Going, going, gone….

Ah, the joy of the auction house.  From browsing around the sale, rummaging under the tables in the boxes of mixed lots, handling items that you want but cannot afford, admiring items that attract but you don’t want to purchase, to marking as interested in your catalogue.

The suspense; watching what others are looking at, checking the auctioneer’s evaluation and setting your own limit.  Registering to obtain that important purchaser’s number and waiting for the moment ‘the master of the auction house’ mounts his podium, hammers his gavel and we are away.

I first attended an auction with my father when I was about 11 or 12.  It was instant love.  The atmosphere was exhilarating.  I was fascinated by the assortment of items on offer, from tools, furniture and household items to  fine china, art work and delicate jewellery and accessories.  Then there was the excitement of the bidding.  Items starting at ridiculously low prices and rising slowly, finishing, perhaps with a head to head; two people determined to successfully outbid the other.

Exciting, even if we didn’t actually purchase anything, but getting that one bargain always became the high point of the day!

Yesterday, I revived my love, attending the Clarke and Simpson auction at Campsea Ashe

I was not buying ( yet more clutter?) just observing and there for the experience.  Here’s a summary.

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