Mixed Lot

Once upon a time when my life was known to me, I charged about the Kingdom in search of treasure. Sometimes, I found nothing but that hardly mattered as I holed up in the corner of a pub garden somewhere. What I didn't know then, but know now, is that there is a pub in North Norfolk with an antique centre alongside it. Hang on - pub and antique centre? Heaven!

And so it was that we visited Keys of Aylsham today. It was a bit like visiting your Great Aunt -predictable and smelly. My Great Aunt used to serve up tinned salmon on a bed of lettuce. It made me want to vomit. So we left Aylsham and headed for The Three Horseshoes at Scottow - yes, the pub with an antique centre alongside it.

Douglas Bader used to drink at The Three Horeshoes. That's historic. Now it has converted a barn alongside the pub into an antique centre of exceptional quality. We wanted to buy everything but it's all in the margins and the place is priced for the Chelsea Weekenders. No profits for boys with notes in pocket.

I did buy a little bit today - nothing that worth mentioning but enough to pay for our drinks in the Ribs of Beef later on in the afternoon. Deals are done over pints and today was no exception - significant news coming soon. The number of fish we saw in the River Wensum - partly attracted by dry roasted peanuts - was astounding. The beers flowed once more. The laughter in the sun and the tales and traumas and tittle tattle of it all. Oh, how wonderful to be an antique dealer in England in the summertime.

Mixed Lot

THIS IS AN ADULT POST - If you are an uptight middle-class Liberal Democrat then please leave now. If you are looking to become a valued customer of Barnes Auctioneers then please visit http://www.barnesauctioneers.co.uk/ where I promise we're a little more professional.

I hate those late night conversations that start 'How many people have you slept with?' That's because, whatever the reality, it's important to walk a steady line between truths. On the one hand, too many and you look like a (man)slut, too few and you look like a weedy virgin. The bottom line is that it is good to be experienced but not to the extent that you frighten the shit out of the person you are about to sleep with. I should point out that I haven't had a conversation such as this for many years (being a happily married man) but last week I had to advise someone who had been asked the question by a potential girlfriend.

'Eight' I said.

'Eight?'

'Yes, eight!'

'That's not many!'

'No, but it means you know your way around but are not a tart. How many have you slept with?'

'Thirty'

Now let's do the sexual partner calculation:

1) MAN TELLS MAN X DIVIDE BY THREE

2) MAN TELLS WOMAN X DIVIDE BY TWO

3) WOMAN TELLS MAN X MULTIPLY BY THREE

4) WOMAN TELLS WOMAN X MULTIPLY BY TWO

'So, you've slept with about ten women?'

'Yes'

'Well then - just be honest'

'That doesn't sound like very many'

'I think ten is ok' I said reassuringly (lied).

What has all this got to do with antiques? Not much really, except that it's a mistake to believe everything everyone ever says or writes. Take this blog, for example - it's rooted in real soil but one or two (not all) of the fruits are plastic. Our auction on Wednesday may have been dreadful (it was actually - for many reasons that have now been addressed) but I'm not about to say or write that publicly. What I would actually say is that 'we enjoyed Wednesday's sale and look forward to the next one on 18th May'. See what I mean? When I say 'Barnes Auctioneers goes from strength to strength' what I actually mean is 'Barnes Auctioneers hasn't gone under yet'.

I believe that's it's best to be so outrageous that it must be true (or do I?) An example:

'Here we have LOT 26 - a mixed lot of sheet music. And I can tell you that this sheet music used to be the personal property of John Lennon'.

After all, where does myth and legend come from? Robin Hood was actually a violent criminal. Richard the Lionheart was actually French. And Jesus Christ was a regular shaver (somehow in time that got mistranslated as 'saviour'). We all put our own spin on things. Look at Alisdair Campbell (I'd rather not) who last told the truth in 1977. Look at Donald Trump: businessman, career publicist, and master of misinformation. He says his hair is real and we sort of accept that because we want to believe it to be true (even though it's clearly been shaven from the head of a teenage prostitue in the outskirts of Moscow and shipped out to him at great expense). His claim is so outrageous that we kind of go with it.

Decisons on catalogue descriptions really bring this into focus. Gemma and I looked at a Norfolk Pattern Royal Doulton cup and saucer pre-sale and decided not to put 'A/F' alonside the description even though there was a large (contemporary) crack along one side of the cup. Possibly we did that because one would expect a 150 year old cup to be less than perfect. Another argument is that we did it to deceive. Actually, we did it because we are marketing our lots, not putting them down.

Our Terms & Conditions make it very clear that we expect potential buyers to inspect lots before bidding on them. We all have different opinions. Another example - on Thursday we had a Victorian bracelet. Potential descriptions included:

1) Victorian 18ct gold turquoise & seed pearl bracelet Est 200-300

2) Victorian 18ct rolled gold bracelet Est 80-120

3) Victorian pincbeck bracelet A/F Est 40-60

I judged that it was 'yellow metal' and estimated it accordingly. After the sale, one customer told me that it was gold 'Possibly, but it's not marked' I said 'And one of our jewellery people thinks that it is actually pinchbeck'. Pinchbeck is a yellow metal that was common in the 19th Century, used as a substitute for gold.

I think it's best to, wherever possible, tell the truth and nothing but the truth but there are times when a little bit of marketing spin is good. So I have a Victorian bracelet 'It could be gold' even if it's probably not. I haven't lied.

Two days later, my friend reported back 'Thirty-one!'

'Eleven!'

'Sorry, yes eleven!'

'Back of the net!'

'And she said it was the best she had ever had...'

'Yeah, she probably lied mate...'

