During most of my adolescence, I woke up with the sun on God’s day of rest, slipped on my purple ugg boots, stretched-out leggings and one of my op-shop nanna jumpers, and walked to the markets near my parents’ house. Martti and Jamie — the other members of the “markets crew” — would roll down Stock Road, Melville, on colourful longboards with sleep still in their eyes. We would lean into the delirium of sleep deprivation and blow the money we made at our fast-food jobs on all sorts of things we didn’t need. Then we would spend the rest of the morning drinking free refills at the Hungry Jack’s across the road. We were on a first-name basis with the Sunday morning shift manager — I miss you Steph. Eventually, the three of us hit our early 20s and severed our ties with Sunday mornings (unless still awake from the night before). And now, as each of us moves into proper adulthood, we live across three different cities and are lucky to find ourselves all together in the same room more than once a year. All of this is to say, Sunday morning markets have a special place in my heart. Since moving to Geraldton, I’ve headed over to the Platform Markets more weekends than not. It is consistently overflowing with quality produce, loveable bric-a-brac, and smiley stall owners. My date doesn’t usually go to the markets, but I dragged him with me this week. Walking on to the platform we were hit with a wave of sights, smells, faces and sounds fighting for our attention. Some may find this a tad overwhelming, but I am a sucker for a rainbow of miscellanea. Soon after arriving, a flash of mustard crochet caught my eye, and we wandered over to have a look. It was a beanie lovingly crafted by Nic Bauer, who rides a Harley-Davidson, studies youth work and knows her way around a pair of crochet needles — cool- girl vibes all around. At only $15, the wee hat was an absolute steal. My date refused to let me buy him one, even though it would have looked so cute on his little head. The whirling smells of burgers, satay and sweets got the better of us. We bee-lined for Amenah’s Satay House. For a town without a Malay restaurant, the Platform Markets puts on a South-East Asian show. We chose to visit Amenah’s this week because it had a bit more for vegetarians, but I have it on good authority all the satay at the markets is off the chain. My date and I ordered half a serving of vegetarian murtabak each. He paired his with chicken skewers, and I got a vegie samosa. Salina Razekin, one of the women behind the operation, drowned both our meals in sweet and crunchy satay. We both thoroughly enjoyed our murtabak, a thick crepe from the Middle East and South-East Asia. Amenah’s vegetarian murtabak is savoury and comes with celery, onion and potato. It was soft, gooey, and half a serving was more than enough. My date’s skewers were well-cooked, with the satay adding moisture to balance the flavours and textures of his meal, and my samosa was big, warm and delicious. Its yellow insides were like warm pillows of mild curry. My mouth waters as I recount the meal. I wish this outfit would make like Casa Dolce and open a bricks-and-mortar store. I want to enjoy it as a weekday lunch. Usually, I bring our five-year-old puppy Uma along, but we figured it would be too much work trying to take photos while keeping an over- stimulated kelpie under control. Feeling guilty, we headed over to the friendly team at Chew it Over with Canine Candy and bought her a dried cow’s ear. Uma loves chewing on severed body parts which used to belong to another animal. I gave it to her when we got home, wondering what it was like to live without the oppressive weight of morality, paying bills, and having to be careful about what you put in your mouth. Then I remembered my opposable thumbs and how I can go to the markets whenever I want, continuing my day in peace.