It seemed like such a good idea at the time. Having recently moved house we had piles of stuff that we didn’t need but was too good to throw away. We’d already taken over 500 books and random bits of bric-à-brac to all the local charity shops – so many bits and pieces in fact that they now shut the door and turn off the lights when they see us coming.

Then a neighbour mentioned a giant boot sale quite local to us, that ran every Sunday. ‘Brilliant idea!’ said Son. ‘Dad’s old Star Wars stuff will fetch thousands!’ So, as we unpacked and sorted we began to put aside things for the Boot Sale. By the time we got back from holiday the Boot Sale pile consisted of seven large boxes of random things.

‘Don’t worry!’ said Son. ‘I’ll help.’

Son didn’t help. He was quite good at carrying stuff to the Boot Sale pile of boxes, but wasn’t so keen when he learned he’d have to wake up at 5am on Sunday morning.

I was beginning to worry I’d be left to run the Boot Sale on my own (husband was in the ‘just put everything in the skip’ category and had washed his hands of all involvement very early on) but luckily Daughter stepped up.

‘We’ll have to get up very early,’ I said to her. ‘Very early indeed – like it will still be dark.’ As a fifteen-year-old who loves her bed, I didn’t think she would be physically capable of getting up before dawn but she proved me wrong.

‘You ready?’ she said, knocking on my door at 5.05 am.

Blurry eyed, heart pounding and hungover due to an ill-advised brandy sour the night before, I lurched out of bed to get dressed and brush my teeth. The house was quiet as Daughter and I crept out ready to take the already loaded car to the Boot Sale.

‘I can’t believe we’re up this early,’ I said. ‘But good to get there first thing as it opens at 6 so we’ll get the best spot.’

We drove in silence through the dark watching the sky gradually lighten. The first signs for the Boot Sale began to appear. Not a car was to be seen the whole way. I started to worry I was going to be the only boot there until we rounded the corner and headed towards the enormous farmers’ field.

It was 5.58 am and I thought I was dreaming. Ahead of us must have been over a hundred cars. The place hadn’t even opened!

The Boot Sale hadn’t even opened at this point!

Mouth open in astonishment I followed the cars as they wound back and forth, eventually forming regular lines that marched across the whole of the huge field. We parked up and leaped out of the car. Right! Ready to sell some stuff and make our fortune. I had a money belt already strapped round my waist. Actually, it was the dog lead waist band I use when walking Dog but it had a useful pocket for phones which I was hoping to fill with hundreds of pound coins.

What I wasn’t expecting was the absolute swarms of people who appeared as I opened the boot. I hadn’t even opened the boxes and they were trying to rummage through our stuff. These were The Dealers.

‘Any PlayStations? Any Games? DVDs?’ I had to slap their hands away as they reached to pry open the top of the boxes. It was quite overwhelming. ‘Give us a minute!’ I shouted eventually. ‘I haven’t got any PlayStation stuff!’ They were like ants.

Eventually they fell away after I threw a broken Star Wars X-Wing at them for the grand total of £3. I was later to discover that £3 was the sweet spot at a Boot Sale. It was very rare to get anything above that.

It was 6.05 and people were already walking along the rows, eyes sharp and pockets rattling with pound coins. Hastily, Daughter and I shook out the sheets we’d bought and laid out everything we’d bought.

The Dealers swooped in again, picking through our spread of belongings. Any named clothes were winkled out. ‘£1 for these three? Yes?’

‘Er no,’ I’d say, pulling the clothes out of their hands. ‘That’s a £45 pair of Nike shorts that have barely been worn – and those are Paul Smith trousers that were £100 brand new. I’ll take a fiver each for them.’

The Dealers slunk away; my prices too rich for their blood. I later realised I was completely mad to ask for £5 for a pair of designer trousers. The people there were expecting to pay 25p for each piece of clothing. I rapidly recalculated how much money I was going to make.

Daughter began to fossick about and I realised she was sneaking things out that she’d just realised she wanted to keep.

‘You can’t take out that ostrich egg!’ I said. ‘I’ve been trying to get rid of the ruddy thing for years!’

‘But it’s cool!’ she said, opening the car door and putting the ostrich egg box in the passenger footwell.

‘It’s been cool and in a cupboard for the past ten years and you’ve shown absolutely no interest in it.’ I said, but my words fell on deaf ears. Whenever my back was turned another item was ‘rescued’ from the pile. Piglet. A pair of old sunglasses. Andy from Toy Story (a toy that had languished untouched by both my children for twelve years). Big Trak. Another teddy. A handbag. A baseball bat (to play Netball with she said. I was completely confused until I realised she meant Rounders).

Eventually I gave in but only after I got her to promise that everything she kept had to be stored in her room – not in the house. ‘If I see it, I’m throwing it away,’ I warned. ‘OK’ she nodded, sweetly.

Some of the things Daughter ‘rescued’ from our Boot Sale display

It felt like we’d been standing in the now blazing sunshine for hours but my watch told me it was only ten past seven. More and more people were arriving and we began to sell quite a lot of stuff once I had got my head around how little I should ask for everything.

I did quite well on some 80s toys, a few prints and paintings and I ran a special deal on books (50p each 3 for a pound) which got rid of all the Mr Men and Miffy books. Daughter and I both felt a bit of a pang as they were carried away.

By nine we were both starving. I decided to walk over to the burger van. Joining the queue I heard a woman behind me say ‘oooh I don’t know how they could have a burger at this time of the morning’ and wanted to yell at her that I’d been on my feet since 5am and nothing was getting in the way between me and that cheeseburger.

I was a bit taken aback by the price. FIVE QUID! Five Quid! For a burger? I handed over ten pound coins from my money belt recognising Daughter and I would be literally eating our profits.

Three hours later and the Boot Fair was winding down. I started almost giving stuff away. I was quite pleased by the jingle of coins in my money/dog walking belt and resolved to count it all up when we got home. There was a sad lack of any paper money rustling away in there I realised.

We got home absolutely shattered and by 4pm I couldn’t keep my eyes open. I told husband I was going for a well-deserved nap and within minutes I was dead to the world.

When I woke up I screamed so loudly husband thought I’d been attacked. Daughter had snuck in as I slept and left the life-size hairdresser’s head on the pillow next to me. The one we hadn’t managed to sell at the Boot Fair. Without my glasses I thought it was a decapitated head; it was like that horse head in a bed scene from The Godfather. Daughter had taken pictures and circulated them to the family chat to much hilarity. I don’t think I will every forgive her. Teenagers, eh?

The Hairdresser’s head Daughter snuck onto my pillow as I slept. Me Sleeping

The good news is I made £93.10. Not bad, but once you take off the £10 entrance fee and the £10 for the gold-plated burgers – oh, and the coin that I thought was a 50p but was actually an East Caribbean States dollar – we made a total of £72.60. Just over seven pounds an hour but we did get rid of lots of stuff we didn’t need and it was lovely seeing all those well-loved books going home with happy children. Not sure I’d ever do it again though. And I’m going to burn that blooming hairdresser’s head.