Auctioneering

LONGBEARD

My granddad (this man is not my granddad) dabbles in antiques. And when I say dabbles, I mean to say; that's his thing. He's a stalwart character at the auction hall and the nods and waves he got this morning when we walked in suggested he's highly regarded, as well.

Having first saved our seats with a couple of empty cardboard boxes, he went on to peruse and analyse the lots with total speed and efficiency.

Lots of shite today...

Mnn...

We ambled round a little more. He was right. One box was just full of old unusable lightbulbs, another had a doll that looked like it had been crafted by lucifer's own hand.

Come 1pm the auctioneer took to the podium, thing. We had sat down and the guy next to me had already busted out his ham and cheese sandwiches, one on brown t'other on white, with chopped carrot sticks and a packet of McCoy's crisps, to balance out the carrots I guess.

I realised I was staring at his lunchbox. The auction had started without me noticing. I had suddenly gone all dreamy.

The heaters on the roof seemed to be on overcompensation-mode in order to sufficiently fill the large bare-brick room. Thanks to a bad sleeping pattern, too, my previous night's sleep can be summed up as an attempted nap, so it was no wonder my eyes felt dusty.

I could see lots of grey barnets in front of me starting to loll around, too. I imagined that someone had purposefully turned the heating up to take out the competition.

The auctioneers toned lulled me further into a stupor, twennytwennytwennytwennyoverhere, tweeeeennnty, twentyfivetwentyfiveoverhere, thurdythurdy, thurdywithyousir. I perked up slightly every time the gavel thwacked the wood.

170 or so lots came and went and granddad decided to call it a day after the last big thing he was selling had sold, (I also suspect it was something to do with my glazed expression and drooping jaw). He went to pick up the items he'd bought and the guy next to me struck up a conversation.

As I went to help my granddad with his stuff he asked how much that golf trolley went for, as it was grandma's. My first concern was whether grandma knew about this.

sorry, no, I missed it, I was talking to the guy with the sandwiches!

bloooody 'ell! The one thing I asked to do and you can't keep yer bloody eyes oh'pen

good-looking sandwiches, though.