Going to Birmingham always fills me with dismay. New Street station is an armpit, accessed by stairs in every direction, or an exit through a gift shop. It makes no geographic sense to me whatsoever - there are so many different levels I feel like Sonic the Hedgehog. Only not swallowing gold rings every two steps.

Anyway, my grumbling was briefly quieted by a visit to the Rag Market, a huge treasure trove of necessary tat, utterly represented by this stall: "Everything from a nail gun to a runcible spoon" (it wasn't actually called this, but it had a very similar title. Alas, I can't remember exactly which bottom of drawer/under the cutlery tray essential items were in the name, but you get the picture).