The moment they stepped into the van—hugs, sparkles in their eyes, laughter already filled the air—I knew, just knew, the week ahead was going to be one for the memory books.
Oh, what a lucky duck I am. Another group completely, joyfully, irreversibly Gaga for antiques.
The Brocante Bug didn’t just bite them—it swooped in with dentelle wings and carried them off in a frenzy of patina and porcelain.
They get it. The hunt, the stories hidden in the grain of old wood, the thrill of a chipped piece of plaster- that somehow is just perfect.
We speak the same language—one where rust is poetry and dust is just yesterday’s shimmer.
How does one say thank you to the universe for days like these? For kindred spirits who swoon at century old pieces and who want to hear all about it.
My heart? Full. My soul? Drenched in gratitude –
and brocante bliss. Thank you for being here all of you near and far x
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