It seems to have been a long day already. It started early, at 3.20, when I woke after an hour’s fitful sleep. I knew I wouldn’t sleep again, so went downstairs and got on with some work. For reasons quite beyond his control, the Sage had not been able to put lot numbers on all the china, so I could not finish the catalogue. However, I expected to this morning, so I dressed in efficiently office-style clothing and sat at the computer looking capable.

I had forgotten that our friend Magnus, who helps in the garden when he has time, was coming this morning.

He looked slightly disappointed when he saw me dressed unsuitably. I told him, with keen joy, about our plans to rip out the laurel hedge and he approved. He set to work, clearing the areas I’d hacked about. After a few minutes, I suggested I go and get changed and help him. “Well, it’s not like you not to join in when there’s work to be done” he said.

I dressed in a tight, knee-length skirt which is my idea of gardening garb, strapped on my pruning saw and secateurs and put on disposable gloves and Wellington boots. I went to help.

We were getting on quite well when there was a phone call to say there was a problem with the electricity at the church, and could we call out the electrician, urgently, as there’s a wedding on tomorrow. The Sage dealt with it, but no one waited at the church, and so when Sam the electrician arrived, he phoned plaintively to say he didn’t know what the problem was. I stomped off, still wearing wellies and blue gloves. After some searching, we discovered the problem. The hoover, which is actually a Miele, only two or three years old and used once a week, is faultly and was blowing the trip switch. Not worth repairing, so I must buy a new vacuum cleaner. It will not be a Miele.

I returned to the garden. There were dead stumps to remove and thick ivy to cut away. I was sufficiently bad tempered to have a considerable effect. Magnus watched me as I heaved a large dead thornbush stump to and fro until it cracked at the root and I could lift it out. “You know,” he said, “I really respect you.”

He is a great friend and we like each other, and he is a very hard worker, and I was vastly touched. I don’t think he could have thought of a higher compliment. We, and the Sage, work well together and chat and joke cheerfully, while getting a lot of work done.

Some friends came to see the china and stayed for quite some time. After they left, the Sage remembered he was due to go to a funeral. He had, while Magnus and I toiled, finished lotting the china, so I said I’d catalogue it. However, I had only had an hour’s sleep and I did find it necessary to fit in another hour.

I did the catalogue and the condition report at the same time, and was just finishing when the next clients came to view at 6 o’clock. Their catalogue, unchecked, was hot off the press (the sale won’t be on the website for another ten days or so, as I haven’t done the photos yet) I was scrubbing potatoes when the phone rang. It was a friend to tell me that there were complications for Sunday. We sorted it together and I shoved the spuds in the oven. I fetched the goats cheese, pepper and onion tartlets out of the freezer (I’m unrepentant, it was that sort of day) and prepared the veg. The Sage went to finish Al’s deliveries.

He has just gone out again, to fetch El and Phil from Diss station. The weekend will start in about 40 minutes. First, I must go and change their bedclothes. I’ve just remembered I didn’t do it after my sister Wink came to stay.

P.S. I should like to make it clear, particularly to Dandelion, that I was fully dressed at all times. Not mentioning a particular garment does not mean I was not wearing it.

continued

Just to recap, in case anyone else was as misled as Dandelion was by my half-baked command of the English language.

I had seen, and hoped to buy, a coffee cup (no saucer) on which had, in the 1770s, been painted a representation of a grey elephant, and on this elephant rode a Chinese man, dressed in traditional robes.

I travelled to the Angel and walked to El and Phil’s flat. Glasses of wine were poured and I told them about my day. I described the coffee cup and said that, with the sale starting at 10.30, I had every hope of arriving for the start and at any rate, would be there by the time the L0west0ft came up. “There’s an estimate of £600-£800 on the cup” I said. “I won’t get it for that – but I’ve a hope at £1,000.”

I tell you this, not because I want you to know how much I was willing to spend, but because of El’s reaction.

She drew a deep breath. “I say!” she exclaimed. “I should run that past Dad first!”

The poor child will never live that one down. Sniffily, I reminded her that a) I was spending my own money and that b) I knew it was well worth it. £1,000 was a realistic, but quite optimistic expectation. Furthermore, c) it was for the Sage’s Christmas present and he didn’t know anything about it.

She had already realised what she had said, and backtracked at once. “I mean, it will give him such pleasure to imagine you bidding. You know what he’s like. And how do you think you are going to keep quiet about this between now and Christmas? You’re bound to tell him anyway – and if you don’t, someone else will.”