Mixed Lot

I am shattered. That's because I was up at 2am this morning and by 7am was zipping down the A146 to Beccles and the antique street market where Daniel, Helen and I sold for England. Antique dealing is a little bit like gambling on the horses - it's all too easy to back a loser. Today, however, our nag came home a 16-1 winner. All three of us returned home with a fistful of dollars and we'll be back for more of the same on the 4th September (double stall please Kate - you promised!)
Selling in a small country Suffolk town is rather different to trading in Norwich - there are more farmers for starters. It's all rather more genteel too - thieves and homeless people are notable by their absence. All of the people were very nice and more than happy to spend their money. How wonderful. A bit of sun and a lot of shade. A lot of wind too and a hog roast. No hint of hostility or hassle or humbug. A lot of laughter and a bit of gossip. Most enjoyable and profitable. Well done to the organisers.
Arriving home to a glass of red and a home-cooked stew; how divine. Over dinner, I asked Henry why he stuck Easter egg foil so far up his nostril that Beth thought he would have to go to hospital (until it was eventually blown-out) 'I don't know' he answered before rolling his bread between both palms to create a 'sausage'. Take a glimpse into my world and wonder at what might happen next...

Mixed Lot

There are few things dumber than a socialist in a polling booth but the colleague that bet £20 against me doubling my money on a broken Conway Stewart fountain pen is a prime candidate. That's because fountain pen collectors are usually retired, wealthy, and obsessive in acquisition. They are good buyers in a buoyant market and, let's be honest, the proletariat don't buy fountain pens because they can't even write. In fact, the great unwashed typically use a thumbprint to sign-on the dotted dole line. Most of us may be tightening the purse strings, but not fountain pen collectors.
Unusually, I found the pen in a charity shop in Diss. I say unusually because it's rare these days to find anything that hasn't been nicked out of the backroom of a charity shop. Five pens for £30, except that four were Bics 'Is it possible to just buy the one?' I asked the assistant.
'I'll go and ask the manager' came the reply.
Now, here is the problem - as soon as I took the loupe from my pocket and inspected the green marbled Conway Stewart fountain pen closely in front of the entire shop, it became clear to all and sundry that I was an antique dealer. The volunteer, armed with that knowledge and concerned that the shop may have missed something, went to speak to the boss. Of course, they had underestimated the pen: Conway Stewart are one of the most popular quality makes and this one had a 14ct gold nib. Even damaged, it was a good find.
The assistant returned 'We can let you have that one for £15'
There are arguments for and against negotiating with charity shops. Having worked in the charity sector for many years, I use my discretion. In this instance I simply questioned '£30 for 5 or £15 for just one?'
No negotiation was required, the volunteer instantly capitulated and the deal was done at £10. My friend and I then retired to the local where we sank a jar over three games of pool (which I shouldn't have but did win 2-1).
What did the pen make? Well, that's between me and my maker (oh, and the twit I have to go and collect my £20 from).

Mixed Lot

Decisions decisions decisions - which car boot sale to attend on a Sunday? In the end we opted for Banham over the perhaps more obvious (and closer) contenders of Hellesdon and Arminghall. Stalham was also a possible but, like Hellesdon, starts later and we were up and ready by 6.30am. Not sure of the weather we headed south as Banham is (partly) undercover. Not that we were the first to arrive - in fact we were one of the last. Still, we managed to secure a little spot undercover as hoped and started to set-up - one half of the stall being long-lost crap from the store room and the other half being baby-related crap that has been cluttering-up the house for far too long.

Not that Beth and I are competitive, but it was billed a little bit as Antiques versus Mothercare. Who would take the most money? At first I was concerned because everyone at Banham appeared to be pregnant - even the men. There may be some truth in the 'Norfolk Dumpling' because you don't find this bodyshape anywhere else - they kind of have a shelf fitted just under their saggy tits. Of course, some of the women (quite a few in fact) were actually pregnant, which gave Beth a head start. She sold things I didn't even know we had. Soon I started to catch-up with a few bits and pieces, but nothing over £5. Still, lots of small regular sales add up.

Most importantly, we sold the high chair. That was our primary aim for the day - it is huge, not so much a high chair as a multi-equipped nursery with service tray. I was looking around the stalls when Beth sold it and when I got back she told me that a tall beautiful blonde European woman would be coming to collect it any moment. Beth went to the loo and I started to brush my hair in anticipation of the arrival of an Eva Herzigova look-alike. A few minutes later a little short black bloke started to nick the chair 'Oi mate, that's sold!'

'It's mine, I just bought it' he said.

'I don't think so mate' he certainly wasn't blonde or beautiful or even female for that matter 'just leave it there!'

'My wife just told me to pick it up' and he pointed to Eva in the distance who waved and smiled to me as she opened the boot of their 4 x 4.

'Ah...'

Beth and I couldn't stop laughing at that.

Things got a little more serious the next time she went off. A great hulking Eastern European bloke asked me how much one of the quilted nursery books was. 'A pound each' I said, making it up as Beth hadn't priced anything.

'Do you think I am a fool?'

'Ha ha ha - no mate, very funny!'

'Do you think I am stupid?'

Despite holding the hand of a small child, this bloke just went into psychological meltdown before my eyes. He clearly wanted to kill me (quite a few people would like to do that, actually). At first I thought he was joking but then I realised that he was serious - all over the price of a book. Eventually, prompted by the relative safety of a supportive crowd of Dumplings, I said 'Either button it or go back to Lithuania'. Now that was a risky strategy...

'I don't give a fuck' he said, before wandering off muttering to himself.

By midday, and with an amount of money taken to have made it worthwhile, we returned to Norwich. I think Beth took a little more than me - I guess that to some people second-hand baby clothes are essential whereas a Victorian blue & white coffee pot is not.

Next Sunday it is the first Great Norwich Yard Sale of 2011 - check out http://www.barnesauctioneers.co.uk/The%20Great%20Norwich%20Yard%20Sale for more information.

