As she got ready, she realised that she had plenty of time and decided that the market would be really good content for her channel and that her subscribers would love the whole kit and kaboodle. With that thought in mind, she decided to leave early and walking in the direction of the harbour, she smiled at the lights everywhere.
As was usual in Pretty Beach, everything was exceptionally well done. So far from some dodgy market selling counterfeit goods, it wasn't even funny. White canvas old-school tents were aligned along the harbour, with regulation Pretty Beach bunting in its blue and white colours. From just about everywhere, there was a smell of lovely cooking in the air, and a few people had started to gather. Everything about it made for a good setup.The backdrop wasn’t bad either; boats bobbed around in the harbour, also strung with lights, the lighthouse beamed up on the cliff and lamps from houses in windows glowed. All in all, it was just very visually appealing, very nice and very Pretty Beach. Using her phone, Darby turned it around and tried to capture how glorious everything looked. Then, as she started to walk along by the water, she flicked the screen so that it recorded her and informed her viewers just why she loved the Pretty Beach markets and what they meant to her and the community.
Holding her phone at arm's length, trying to capture both herself and the harbour scene behind her, Darby chatted away as if she’d been speaking to a phone camera her whole life. It was actually quite unbelievable how easy she found it to commentate on her existence. 'I'm at the Pretty Beach night markets, which honestly has to be one of the most gorgeous settings you could ask for on a clear, bright evening.'
Turning the camera back towards the market, she panned slowly across the white canvas tents that lined the harbour wall. Really, it was breathtaking; each stall was lit with strings of warm white lights reflecting off the dark water and the lighthouse glinted.
'Look at this. These old-school canvas tents are very traditional and charming, nothing flashy or modern, not at all. Just good, honest market stalls selling local produce and handmade goods. Gosh, I really do love it. It’s been a while since I’ve been.'
Wind coming off the sea smelt of wood smoke, hot chocolate and roasted chestnuts mingling with the salt air from the sea. Darby inhaled deeply and smiled at the camera. 'The smell alone is worth coming for. There's something about outdoor markets in the evening that makes everything feel more special than it actually is. Though to be fair, Pretty Beach does know how to put on a show when it wants to.'
Providing a running commentary on the various stalls that were set up for the evening, Darby was enjoying herself. A cheese vendor had arranged wheels of local farmhouse varieties on rustic wooden boards, a stall from the bakery in the laneway displayed nothing but cinnamon buns and sourdough loaves and a local boutique flower farmer’s stall looked as if someone had painted it with watercolour paints, it was that pretty.
'This is what I love about living here.' Darby paused in front of a stall selling preserves and chutneys in jars with fabric hats and hand-written labels. 'Everything's local, everything's made by people who actually care about what they're producing. You can't get this sort of thing in a lot of places these days, can you? This is the real deal, made by people who probably know the names of the cows that provided the milk or the exact field where the vegetables were grown. I mean, most of our town centres of old have actually closed up shops and hoardings these days! Really? These places used to be the backbone of our beautiful country. How sad is it that the places of old have gone to the dogs? Don’t even get me started. I went back to the town I grew up in a few years ago and I didn’t recognise it. It was absolutely shocking, in actual fact, and so sad, too. Someone somewhere in Whitehall has a lot to answer for.'
At the far end of the market, an old-fashioned beer tent looked like it had been transported directly from a nineteenth-century country fair. Cream-coloured canvas was supported by wooden poles and the beautifully decorated entrance, complete with garlands of flowers, and Pretty Beach's traditional blue and white bunting, did not disappoint.
'This is what I call commitment to the atmosphere. Look at that beautiful traditional beer tent. Just like the good old days, eh?'
Through the open flaps of the tent, long wooden trestle tables had been arranged in lines and fairy lights were strung aroundthe interior poles. Darby zoomed in on a chalkboard menu that promised ales from breweries within a twenty-mile radius. 'Pretty Beach doesn't do anything by halves when it comes to supporting local businesses. If you can't grow it, brew it, or make it within cycling distance of the place, they're probably not interested in selling it at the night market. I love that. Like Ireallylove it.'
Continuing her slow circuit of the market, documenting the preparations and commenting on the attention to detail that had gone into creating the setting, Darby was thoroughly enjoying herself. Every stall seemed to have been arranged with care, from the positioning of the lights to the way products were displayed. Appealing it most certainly was.
'You know what strikes me most about all this? It's the sense of community. These aren't just random vendors who've bought cheap tat wholesale online and rocked up to sell stuff to tourists. These are people who live here, who’ve grown up here, who know each other and who've probably been coming to these markets for years. You can see it in the way they're helping each other set up, the way they're chatting whilst they arrange their displays. And the setting doesn't hurt either.' She laughed and gestured towards the harbour. 'I mean, how many places can you buy artisanal cheese and locally brewed ale whilst looking out at boats bobbing in a picture-perfect harbour? Do I need to even mention the lighthouse? It's almost ridiculously lovely, isn't it?'
Ending the recording, she slipped her phone back into her pocket, took a moment to simply enjoy the scene and nodded to herself. Darbs was back. It felt good.
28
Afew minutes later, Darby spotted Archie making his way through the market. Dressed in dark jeans and a jumper, he’d nailed it. She wanted to nail him. She may have wobbled.
Kissing her on the cheek as he got to her, she didn’t just wobble; she trembled.Oh yeah.‘Hi.’
‘Evening.’ Archie looked up at the sky. ‘Nice night for it.’
‘I thought the same. It’s so lovely down here.’
‘Everything smells and looks good, too.’
'They don't do anything by halves, do they? Suntanned Pete and Holly are out in force. If you're going to have a market, it might as well look like the most beautiful market anyone's ever seen.'
‘True.’
As they chatted and ambled, Darby soaked it all in; the setting and the company. Both of which were very nice. Strolling, the white canvas tents lit by strings of lights glowed. Every few metres, they stopped and looked at a stall and the conversation flowed. The tedious, self-centred, pointless conversations from the app men now seemed ludicrous. Things were flowing, lovely, gorgeous. Darby’s blood was far from flowing; rather, it gushed, ditto her heart.
Pretty Beach was putting on a show and doing a marvellous drop of making the backdrop sing. It seemed it was very good at backdrops for dates with hottie patottie men, if men be your thing. Pretty Beach could instantly drop a regular old situation on you and make it very far from same old. The night markets, case in point. The delight of them had enveloped Darby and Archie and whoomph, Darby was sucked in.
Archie smiled. 'Right then. What's the protocol here? Do we work our way along systematically, or do we just follow our noses and see what catches our attention? How do you want to do it?'
Darby couldn’t have given a stuff about protocol or systems. She was just over the moon to be with him and not talking to a wall. 'I vote for following our noses and see where they lead us.' She inhaled the scent of wood smoke, garlic and frying onions wafting in the air.
Archie grinned. ‘In that case, this way because that amazing smell is coming from the harbour side.’
They wandered past a stall selling homemade artisanal breads, the air thick with the scent of rosemary and sea salt, then another where neat rows of jars were filled with goodies. Just along the end near the harbour, a guitarist strummed slow and easy indie folk songs. Life was good.
Arriving at the beer tent, Archie led the way in. Inside, a bar made from old trestle tables ran the length of one side. There were huge rustic-looking kegs lined up behind it and chalkboards listed the beers in looping chalk script.
Seafarer’s Pale