This was all true and I relented. I phoned home. I described the coffee cup once more and the Sage replied at once. “You won’t miss it for a bid or two, will you?” A couple of hours later, he rang again. “I think you’d better go up to £1,400.” Commission would, of course, be on top of the bid price.

The next day I left the flat, took the Tube to Covent Garden and walked to India House. I was fourth in line, although within half an hour there was a long line of people behind me. Once the doors opened, I was quickly dealt with and I had time for breakfast before setting off for the auction house. I arrived in good time, fetched my bidding paddle and chose a seat near the back, on the left-hand side near the rows of telephones set up for the phone bidders. I greeted several people I knew, some of whom are regular bidders at our sales.

I noted down bids in my catalogue, thus destroying its resale value. Pfft. If you’ve registered for a phone bid, the clerk calls you a few minutes early, to make sure there isn’t a delay. Two people were phoned for my lot, 254*. I was apprehensive, but when I heard the explanation that there was a mistake in the catalogue and that the picture labelled 253 was for 254 and vice versa I smiled inwardly. Confuse the opposition!

I had decided that I would go to £1400 or £1500, depending whether I was caught on odd or even bids. I started early, at £400, by holding up my paddle firmly. Some people prefer to be discreet, not to let others know who is bidding, but I’d decided that my tactic was to look keen and strong. I nodded at once for £600, for £800 and for £1.000. The phone bidders were silent and the man in the front row shook his head. When the auctioneer banged down his gavel and announced my number, I smiled my appreciation to him.

So, for a total, after tax (not VAT on the commission as it was not from an EU country, but import duty instead) of something like £1225, the Sage had his Christmas present. I waited until the end of the L0west0ft and slipped out to pay. Then I went to phone him, and El. People came out, and chatted to me. They teased me, when they heard why I’d bought it. They were jealous though…

When I arrived home, I asked the Sage if he wanted it at once, or on the day. Nobly, he said he’d wait. When he saw it again, he realised that he’d missed it, in favour of another item (couldn’t afford both). twelve years before. This is the reason he had, until I reminded him, convinced himself that he had sent me to go and bid for it.

Last year, a friend of a friend saw the matching saucer at an antiques market, but didn’t believe it could be L0west0ft (“they didn’t do elephants!”) and so missed it.

If any of you see it, please let me know.

*I think, I haven’t checked

I’ll put the tale on record so that, if ever the Sage forgets again, you will know what really happened.

Although one can apply for a visa to India by post, I think it’s all part of the build-up to the visit if one trots along to the Indian High Commission and queues up oneself. I had a free day at the beginning of December, so I asked El and Phil if I could stay with them on Sunday night, ready to present myself on Monday. The doors are not open then, but there are always a lot of people. If you ever do it yourself, try to get there before 8am, as that’s when the queue really builds up.

I was playing the organ in the morning, so I booked a train ticket for lunchtime, thinking that I’d fit in a visit to a museum in the afternoon. Then the Sage observed that there was an auction on that Monday, in the King Street auction rooms (which is behind and across the road from the Ritz). A wealthy American lady, well known in the antiques world, had recently died and her collection of English eighteenth century porcelain was being sold in that auction. She had some fine pieces of L0west0ft, and the auctioneers had taken the opportunity to put in some other items as well, including a fine inscribed inkwell.

I arrived at the salerooms looking quite hot and bothered. I was wearing a wool trouser suit, boots and a long wool overcoat as well – it was December and I’d be waiting in the early morning, outside, for a couple of hours the next day. I didn’t want to bother with a case, so I wore all my clothes and carried toiletries in my handbag. Everyone else was chic and soignée, so I tried to look as if I intended the effect I’d achieved. I bought a catalogue (these come at the price of a hardback book, but they are fully illustrated), and found my way to the china.

I spent a happy hour looking around before turning my attention to the L0west0ft. It was very impressive. There were some spectacular pieces of rare or early shapes. The viewing can be quite nerve-wracking though. It’s displayed in tall glass cabinets which are, of course, kept locked. If you want to handle something, you ask an assistant, who will unlock the cabinet and leave you to it. The opening is at the back, but the smaller pieces are at the front, so you have to reach around them, and some items are quite top-heavy, to pick out the item you want, and then carefully put it back again. If you were to touch it against something else, they could all go down like dominos. The assistants are remarkably trusting. My jacket joined my coat on the floor (no, really, I’m not bothered if they think I’m odd) and I was very, very careful.