Mixed Lot

I am inspired to speculate on the events surrounding the discovery of the Mary Celeste on the 4th of December 1872. It may be that those on board the intact and seemingly seaworthy yet abandoned merchant ship had jumped overboard in a kind of mass suicide pact. Or they may have steered course a little too close to the Bermuda Triangle. Or they may have been eaten by the Kraken. However, whatever caused the mysterious disappearance of all on board will never be known for certain. Similarly, I am not sure that we will ever know where all of our customers were yesterday, although my guess is that it was something to do with the Easter holidays (Lord forgive me for saying but isn't it about time we got over that particular death - it was a long long time ago, after all).

Holidays and half-terms are not good for us and so we try to avoid them. Yesterday, however, we collided spectacularly, like Princess Diana in a tunnel. Talking of the Royal Family, I am not too happy about the forthcoming nuptials either because it will yet again interfere with trade. It's all very well getting excited about a transfer-printed mug imported from China bearing the words 'In Celebration of the Woyal Redding' but who is going to pay for it all? No one will be visiting antique fairs and auctions because the wretched ceremony will be beamed live on the BBC. Still, I suppose it will serve to reassure American tourists that at £20, a 1977 Silver Jubilee coin is a bargain...

Birds Eye exports to the Far East are non-existent. I know this because of the Thai girl who works at a local delicatessen/cafe that I frequent in central Norwich. Whilst serving me the other day she asked if I would like to try her noodles. Of course, I do like to nosh a noodle or two but commented that next time she would capture my trade more readily if she were to serve fish fingers.

'What fish fingers?' she asked.

'They are a breaded fish' I replied

'Nooooooo' she smiled, thinking I was joking 'you make fool of me!'

'No, I am serious, we English love fish fingers!'

'Nooooooo' she laughed 'fish not have fingers!'

'They are not fish fingers they are fish fingers!'

'Nooooooo' she said again.

'They are made by Bird's Eye'

'Nooooooo' she laughed again 'nobody eats bird's eyes - you make me smile!'

So, one of my tasks for today is to take her in a pack.

That Norwich has such a rich history dating back more than a thousand years is something that we all value and, in my opinion, has always been and continues to be enhanced by those settling here from far away. Once upon a time the Saxons and the Vikings. Later the Huguenots and the Flemish. And today from all over the globe. It'll help our DNA too - we don't want to become like our country cousins; all cross-eyed and six-fingered.

Last night was spent drowning our sorrows in The Doghouse (not that we sobbed for long - it was our first ever beating and you just have to take something like that on the chin - it was one battle, not the whole war). Seven of us around the table and as usual the conversation ebbed and flowed. Of course we covered the usual subjects - corporate strategy, human resources, planning and implementation - before agreeing that everything could be solved with another round. And then another. We even started a drinks kitty - proposed, and seconded before being put into action by The Union.

The Union consists of three members of my team. Their strength in advocacy is considerable in that whilst they are a numerical minority (more of my people are outside of The Union than inside) they make up three-quarters of The Quadrophonics (the fourth member of that particular group being yours truly). Confused? This often leads to delicate industrial relations - not easy when the vast majority of people within the inner-circle are socialists. To make matters worse, they were re-enforced last night by a good friend of ours who, despite graduating in politics, determined to remain of Marxist persuasion. I am not quite sure how someone can be educated to degree level and be a socialist but there it is. You would think that at some point during three years of cognitive development the penny would drop and they would abandon the principle in favour of something more sensible. I hope one day to found a charitable trust, dedicated to the salvation of those afflicted with this 20th Century Curse.

It's easy to spot a socialist because they only come in two guises:

1) Sub-human underclass/scrounger - claims Housing Benefit to pay for fags and ASDA vodka: likes to watch Jeremy Kyle most mornings (except for signing-on day): and thinks it's good parenting to pierce their three-month old baby girl's lobes with Argos earrings.

2) Lovely nice financially secure middle-class people - make regular donations to worthy causes: drink large glasses of pinot grigio: wear Karen Millen.

These two 'classes' of socialists are so far apart it makes me giggle. Because look closely enough and you will discover they make for uncomfortable bedfellows. Lovely nice socialists are happy to pay taxes to support the welfare of those less fortunate but there is absolutely no chance of them inviting Johnny UB40 round for supper. The dining tables of Cringleford and Eaton are not open to the social underclasses of Mile Cross and Lakenham. Duck with plum jus can never be preceded by Pot Noodle as a starter.

And so as the evening came to a close there was just time for one last volley of cannon fire from the lefties - at my recent posting re 'precision bombing the Germans'. Evidence of a mind prone to national elitism and the expense of others they argued. Not at all I countered. And then, just as the red flag was in the ascendancy it fell dramatically as one of the Marxist brethren shouted 'Yeah, but I don't like the fucking Algerians'

It's amazing how the veneer of socialist respectability can be lost in an alcoholic haze...

Mixed Lot

It's really annoying to produce and pay for an all-new website only to find that the old (this) one still receives more visitors. Take this week as an example, the blog has received more than 500 unique visitors compared to http://www.barnesauctioneers.co.uk/ which has received just 144. Maybe it's because the blog is a little more current or maybe it's because I swear a lot.

The statistics make interesting reading. I'm particularly popular in France at the moment, and Serbia... Of course, the vast majority of visitors are local although not all are fans. In fact, many are enemies looking for cracks in my armour. There are many cracks in my armour - if I were the Hundred Years War it would be about now that Joan of Arc shows up. Bitch!

It's tough going at the moment on all fronts but I am hoping for my own heroine to sweep down and join me on the Road to Damascus. She and I had talks this week, about our future in business together and I am crossing everything I have that she will soon be with me. I have many friends and supporters and colleagues but there is nothing like a partner in crime. Did I say crime? I meant, antiques...

