Mixed Lot

There are certain people that we just don't want in our lives. Take my dentist, for example. Roel Bester at the Treetops Surgery on Pottergate is quite possibly the best dental practitioner in the world. If he were an international footballer he would be Lionel Messi. If he were an actor he would be Colin Firth. If he were an auctioneer he would most probably be me. But, although my faith in his ability is resolute, I never actually want to see him. Yesterday, however, I had to see him.

I had to see him because my tooth was a bit like the Gaddafi regime - about to crumble. Too much sugar action and not enough flossing. Too many nights stumbling into bed in a drunken stupor (and forgetting to brush my teeth). Too British - as Daniel said to me last night in The Dog House 'We're not supposed to have good teeth'

Hmm, all very well but I quite like being able to bite things. Thankfully, by some miracle of God or science or nature (take your pick) my teeth are generally quite healthy. And I am determined that they should remain so which is why I chose to drink alcohol as opposed to Coca-Cola in the pub last night. Post-dental trauma demanded a proper drink in any case. As the anaesthetic began to fade I began to feel the pain. Most of my colleagues advised paracetamol. I ignored them.

The Cloisters Fair was a bit quiet yesterday. Most of the action appeared to centre around my 'clearance table'. Every once in a while we clear the storeroom of all of the junk that has accumulated over time and sell it off in the lobby at £1 a pop. The feeding frenzy that ensued was similar to a David Attenborough documentary on survival on the African Plain. The carcass was consumed in minutes, leaving the bare bones for all to see for the rest of the day.

All of that means, of course, that I am pushed to put together more lots for our next auction (just a week away). A successful auction demands fresh lots and plenty of them. As auctioneer, I alone see into the punters' eyes as we offer-up a lot. Offer-up a box of tat that failed to sell last time round and they look about as interested as an anorexic in a pork chop. Offer-up a hallmarked silver teapot fresh out of an attic on the Earlham Road and they change. They still look disinterested, but they salivate. (Proper) dealers are like lions moving in for the kill - they will display complete disinterest in something they really want to have right up until the chase. The moment before the chase, however, they salivate. I like it when they do that.

Yes, it helps to have healthy teeth in this business. There's nothing like it, at the death of it, to know that you did it close up and personal. Visceral perhaps, but necessary. Thankfully, most of the antique dealers I know have false teeth - which gives me an edge (thanks to Roel Baster).