I handled and saw many lovely and impressive items, but found nothing I actually wanted to buy. The nicest pieces were too expensive in any case, but they didn’t speak to me. I didn’t covet them.

On the other side of the room was a case of polychrome china. This was on a small dais and the top shelf was above my head. I asked an assistant to fetch pieces down for me, as I couldn’t reach. She was tall, but they were above her head too, and she had to rely on my directions and what visibility she had through the glass shelf. She brought down various items and put them on a table for me.

In the catalogue, they had mixed up two lots. The picture of one (two cups) was labelled with the number of another (one cup). Furthermore, the single cup was photographed from the reverse side. It was uninteresting. As soon as I picked it up, however, I knew I’d found the cup I wanted to buy.

It was painted with an elephant, a very pale grey, with slightly darker grey patches. The elephant was beautifully painted, well proportioned and detailed. It was being ridden by a man in Chinese Mandarin robes and another man was standing beside, hand outstretched. But what I liked most of all was that the rider sat astride the elephant as if he was riding a pony, legs dangling. The painter had carefully copied a picture of an elephant, but had no idea of its size.

I thanked the saleroom assistant, gathered up my coats and bag, went downstairs to register as a potential buyer and left.

To be continued

Well, the allure of the Sage’s favourite china has had an effect that all my persuasiveness has not had for several years. There is a sale (from lot 314) coming up in London in early October and he really wants to go. He really wants to view it too…

I looked up train times for the Sunday, but there is a long bus ride because of work on the line (they always do work on the line on Sundays, it’s a real nuisance if you want a weekend break). So I suggested he go up on the Tuesday and come back, after the sale, on Wednesday. He agreed with astonishing alacrity.

This is the man who has never, in eight years, spent a night at his daughter’s flat. The one who bemoans the fact that our 93-year-old friend in Dorset doesn’t visit any more but won’t consider visiting her. The one who missed his son’s graduation ceremony (which he had booked in for, so I sat with an empty place beside me) because it involved an overnight stay.

Three years ago, I went to fetch my visa for my last trip to India and it happened (I’d already booked the ticket, may the Lord be praised, it was a complete coincidence) to be the days of a view and sale of a fine collection of an American lady, who loved 18th Century English china. I fell for a particular coffee cup and, being a Perfect Darling, bought it for the Sage’s Christmas present. A slight guilt factor, in that I was leaving two days after Christmas (and to Madras, just after the tsunami hit, as it happened – but that is another story), might have contributed…but no. My priorities are sound.

Anyway, at the time, the Sage had decided not to come with me. He realises his mistake now, I think. After all, I spent my own money on that occasion…but I can become alarmingly enthusiastic with a credit card.* & **

He would like me to go with him, and I’d love to go, but I’ve got a meeting I can’t get out of, so it probably won’t be possible. I’m still thinking about it, though.

*No, I don’t pay my own credit card bills. That is not my rôle in the fair division of responsibilities.

**I was right though. It was the perfect present. He now believes (well, believed, until I reminded him) that he sent me to London specifically to buy the cup.

I was slightly ratty once or twice at this morning’s meeting. For a start, someone didn’t arrive, so I rang her (she’d offered to bring our host an extra coffee pot, so had been expected early) in case she had broken down or something. “Oh shit, I have it on the calendar for tomorrow,” she said. She arrived half an hour later. I wasn’t tetchy about that of course, because I’m hardly the person to fuss about a mistake, leaving chaos behind me all the time as I do.

So we started a little late. Within moments, someone raised a matter irrelevant to the subject in hand “since it’s not on the agenda.” I pointed him to my notes on the agenda, item 4b*. “Ah. Sorry”.

Really, it was like looking after a basketful of puppies. A couple of months off and they were all cheerful and pleased to see each other. I mean, I’m as friendly as the next grumpy person, but I used my gavel. Twice.

We finished less than ten minutes late, but there’s a whole list of things deferred to a later meeting.

I went in to say goodbye to the Sage, on my way to this evening’s meeting. He was unpacking china on the dining table. He had a can of cider in one antique bowl and a knifeful of cheese balanced on another. Before I left, he swept me out to the chicken run, where half a dozen young girls had got out of their coop – they are ready to go in the run with their bigger aunts really, but a stoat got their sister a week or so back, and tore the skin on the head of one of them, so the Sage is keeping them in the coop until she’s completely healed. Together, we picked them up and put them back. They are quite tame and squawked a bit but didn’t struggle.