We've already had a giggle at some of the stories coming in from you guys about your experiences at The Cloisters Fair. Some of them couldn't possibly make it into next year's book celebrating our fortieth anniversary (see previous post) because they are too rude. One ex-stallholder told me that she had slept with three other dealers during her time at St Andrew's Hall. And one of them was a woman. Fascinating, but not really printable. Except here, of course, because I don't give a shit. Keep your stories coming though because in the words of the song 'It's all about you'.

It's our auction on Thursday and we're hoping for a good one. We do need things to sell though (just a minor point) so please do get in touch on 01603 304337 or 07810 647711. We're about to offer a new twist too - sooner rather than later - so watch this space.

I'd write more but Beth has just put the boys to bed and we have dinner to prepare and wine to consume. It's a Sunday so time to relax before the hurly burly...

Mixed Lot

It's The Cloisters Fair today and I'm really looking forward to it. Of course, Fanny Craddock will complain that their table lights have gone off (try plugging them into the socket, dear) and Joe Bloggs will complain that Fanny smells (tell her, not me mate), but there it is. Of course someone will (still) moan about the 50p entrance fee and and someone else will ask if it is possible to just 'use the toilet' (try the hedge, buddy). And, of course, everyone will tell me I drink too much and ask when the new saleroom will be ready. Sometimes the whole thing makes me want to scream 'Get me out of here' like a jungle contestant, but not today. Today, although it is still early (see me at lunchtime), I am relaxed. Perhaps it is the way the calendar falls this month, which has resulted in an additional week between auctions. Perhaps it is a maturing of my personality. Or perhaps I am just in a very very good mood.

It feels like I have been the custodian of The Cloisters Fair for an eternity. We have a new stallholder joining us in two weeks time, selling vintage clothes. She will join a long line of dealers stretching back to October, 1972. I wondered, as we spoke, just how many people have stalled at The Cloisters during that time. What records I have would suggest that it could be as many as 5,000. Certainly, by the time we reach our 40th anniversay next year (expect a very special invitation-only evening celebration) we will have held the fair on no less than 2,000 occasions. I am writing an anecdotal account about The Cloisters Fair and would welcome your contributions. We have already agreed a deal with a book publisher so do send in your tales - you may find you end up in print!

There were ten dealers stalling at the first fair (which actually began in the old library on Guildhall Hill before moving to St Andrew's Hall in 1976) and today we will have sixteen. It's always been 'intimate'. There have been times when it has held a magnificent array of 'proper' antiques and other times when we've struggled to put a show on at all - one Saturday, in particular I recall just four of us filling the hall. Some stallholders come and go quite quickly whilst others stay for a long long time. No one individual dominates the history of The Cloisters Fair - its had five 'guardians' - instead it has its own life and persona.

I can remember my predecessor, Gabby, handing me her table plan one day and saying 'Do you want to run it?'. Much as she loved the fair, she felt that her time with it was up. We met a few days later, in a cafe in Aylsham, and I bought the fair for an undisclosed sum. Gabby was a hard act to follow because she was well loved and respected in the trade (and still is). She also has a nice arse.

It's fair to say that the past few years have been tough trading, with an ecomonic depression and many stallholders leaving (natural wastage - I only kicked a couple out). But this morning, looking at my table plan and comparing it to the one I inherited, I'm thinking 'these people with me today are my friends, not just my stallholders'. That's why I am smiling. That's why I am in a good mood. That's why I know I will enjoy today.

Mixed Lot

THIS IS A PERSONAL BLOG WITH HIGHLY CONTROVERSIAL VIEWS AND EXPLICIT LANGUAGE. LEAVE NOW IF YOU ARE EASILY OFFENDED. IF YOU ARE LOOKING FOR INFORMATION ABOUT BARNES AUCTIONEERS THEN PLEASE VISIT http://www.barnesauctioneers.co.uk/

I don't like the Japanese very much. Any country that is responsible for the pixallation of pornography and eating shark fin soup cannot possibly rank amongst the enlightened elite. I don't buy their continued attempts to distance themselves from the crimes of war either - we all know that their natural instinct for cruelty cannot be contained for long. It's only a matter of time before they invade Burma and start slitting bellies again... The 'Land of the Rising Sun' (perhaps they should change that post-tsunami to 'Land of the Rising Waters') is responsible, however, for the single most devastating ongoing environmental disaster the world suffers - the mass production of modern plastic shit. That's why, when the Japanese tourist looking in my flat display case yesterday bought absolutely nothing, I was very relieved. Because if she had bought something, it would have been evidence to support the argument that my stock needs an injection of quality.

We had a few tourists visit The Cloisters Fair yesterday including a lovely woman from Toronto in Canada. She collects fire hose nozzles (!!) and I happened to have an antique copper one on my stall (!!). Not only did she take that but several other things too. She looked in my cabinet (minutes after the daughter of Nippon) and said 'I'll have that and that and that'. We like Canadians! I've been to Toronto in Canada and to an amazing antique centre there. The Canadians (like the Americans) have a natural interest in old stuff and are usually enthusiastic and surprisingly knowledgeable about antiques. More Americans and Canadians please: fewer Japanese.

One stallholder yesterday achieved a long-held ambition of mine in selling everything on his table. 'I don't want to take anything home' he said to me 'Can I put it all in the auction?' Of course, I was happy to oblige but before I managed to collect my thoughts on the matter he sold the lot to a visiting trader. Dan and I attempted to buy Bill the Toe's entire stall too but our valuations were somewhat different and the deal fell onto stony ground. I've had some success with pictures of late, not that they are my natural habitat, and curently have a number in on consignment including an absolutely super John Thirtle (1777-1839 Norwich School).

