WHEN I was young, I used to wander around the old Pudu market. My Cochrane schoolmate’s father was on the municipal council managing it. It was a thriving market that served buyers and sellers of all shapes, sizes and economic ability.
What struck me was that each trader had the freedom to operate in exactly the way they needed. It was a part of the market culture – the fish mongers were in shadier parts of the market, had access to a ready supply of ice and the means to drain away what had melted. Just a row away, the vegetable stalls sprayed water on their produce, keeping things fresh.