Our First Market Dayin Moreton-in-Marsh

Everyone tells you the Moreton-in-Marsh market is big. Nobody tells you how quickly the parking disappears. By half past nine the long central bays were full and cars were circling, so the advice we'd been given - come before nine or come after two - turned out to be exactly right.

It also means you see the market wake up. Traders unloading vans, the smell of coffee starting somewhere down the row, a few regulars already doing their rounds with trolleys. It felt less like a tourist attraction and more like a working town getting on with its week.

We had a list. We ignored the list. What came home with us was two bunches of carrots, a bag of apples, a loaf of sourdough that did not survive the drive back, and a wedge of cheese chosen entirely because the man behind the stall told us a story about it.

Prices were not the bargain some people promise. The value is in the quality and in knowing where things came from, not in saving money against a supermarket shop.

Probably not every week. But we will go often, and we will go early, and next time we will know which end to start at. That is the whole point of doing this in public - the second visit is always better than the first.