We visited Fakenham on Thursday and went into the 'new shed' at James Beck's place. It's certainly lighter and brighter than the previous one. Tom bought a few things including an ornately decorated High Victorian ceramic cheese dish from the nearby antique centre. I came away with absolutely nothing but then I'm getting fussy in my old age...

It's all in the buying though - that's where the battles are lost and won. Next week I am determined to buy and to that end will almost certainly go to at least two sales. There are so many to choose from - Aylsham on a Monday, Watton on a Tuesday, etc etc - that I am spoilt for choice. No doubt I'll end up where the wind takes me, it's just an adventure after all. It's an amazing adventure, vibrant and full of life. There are pit-stops too (mainly in pubs) because we can do that whenever we want. We are adults after all - just not very grown up. The evidence to support that was in Delaney's during the week and in 'The Fruit Based System'. We still play that game (which began in Tallinn in Estonia in 2006) - and so can you, so here is a little reminder:

1) Raspberry

2) Blueberry

3) Strawberry

4) Kiwi fruit

5) Melon

6) Apricot

7) Orange

8) Apple

9) Rhubarb

10) Lemon

And, of course 1001 variations of it. Pathetic nonsense - yes. Past its sell-by date - of course. Still hilarious after a couple of pints - definitely.

I could go to The Range or Homebase and become a dab hand at DIY. Or I could buy the complete set of Star Wars films and watch them from the comfort of my DFS sofa. Or I could drink tea and eat biscuits. Maybe I should do those things - the things that normal people do. But I don't understand them. Think I'll stick to hallmarks and alcohol.

Mixed Lot

I am bruised the length of the left-hand side of my torso and have absolutely no idea how it happened. Beth is convinced that my liver has imploded as a direct consequence of excessive alcohol consumption. That I spent the majority of last Friday in bed with food poisoning was almost certainly a coincidence. Other theories include 'You must have been in a fight' (yes, but I think I would probably remember that) or 'Perhaps you were abducted by an alien craft and experimented on'. The latter theory carries some weight because it would explain why I don't remember anything of the incident that led to my body looking like something hanging from the back of a butcher's van.

There is no time for dwelling on the mystery; I have a busy week ahead, not least because it is our year-end. In addition to that we have The Cloisters Fair on Wednesday and Saturday (the latter with a little twist - more details to follow) and a house clearance to complete. I'm also committed to a day charging around the countryside with a new colleague (which I am very much looking forward to - always happy to help new people ease their way into the business) and an afternoon in my study with two existing colleagues to provide them with 'instruction' on how to sell through eBay. In between all that I need to allow for two days child care and a funeral. Oh, and a haircut.

Most of us (apart from socialists and hippies) lead busy lives and it's for this reason, and many others, that I baulk at completing the Census form - although I did online last night. Predominantly, it is the fact that we are required by law to answer questions of a deeply personal nature that I most object to. It is not the State's business to demand knowledge of my whereabouts on the night of the 27th March 2011 and had the data related to the previous Thursday I would not have known in any case (see Facebook status update for that day)!

Scrap gold and silver continues to rise - it really is extraordinary. The markets have little faith in the ability of the world economy to make a full recovery and it is this strength of opinion that is responsible for driving up the price of precious metals. Don't make the mistake of hanging on too long though - because at some point the price will begin to fall back to a more balanced level. Better to sell now and be safe than be greedy for just that little bit more. We achieved excellent gold and silver prices at our last auction - do contact us on 01603 304337 to discuss how we can help to sell on your behalf.

Mixed Lot

I've been wearing women's clothes for most of the week. It's not as bad as it sounds though (I just wanted to get you to the second sentence without falling asleep). What I have actually been doing is wearing Beth's socks. They are too tight for me but there it is. My socks have disappeared and I have absolutely no idea where they are. Why do socks disappear like that?

There are many unexplained things in life - like why someone would pay £80 for a silver ring at yesterday's auction that we couldn't sell for £3 the time before... The sale was certainly profitable with more than 90% of lots getting away including both star entries - the 18ct gold pocket watches. The Baskerville seal ring sold too, for £418 ABP. The French Foreign Legion hat went for £94 ABP, the Victorian pinchbeck brooch for £99 ABP, and the Julian Trevelyan print (pictured) for £182 ABP. We nearly didn't have a sale at all. During the preview, one of our cabinets collapsed - fortunately, the Moorcroft was in the other cabinet...

We look forward now to next week and two house clearances which should ensure that our next sale on the 14th April is a bumper one. It's been a while since we had a house clearance so it will be good to get back into that particular saddle. House clearances provide much of the 'bulk' of a sale - you have to have a bit of large tat amongst the tiny finery. Talking about tat, LOT 85 - A dog ramp, sold for £2! The sale of the dog ramp stirred much amusement within the room. We should have listed it as a mystery item because no one had seen such a thing before. Apparently, they sell for £40 new! It is essentially a device to enable elderly dogs to access a vehicle. I nearly bid on it myself - after all, I am a lot older than my wife and there will come a time when...well, let's not go into that now.

After the sale we did what we do in The Doghouse (not before reassuring a CCTV controller that the gun toting woman in shades on St George's Street was actually just a rather eccentric member of my team and posed no genuine threat to passers-by). The Doghouse is our natural habitat. Linda, Helen, Daniel, and I (The Quadraphonics) were joined by Martin and Steph for several lime cordials and a bit of gossip. I don't really remember getting home, my last memory being chilli and beers at The Cottage on Silver Road. The barmaid there used to work at The Shed (an old watering hole of mine). The sun shone all day yesterday just like it always used to in The Shed's garden. Spring is almost upon us and life is good.

