Fine, settled weather plus a house full of clutter can only mean one thing: it’s time for a car boot sale.

From a few sales dotted across the country in the mid-eighties, car boot sales have become a national pastime, as thousands of people get up at the crack of dawn on Sunday morning to stake their pitch.

It’s hard work.

Getting all your stuff together takes time, packing the car more time, and setting up your stall even more time.

My friend and I usually arrive around 6.30am, by which time the farmer’s field is already packed, with people already browsing.

Within moments of parking the car professional dealers come scavenging, asking whether you’ve got certain items.

Some virtually open your car door for you as they scan your vehicle.

I try to curtail what I buy.

My husband always accuses me of bringing back more “tat” than I take, so I exercise enormous amounts of willpower to not look at other stalls.

With programmes like Antiques Roadshow, Cash in the Attic and suchlike, the chances of unearthing an Old Master or a Ming vase are virtually nil.

York Press:

Car boot sales: so much more than just a bargain hunt...

People are wise to all that, and anything in oil signed by John Constable should be treated with more than a degree of scepticism.

You can get some genuine bargains, however. Over the years I have bought so many amazing toys and gorgeous clothes for my children, for next to nothing.

I’ve brought home some lovely shelves - now up on the wall in my daughter’s bedroom, mirrors, gardening tools and many, many books.

What I love most about car boots is people watching.

You see some sights - men, women and children clutching goods from inflatable crocodiles to fishing rods, lavatory seats, spades, hub caps and Barbie dolls.

I’ve watched families tucking into burger and chips at the crack of dawn and seen people emptying not car boots, but trucks carrying everything but the kitchen sink.

I’ve been car booting in all weathers, dragging huge plastic sheets over our stall when showers strike, and battling to keep the clothes rail from toppling in the wind.

You can spot the seasoned car booters, who have everything in hand, coping admirably whatever the weather throws at them, always with a smile on their faces.

At one time my friend and I would lug our unwanted goods - one man’s rubbish is another man’s treasure - to car boots on a regular basis, and see the same people, all getting up at an unearthly hour week after week to haul their possessions to market.

The aim is to sell as much as possible at modest prices.

And the beauty of it is it’s all tax-free.

Not every sale is a success. I made just £20 at one, and when you deduct the pitch fee, it’s even less.

But next time I took exactly the same things and made almost £100.

At car boots there is a home for everything: I once sold a plastic U-bend, and if I remember rightly, the buyer was thrilled by it.