THE LAST SWAPMEET PETE

It struck me during a recent anniversary that I've been chronicling a miss-spent middle-age through this column for thirteen years, which has made me come over all retrospective.

When it started I used to hand write it, then type it out, print it and post it to the editor, who passed it on to someone else whose job was to type it back in again for the printer. Well that was one way of doubling the readership.

Once I was allowed to visit the office where they feverishly put the paper together. It was great fun; they really did cut and paste, and run around with strips of paper. That printing works was one of the last outposts of the steam age, now gone the same way, along with local banks, cine cameras and country garages.

There was an interim period when we were encouraged to embrace technology by sending our articles in on a floppy disk, although that didn't help us much as we still had to put stuff in the post, not to mention losing a disk every month. Then came the luxury of email, which costs nothing and lets you sail even closer to the deadline than you did when you had to allow for the vagaries of Royal Mail. As for floppy disks, you can’t even give them away these days.

I was fortunate to see the swapmeet business through two incredible peaks. The first was based on petrol and cash, along with a booming economy which Tony Blair inherited from the Tories in the early 90s. Together and independently, the fair promoters had laid out an incredible patchwork of events where collectors and dealers could meet. With a relatively small geographic area, a concentration of population and a vast pool of locally manufactured products ripening into collectables, the UK was perfect for a network of this kind. The ensuing explosion of knowledge and communication among collectors was unprecedented.

The second boom was based on internet trading and electronic payments; note the use of the past tense, as I suspect this boom has peaked already. I suppose the internet has damaged swapmeets, in the same way as the car damaged the railways. But they have to co-exist, so I’m looking forward to a period of relative stability, where swapmeets and the internet provide a mutually supportive partnership.

The second wave has also changed the role of the dealer forever. Everyone's a dealer now, or at least they can be if they want. From being an elitist hoarding of knowledge, toy collecting has become democratised and tidied up in a new labour sort of way. Pick a subject you know nothing about, give it ten minutes on Google and you're a world-class expert.

I'd have to admit that my tastes have changed over the period as well, to the extent that I've actually disassociated from whole swathes of collectables which would have fascinated me earlier. I'm now so specialised that I only collect transport-related products which were made on the south coast of England between April and June, 1964. (I was lucky to be invited to visit the factory during its final years, where I actually met April and June.)

One of the most satisfying moments in the life of the column was when a colleague accosted me with the words “Oy, do you know you’ve been a thorn in my side for years?” It turned out that he was well known as an opinionated commentator on the swapmeet scene (ie troublemaker) and was constantly being accused of writing this column, which of course he denied. He also says he’s had less criticism about it lately, which must mean I've got better at writing it.

Actually I have had a lot of material from him over the years, so thanks to the other Swapmeet Pete. In fact all the dealers have been very sporting about sharing their humour and tribulations, so it’s due in part to them that Pete has benefited from such longevity. At the risk of sounding like an Oscar acceptance speech, I suppose I should thank my faithful assistant Ray; without his box carrying abilities I could have had a heart attack by now.

But nothing lasts forever, and it’s time for a change of location for the family and me. I considered the New World, but the US has been pioneering the philosophies that are making the UK a less benign place to live. I considered the Antipodes, but they tend to imitate the UK and are ambitious to make the same mistakes. Now I think I’ve found the perfect place to retire. It’s an island off Fiji called Malolo, which rolls off the tongue like a tanned body off a floating lilo.

But there won’t be many collectable toys there, I hear you say. Well that’ll be a relief for Mrs Pete, and I suppose I’ll enjoy a break from buying, selling and repairing collectable toys. Until my 60ft container arrives.

As for The Diary of Swapmeet Pete, my hope is that it will follow the trajectory of all good collectables, going from current to discontinued, lying dormant for a few years with no perceived value, then reappearing as a highly prized collectable. In the intervening years I suppose the odd special edition might be possible, maybe around Christmas. Whatever happens, it’s been a discipline and a pleasure, although not always at the same time.

Roll on the third wave.

www.swapmeetpete.com