A lazy day for me today - lazyish as I do have a 'top executive meeting' at The Dog House to attend to over lunch. Then it's The Cloisters Fair tomorrow (Saturday) - 8am til 4pm 50p entry (trade free between 8am and 9am).

Mixed Lot

Yes it's our auction this week. Yes it's on Thursday at St Andrew's Hall in Norwich at 2pm (public viewing from midday). Yes, there is still time to enter lots (any time between 10am and 3pm on Tuesday - 10am and 4pm on Wednesday). Check out http://www.barnesauctioneers.co.uk/ our new 'official' channel - now can I please get on with a bit of creative writing?

Hmm, the moment has gone - so instead, just look at this wonderful picture of my boys Stanley and Henry (the youngest two of my five children). Stanley is already a proficient dealer 'I'll eat one more mouthful of dinner and then I can have a pudding, deal?'

'No, Stanley, you must eat three more mouthfulls!'

'I eat two more mouthfulls, deal?'

'Ok, two -deal'

Henry, however, is the one that shows a genuine interest in what I do - even 'helping' me to wrap eBay parcels on Saturday.

Barnes Auctioneers is a family business after all - isn't that a pip?

Mixed Lot

Apparently, my wife is a 'milf'. That was what I was told this week by one of her best girlfriends and sitting opposite her in The Cottage on Silver Road last night I found myself thinking 'yes, she is'. Not that Beth realises she is. She is completely oblivious to the admiring glances she receives from men. It happens all the time. I have been with many many beautiful women (and some damned ugly ones too) but none have ever received the level of attention that Beth attracts. It feels kind of weird knowing that every bloke in the room wants to shag your missus but there it is - it's a burden that I will have to put up with for the rest of my life.

Beth and I were in The Cottage to celebrate Daniel's birthday - which just happens to coincide with St Patrick's Day. We had intended to eat somewhere posh but events beyond our control led us to one of Norwich's last remaining 'proper pubs'. The place was packed and an Irish band were playing. The barmaid offered us homemade Irish stew and colcannon along with a pint for £6 - and it was delicious. Compare that to my experience at Shiki (see previous post) and I'd have to say Anglo-Irish 1 Japan 0.

There is something about our relationship with the Irish. It's almost okay that they attempt to blow us up from time to time. Their zest for the simple pleasures of food and drink and music appear at first to be a reflection of their state of evolution. But in reality, it's the 'advanced' nations that could learn a thing or two - like those that build nuclear reactors on moving tectonic plates... I am certain that our evolution is finite. In eating and drinking and shitting and pissing and dancing and laughing and having sex, the Irish have it about right.

The stuff of life was very much brought home to us yesterday when we learnt of the death of one of our NCT friends. He leaves behind a young family and our thoughts and prayers are with them. Imagine having to tell a three-year old child that their father has died. How utterly dreadful. Beth and I cuddled up on the settee at home and agreed that we are a very lucky family indeed.

All of this rather distracted me from my work. Or perhaps, for a moment, I lost interest in what I do. In the pub, surrounded by people with careers and salaries, for a split second I thought 'what the fuck am I doing?'. Then I looked at my watch but didn't notice the time; I noticed that is was a fine 1972 Moeris Swiss automatic. Suddenly I was back on my path.

The Moeris (pictured), which is an official James Bond wristwatch, isn't mine, unfortunately. It's in our next sale on Thursday, 24th March at St Andrew's Hall. We're currently accepting entries for that so do please contact us if you are interested in selling your antiques and valuables. After all 'Nobody does it better'

Mixed Lot

If you are easily offended then close this page down and visit our official website at http://www.barnesauctioneers.co.uk/ Otherwise, read on...

I don't know what it was that I ate at Shiki last night but whatever it was left me with the distinct feeling that my stomach had absolutely no chance of digesting it. I am usually an advocate of Japanese food but this shit had almost certainly been prepared at the Fukushima Daiishi nuclear plant before landing on my plate on a bed of salad. Next time I'll stick to a bento box.

There was a bit of an Oriental flavour all round at The Cloisters yesterday. One of my colleagues recently invested in a load of Satsuma ware and I must confess that my initial reaction was 'She'll struggle to shift that' but in fact the stuff sold like hotcakes, mainly to one trade buyer who issued the command we all dream about 'I'll have that one and that one and that one and that one and that one...' She ended up having the kind of day that was once commonplace in our world but less so now. She even outsold Dave the Jump, which is almost unheard of down our way.

Dave the Jump is so named because in his military career he conducted over 3,000 parachute jumps, predominantly as an instructor. We have several nicknames for the various characters that come and go in The Cloisters incl:

Bill the Toe (has gout)

Bill the Cleaner (anti-foxing agent)

Bill the Vinyl (sells records)

Lenny the Bastard (don't cross him)

Tall Tony (6'7")

M'Lady (Queen of The Cloisters and shoe aficionado)

Gillian the Thong (for reasons that should be obvious)

Mike the Badge (deals in them)

Diecast Alan (deals in them)

The Lord aka The Mad Baron (our titled visitor)

Coins & Medals (guess what she sells?)

Of course, there are many more...

Most of the names are terms of endearment - there are very few people we dislike down at The Cloisters and some we love, like Val who returned to the fold this week after some time away through ill health. 'I thought you were dead!' one customer said to her...

Thousands of people have come and gone through The Cloisters - it is the longest running weekly antique fair in East Anglia after all. 'I used to have a stall in here in the 1970's' said one woman to me yesterday. Her membership of the club was affected by divorce and the need to get a 'proper job'. Others leave for their own reasons but all are welcome back - like ex-players of a football club. Ok, perhaps The Cloisters isn't quite 'The Theatre of Dreams' but it is a very special place nonetheless. It's the history that sets us apart, embedded in the medieval walls. You don't get that anywhere else.

