Car Boot

I clean forgot, such was I taken up by the thoughts of little people. I again bagged myself a lot of stuff which fit into my car boot with room for nothing else. Car boot, I hate the words, they remind me of silly car boot sales where suddenly the odd white germ-infected lipstick looks nice to people because it's a 10 cents. Or something like 25 Euro cents, I have yet to start thinking in Euro. Well I do not buy something just because it's 25 Euro cents, especially when you're also paying for the germs, and then they also call them flea markets. Flea markets? When did fleas suddenly become attractive? My guess is they aren't called flea markets for nothing either. So I just have no space at all to put my today's acquisitions, a white fur coat, a white cardigan which spells Breakfast at Tiffany's, my only ever denim skirt, a couple of tracksuits, a pair of denims, and definitely more things but I've forgotten because they're still locked in the car boot, which is used for nothing else except to hold things in. That's all.