Watch browsers at any fair and you'll see the same tiny drama on repeat: someone picks up an item, looks for a price, doesn't find one fast, puts it down, drifts on. Asking "how much is this?" costs shy people more than the item does — and most of your Saturday footfall is shy people. Signs exist so nobody has to ask.
Stand where customers walk — a metre-plus back from the table edge — and check you can read every price without leaning. That's the whole test. It's why phone-typed labels and biro-on-sticker fail: they're readable to the person who wrote them, at the distance they wrote them. Big type isn't a design preference; it's the difference between a price that works from the aisle and one that only works in the hand.
The browsing brain wants the number. Lead with it — big, central — with the item name above and any detail below. Descriptions belong in the conversation that starts after the price cleared someone's mental filter, not blocking the number in a paragraph of lovely words about small-batch processes. One sign per price group beats one label per item: "All cards £3" does more work than thirty tiny stickers, and looks calmer doing it.
A small line under the price — "3 for £12", "any two for £5" — is the cheapest average-order-value lift available at a stall. It answers the question good browsers are already asking ("what if I take a few?"), starts arithmetic in the customer's head, and gives the gift-buyers a ready-made bundle. If you only add one flourish to a sign, it's this one, not a border.
Matching signs — same layout, same type, same size — make a table look like a shop; mixed handwriting and card scraps make the same stock look like a clear-out. It costs nothing except deciding once. Print a spare set (signs walk, blow away and get rained on), and make the end-of-day deal sign in advance too: "everything on this table £5" works much better printed than apologetically biroed at 2:45pm.
General guidance from stallholder practice, August 2026. CAAC.