Latest recruits, Kyle and Martin, have just stepped onto the turf and we welcome them with open arms. Good luck to them - they will need it if they are to stand the rigours of eccentricity and alcoholism necessary to maintain membership of the club...

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.

Mixed Lot

Rocket Science - the Norwich Dictionary defintion being 'Something that is beyond the Pleb'

Now, call me old fashioned, but I was taught maths at school. They don't teach maths in school any more for fear of offending stupid people. That's crazy though, because stupid people are too stupid to realise that they are stupid.

Fortunately, most people are not stupid, which is why they will see through some of the outrageous 'offers' that some local auction houses have been making to vendors of late. These include everything from the promise of a night out with Megan Fox to a personal baptism with Jesus Christ in the Jordan River. No doubt driven by a desperate need to stay afloat - although I wouldn't trust most to maintain a firm grip of your heel...

Most outrageous of all, however, is the concept of 'No lotting fee' which is becoming increasingly employed as a marketing tool to persuade vendors to place items on consignment in the belief that any fees incurred will be minimal. Many auction houses like this tactic because it makes them look like they give a shit.

Perhaps some are genuine but in truth the maths just doesn't stack up. It doesn't take a rocket scientist to work out that auction houses have a fee structure that usually includes:

1) A lotting (administrative fee) levied on each entry (typically ranging from £0 to £5)
2) A selling premium (typically ranging from 0% to 25%)
3) An insurance premium (typically 1.5%)
4) Collection fees (anything from £0 to £60 an hour)
5) Storage charges (anything from £5 a week)
6) Disposal of unsold goods fees (the charges for which are about as clear as government in the Dark Ages)
7) Statement fees (anything from £0 to £5 per sheet)
8) Electrical testing charges (anything from £1 to £5)

The list is endless and in fact I am out of breath just thinking about it all.

Which is why we like to keep things simple. We are a business and we have to make money. All vendors accept that. Our job is to make as much money for a vendor as possible and take as small a slice as possible whilst still making a profit. So, we charge:

• £1 lotting fee


• 10% inclusive selling premium

Isn't that nice and simple?

So, if you sell something through us for £100, you will receive £89

Let's do the maths for another, typical auction house, not charging a lotting fee.

£100

(£0) lotting fee

(£15) 15% selling premium

(£3) VAT

(£1.50) insurance premium

Balance to vendor - £80.50

Oh sorry, and a quick statement to let you know 'How you got on' (£2) - leaves £78.50

Oh, and you will probably have to deduct the cost of petrol to drive all the way there and back - some of those auction houses are miles away.

It's not rocket science...

Mixed Lot

There is a saying in the SAS - train hard, fight easy - a motto that is similar to the one in the antique trade - buy hard, sell easy. In other words; it's easy to sell if you buy the right thing at the right price. That may sound obvious, but it's a lot easier said than done.

It's a lot easier said than done because it's a bit like trying to find a fish in the River Thames - nigh on impossible. Where once the waters were teeming with fat juicy aquatic vertebrate, too many fishermen have tipped the balance and as a result the nets return less and less profit.

Forget what you see on the Antiques Roadshow because a) those so-called experts are actually just cravat-wearing toffs who have never ever managed to buy or sell anything in their lives (but are very good at valuing things for a percentage) and b) it's television. In truth, it is fiction that someone happens upon an 18th Century tantalus at a car boot sale for 50p before selling at Christies for £5,000.

Most antique dealers survive on small gains - one told me yesterday (at The Cloisters Fair) that he bought a Victorian gold sovereign for £170 because he knew someone who would give him £175. That is the reality - our money has to work harder than ever if we are to survive the chill of economic downturn. To make matters worse, some things that once had value now have no value at all. There is an argument for putting that Victorian china tea service in the attic until the market swings back in its favour (it won't by the way) but equally you could just chuck it in the landfill now.

It used to be easy in our game - buy a plate for £3 at auction and sell it to an American or a self-made Cockney retiring to the North Norfolk coast (also known as a gullible punters) for £30. It was like plucking apples from an orchard on a late summer evening - easy, with the promise of pie later. The harvest provided for us all. Not now though. Now we wander aimlessly around the car boot sales like a displaced Somali tribesman searching for food. We are no longer fat, we are hungry. So when the opportunity to eat arises, we eat. We eat little and often because the feasts are few and far between.

Which is exactly why I don't bother looking any more. The hounds can chase the fox as far as I am concerned. Such kills do not warrant the energy expended. I'd rather sit in the pub with my antique dealer chums and share a glass or two of shandy than enter the ruck and risk my eyeballs being gouged out by some over zealous middle-aged woman who thinks that ten years of watching Bargain Hunt has provided her with the skills and experience necessary to make it in the trade (actually, her garage is just full of the shit she has bought and can't sell - it will stay there until she pops her clogs and it's taken away by the house clearance boys). I prefer the life of a Gentleman Dealer - let's just sit back and think of England. Let the hoi polloi fight it out. Let's wait until the rabbit comes to us. In the meantime, relax and enjoy.

Which is exactly what happened yesterday, at The Cloisters Fair. Roger Bell's excellent Fleamarket (a proper Fleamarket as opposed to a market full of fleas) was on in the main hall. Sometimes our events coincide and when they do we shake hands and share the spoils (he's a decent chap - rare in our business). A woman entered the Fleamarket with a gem in her pocket - a gem she hoped to sell. Her route to me (in the adjoining hall) would take her past every single hungry antique dealer in St Andrew's Hall (maybe 100 traders). If she were a fish she would have been a bloody big fat juicy salmon and her route to me was one fish-trap, net, and handline after another. Somehow, however (and it must have been a miracle - I was looking around for a tall fella with a beard and some loaves of bread) she swam to me on the farthest side of the riverbank. Imagine my surprise, having been staring at sticklebacks all day, to see this wonderful thing upon my hook. Of course, the bait was thrown into the water from my own wallet but as my friend and colleague, Daniel, says 'You have to speculate to accumulate'.

