Amidst yet more political resignations and mud-slinging, it may have escaped your notice that Wendell Pierce, the fifty five year old star of stage, screen and the London Underground has finally achieved his lifetime ambition by bringing the house down during a performance of Death of a Salesmen at the West End’s Piccadilly Theatre. Sadly for him it meant the auditorium had to be evacuated as too many of the audience were getting plastered.
I satisfied a vaguely held ambition the other day, by attending my first auction. I can’t believe it’s taken me this long. It wasn’t Bonhams or Christie’s, where you need to mortgage your house just to walk through the door. No, this was Watsons of Heathfield, where the auctioneer, a buxom, larger than life lady, starts off on a ladder outside, flogging garden pots and rolls of rotting garden hose for a tenner, before moving inside an old shed to rattle through over five hundred lots of junk, ranging from a rejected Hotpoint washing machine to boxes and boxes of damaged china, unbelievably tatty sofas to wobbly pine chairs, well chewed by Fido in a previous life.
I was lucky to bump into an East London friend who knows a bargain when he sees one after a lifetime of wheeler-dealer trading. He’s not called Rodney, nor does he drive a three-wheeled Reliant Robin (far from it!), but you wouldn’t be surprised to see him rock up as a Pearly King. From an outside stall, he bought a wooden sign saying “St. Leonards” for ten quid. Another trader immediately offered him twenty, but he refused saying he could get thirty for it. How impressive is that! Double or even triple your money in a few minutes. OK we’re not talking a Euromillions life-changer here, but if you do those sort of trades often enough, there’s a good living to be made. It was fascinating to watch and definitely merits a revisit and perhaps a trip to the lovely Sussex market town of Lewes, renowned for its antique shops and slightly more upmarket auctions.
Talking of auctions and lotteries, how’s Brexit getting on?
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