Eight chicks were hatched a couple of days ago and they, with their mother, are in another coop. I did take photos and I’ll add them tomorrow. It’s early, but I’m ready for bed.

*or whatever, none of us cares enough for me to have to go and check, surely

No, of course the day didn’t work out as planned. It doesn’t, does it? No matter, it’ll all work out.

And a young woman, on University Challenge, just said that she is studying for a PHD in ‘Excessive Motivation’. Paxo’s face was a picture, and Ro and I fell about.

I had forgotten that the Sage had to pick up three lambs from the local abattoir. These lambs were born on one of our fields this spring and lived there all their young lives. Now, we will eat one and a half of them. A local butcher, in return for the other one and a half at a favourable price, butchered ours.

I had assumed the bits would arrive, all bagged up. But the Sage rang, asking if it would be better to decide for ourselves how they should be frozen. Fair enough. Last year, we cut them up ourselves. I don’t object to this, feeling it is a worthwhile thing to do, to acknowledge one is prepared to eat an actual animal, rather than buy anonymous bits of meat that one can feel disengaged from. But it’s hard work.

Anyway, it didn’t take all that long. But the deal with the butcher had not involved the offal, and by the time I had thinly sliced three livers, I felt a little queasy. And later, I filleted three mackerel, which I didn’t enjoy all that much either.

So not much of the china has been unpacked and labelled. However, I will be out all morning at a meeting (the one I posted the agenda of last week) and then straight back to the shop, as Al and family are all going to the dentist in the afternoon, so the Sage will have plenty of time on his own to get on with it.

My sister rang this evening. She was a bit astonished. I can’t say much, for reasons of discretion (yes, me, really, I can do discreet), but from next Monday she will have a new office manager and, unexpectedly, be without a key member of staff. She wondered if she was overreacting, in being somewhat shocked. I didn’t think she was and we had a long, encouraging talk.

She remembered that, some ten years ago, a similarly key member of staff had been found with her hand in the petty cash box and summarily dismissed (nothing like that this time, no stains on any characters). She and the (now being promoted) manager had coped, even though Wink’s husband had recently been diagnosed with leukaemia and was not well and it was a very busy and difficult time.

We agreed, we are copers. We cope so well that we don’t realise that we are coping. Later, I asked the Sage if I had been rather odd five years ago, when there were various things going on that, I now realise, might have made me a bit manic. I know my children were concerned. I know that people tended to just say ‘Yes, Zoë, anything you say”. I know I coped. But I might have been a bit odd.

The Sage hadn’t noticed anything unusual at all.

Oh bugger. I’ve been airily sympathetic to those people who have been bemoaning the end of the summer holidays and the return to work and all that, for I am both always and never at work, am I not?

I’ve been thinking about the jollity of September, it being Universal Birthday month.

I’ve considered, happily, oncoming autumn, when the weather is bound to be far better than it was all summer, but with the bonus of it being unexpected and therefore a constant happiness and surprise, when any drizzly day in August is a source of discontent.

I’ve had my head somewhere in Nephelococcygia. And the clouds have just cleared.

The splendid thing, as far as you lovely people is concerned, is that it will only be a couple of weeks before our next sale is up on our website. By then it will look rather different, as Ro has taken over its design and maintenance from Lynn (who is the very Lynn whose birthday falls a couple of weeks after mine. We have known each other since Junior School). But, first, the china has to be labelled, lotted, described, examined and photographed. Which is where I come in.

First, it has to be unpacked (by the Sage). So at least I have this morning to eat toast, read the papers and clean the entire house. Just as well we only have two sales a year.

Before I start, the warmest of welcomes to Mike, who I am vastly flattered to have as a visitor this month.

It’s Dilly’s birthday today. Slightly obscurely, she decided to greet the happy morn by packing up a load of baby stuff and going off with Al and Pugsley to Banham car boot sale. They left, leaving behind Squiffany, at 5.30 this morning.

They had announced their intentions yesterday, to me and Ro. “5.30” I said. “Ah, yes, babysitting. Oh..kay”. “I’ll do it” said Ro. “No problem.” I was vastly impressed. Later, I said that was the action of a particularly decent brother. “I knew you’d be doing it otherwise”, he said.

