me with their uncanniness.
Okay, my perceptive powers lie in marketing, but I think this a benefit.
I could have been gifted with overwhelming foresight in plastic-elf making or something. Anyway, such are the sublime powers of marketing that I possess, I can soon expect all media types to beat a path to my door.
Such brilliance is my ability to advance my own talents, for example.
I can pick a weekend booking for my craft stall on what is not only the sunniest-sunshiny-summer's day that England has seen in 2000 years, but I am also able to unerringly select the last weekend of Wimbledon, when 100% of the craft-buying population of Britain is sat at the TV screen in anticipation of an historic sports event unfolding before their very watching eyes.
Sun, more sun, and a cheap Weekend Wimbledon multibuy offered by the Polish bottle shop on five litres of Pimm's, all combine in my horrible awareness about noon. All morning, I have had one customer. Whom I told to clear off.
I am not normally the Bernard Black of the craft market but I was already tetchy and she asked for it. Picking up my delightful knicker drawer quirkeries, hand crafted for privacy, offering a snort and a comment of the sort I have nothing to hide.
If you want to tell us everything, then you are not the type of person I want to meet and give me back my knicker book.
I think those were my words as I snatched my little keepsake whimsy out of her mangy claws. Followed by There is a jam stall over there. Why don't you go and buy strawberry jam? And when you spoon it straight out of the pot to eat, make sure you do it in public on a park bench and invite us all round to watch.
(Two sold all day, and they were to friends.)
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