Of course, I now have the task of selling 'it' - I can't tell you what 'it' is of course, because a Gentleman never tells. But I can tell you that selling it will be easy, because selling is easy when you buy well.

Mixed Lot

On Wednesday, my wife (on her debut as a stallholder) managed to sell a picture for £60 at The Cloisters Fair despite the fact that I was unable to sell it for £40 the previous week. Yesterday, she bought me lunch before pitching in with my team to contribute to what was a highly successful auction. And last night, when I collapsed into bed with exhaustion after a particularly gruelling day, she stayed up to wash the dishes from our (very tasty Planet Wok) Chinese take-away. All this with a house and two small boys and two jobs. People know that I work long hours (15 yesterday) but I know she works harder. Unlike me, she still looks good on it. She truly is my very own Wonder Woman. Just need to persuade her to wear the outfit...

The usual team took to the field with aplomb yesterday. We do things our own way. That doesn't suit everyone. But it suits us and it suits those who buy and sell through us. We made good prices too yesterday and, I would argue now comparable to the best in county. The difference is that we only charge 10% inclusive buying and selling premium.

We really did have some excellent sales yesterday but the one that really stood out for me was LOT 171 - Mixed lot of postcards incl airships etc. Actually, I think there were just seven postcards in total, estimated at £30-40. They made £140 - wouldn't it be nice if all lots exceeded their estimate by four times...

There has been some comment about our decision to move the sale from Thursdays to Wednesdays. At some point in the near future (when the renovation work is complete - it's still Thursdays for now) we will be hosting our auction in The Crypt, the area that used to be the cafe at St Andrew's Hall. That will enable us to hold the auction at the same time as The Cloisters Fair (which has traditionally been held on Wednesdays). It's always been our hope to combine the two and I am sure that it is the right thing for us because all of our buying and selling activities will be centred around a single day.

It's been pointed out that in moving to Wednesdays we will in future clash with the auction at Great Yarmouth. That is, of course, regrettable but we currently clash with Fakenham and Acle in any case. Aylsham host an antiques auction on one Wednesday a month also but we don't worry about these things. We do what we do in the city of Norwich - it's our neck of the woods. I will make sure that we have an improved viewing procedure for buyers who can't make the sale because they are committed elsewhere on a Wednesday. And of course, we'll have some new people come along who can't currently make Thursdays. Surely, there is enough business for all.

We're about to get posher - with a new website. The blog's been great, but it's time is nearly up. It was always intended to be temporary and it has to go before I offend any more people. The new site will be of a traditional format and be online soon. I believe the address will be http://www.barnesauctioneers.co.uk/ but don't bother trying it yet because it isn't live at the moment.

We'll never be that posh though - I hate all that pretentious bollocks 'Do you have one of those little teeny hammers?' I was asked yesterday

'Do you mean a gavel?'

'Yes, like they have at Bonhams?'

'No, I am afraid I make do with a Bic'

'A Bic?'

'Yes, a pen'

'Oh dear, you would have thought they could have provided you with the appropriate equipment!'

We're back tomorrow at The Cloisters Fair. The Norwich Fleamarket is on in the main hall too so plenty to come and have a look at.

Mixed Lot

It's unusual for me to post on a Friday night. I should be at dinner with my wife because the boys are with their grandparents overnight but Beth is out on the tiles and I am nursing one Hell of a hangover. That's because my Friday night started yesterday at 3pm in The Dog House. Still, there are worse things in life than drinking Coca-Cola at home on a Friday night...

This week I was given a present by a friend called Kevin - 'The Big Book of National Insults - 1001 Xenophobic Quips and Quotes'. Much as I appreciate the gesture, it is unlikely that any of the quotations will make it into my blog. That's because they are too tame for my palette. This week I upset the people of Great Yarmouth by writing on Facebook 'Great Yarmouth is where prostitutes should ply their trade but don't because the locals give it out for free'. Now that is a proper insult. A bit unfair too - I went to Great Yarmouth this week and wasn't offered sex by anyone.

I have also, this week, started to get into Twitter (garyofnorwich if you are a Tweeter) and have to say that it is already becoming addictive. So I am sitting here at the desktop typing into Blogger, whilst the laptop is on Twitter and the iPhone on Facebook. Not everyone enjoys social networking but I love it - and it's perfect for keeping up to date with everyone's news.

Our next auction takes place at St Andrew's Hall in Norwich next Thursday at 2pm and we are accepting entries at the moment so do call us on 01603 304337 or 07810 646711. We've taken in some super lots already including a collection of boxed Corgi die-cast vehicles dating from the 1960's including The Saint's Volvo, James Bond's Aston Martin DB5, and The Man From UNCLE's Oldsmobile - all classics, of course. The price for collectable toys has remained strong over the past year and we expect them to do well.

Finally, it seems that we have reached agreement with Norwich City Council that will enable us to continue hosting The Cloisters Fair on Saturdays. That really is very good news for us - St Andrew's Hall is where we want to be. It may well be that we tweak the format a little bit to give it a boost - watch this space. The next Saturday fair is on the 26th of February 8am-4pm 50p entry. Now, I'd better just Tweet that too...

Mixed Lot

As if my life isn't already complicated enough, I have become a Twit. In that I Tweet (on Twitter). To be honest, I don't actually understand Twitter yet, nor do I really care for it. But a girlfriend of mine assures me it is wonderful (I trust you Jo). So - please do follow me (on Twitter) - garyofnorwich - especially as I am planning to promote special offers via Twitter only. Oh, and perhaps even more gossip. Here is the link - http://www.twitter.com/