Mixed Lot

Faced with a possible 'staff uprising' I decided to take matters into my own hands yesterday and kill a couple of them in cold blood. I don't think my HR friend, Sue, would approve (she's coming in to 'sort me out soon') but what other possible course of action could I have taken when faced with demands such as 'Needing to go to the toilet during the course of the day' and 'Not being hit with a stick'? Unfortunately, Daniel's sword fighting skills appeared to exceed my own and upon stabbing me (for real) in the stomach he commented 'I think you're dead mate'. Hmm, perhaps the boy King Edward VI was right after all when he sent an army to Norwich in 1549 to quell Kett's Rebellion...

Actually, my team regularly exceed the call of duty and I appreciate everything they do for me. It's because of them that we do what we do well and they proved that again yesterday as we sailed through another excellent sale. Not so many lots this time round but certainly some real quality. The Fenton Brothers tray - £880 The Namiki pen - £260 The Henry Bright drawing - £250 I could go on but our success will just bore you.

The most interesting thing we sold yesterday, however, was 'A Gentleman's Tooth'. Lot 182 aroused a great deal of interest - just who was the 'Gentleman'? Listed as 9ct gold (but almost certainly 14ct) the tooth had arrived into our saleroom the day before, fresh from defeat at the hands of a ham sandwich, apparently. That rules out Bill the Toe as everyone's prime suspect because he is a vegetarian. The tooth sold for £28 by the way - I suspect the Gentleman's dental repair will cost rather more...

Off on a tangent (one of my favourite things) but aren't the intelligentsia dull? We had a couple come in yesterday and they looked at a picture in our sale. It was 'Rubenesque' to say the least, although available at a fraction of the price of the real thing. They discussed and debated and swung for and agin it for not less than half an hour. At the death they determined that it just fell short of their requirements for the entrance hall. Lenny the Bastard and I looked at it for three seconds 'Nice Print' he said 'Great tits' I replied.

Of course, as is our practice, we ended it in The Doghouse. We are English after all. Not for us the Norman administration of procedures and practices (and census forms). We leave that to the middle-classes and they are as far removed from us as it is possible to be. They have been since 1415 when they trembled in the rear caravans at Agincourt. No doubt, the intelligentsia disapprove of our excessive consumption of alcohol. That they do means nothing to us - they know and we know that when it comes to the dirty business of selling that nobody does it better than the front ranks. That, and sword fighting.