In other words, he did it for ME! I was quite overcome. The poor lad had to deal with a hug and a kiss from his grateful mother.

In short, all went well, they got rid of a load of stuff, enjoyed it and made a healthy profit, Squiffany was adorable and we fitted in birthday celebrations too. I find that September is a popular month for birthdays, which may indicate the sort of jollities that are carried on around the time of the Shortest Day (i.e. the Longest Night). There’s Dilly, Phil, John R, John M, Z (that is I), Lynn, Shawn, Pugsley … oh, and Dave of course. And a baby, born yesterday who has not yet a name and another baby, expected tomorrow (in the country of birth, already today!) and Ally’s baby … this is fabulous. We shall party all month.

54 is a dull age to look forward to, but there are, among that list, 3 of us. And since 54 is a double cube, we have here 3(2x3x3x3) which is …162. Oh. Still pretty dull.

The bible reading today was one that always puzzles me. Jesus went to a party and noticed that some of the guests were pushing to get the best places. So he, when asked to speak, said that you should be humble and go to the lowest places (like near the loo or the clunking kitchen door – unless particularly yummy finger food is being brought through it, of course, in which case you get first pick). But, and this is the odd bit, he added that your welcoming host will go rushing up to you, saying that you cannot sit in that crappy seat, leave that for the lesser visitors and he will lead you to the best seat in the room.

That hardly appealed to the humble side, did it? It might have been humorous, to see this self-important individual plonking himself in the most below-the-salt place and being overlooked by the host, grateful not, for once, to hear his boasting but, splendid (and indeed Godly) chap that he was, Jesus was not notable usually for his sense of humour. Have I missed something? Dammit, and Dave, who could tell me, is away.

“I agree”, “You are right” and “I love you”. A wise husband will fall back regularly on one or all of those simple phrases which, if followed up with appropriate action, will help to ensure a happy woman.

I had another bright idea. I had spent the morning demolishing more dead and straggly undergrowth, while the chaps ferried barrowloads to the bonfire. I know, it would be good to shred it but there’s too much.

In the afternoon, the Sage went out to do a Good Deed and ventured out again to do some scything (in a flowerbed!) and cut back some more stuff. I was particularly happy to discover the little three-cornered bit at the back is a wonderful mini-wilderness, with prostrate ivy on the ground and peacefully shady elm saplings. Dutch elm beetles attack after a few years, so we don’t have elm trees any more, but the roots put forward new shoots. When I mentioned it to Al this evening, he knew all about it. He and the other children had played there throughout their childhood, but I never knew as it was hidden behind the lilac.

The original elm tree stump was there too, now completely dry and rotten. As I cut away some ivy, it started to powder away. I’m rather inclined to leave it. The Sage remembers climbing the tree as a child. He particularly remembers being too young to climb it – being 4 and 6 years younger than his siblings – and his brother dropping apple cores, known as ‘mineral deposits’ on his head.

When I had had enough, I looked around at the laurel hedge. Earlier this year, I cut it back from 12 or so feet high to stumps (this was the first outing of my lovely pruning saw). It has grown back to about 3 foot. I took shears and started to cut it level. Then I gazed at it again. And realised that it would never look good. It has been there for decades and been razed several times, only to grow rampantly again. Now it is, in places, about 8 foot deep and is a series of thickets rather than a hedge. Nothing grows successfully near it except ground elder and I have become so disheartened by the whole area that I tend to ignore it – hence the weeding by scythe.

The Sage came home. I asked him how he’d got on and we chatted for a bit and I started dinner preparations while he opened some cider – I’d already poured myself a glass of wine. Then I asked him if he’d come and give his opinion outside.

“How would it be,” I asked him (and Al, who happened to be around) “if we got Alan in with his JCB and had all the laurel rooted out? We could clear the area, except for a few big shrubs, and take the lawn to the edge of the drive. I’ve always wished the lawn were bigger. It would mean we’ll actually have to mow it regularly, but we’d have an incentive.”

He thought about it. “I agree”, said the Sage. “I’ll ring Alan and see if he can come out soon.”

Earlier today, he said that he’s had a message from the brickmaking company to say they’ve got enough suitable bricks for us. He’s looked at lots and decided to go for new ones after all, but traditionally hand-made ones. He spoke vaguely about aging them – is he going to use the yoghurt and dung technique, I wonder?