Imagine the scene.
A group of unconnected people gather by the side of some closed metal shutters, they eye each other. Some are well dressed, maybe they know something we don’t. There’s a stand off as each person avoids the eye of the other, the sun’s going down, zither music plays in the background to the black and white photography of a great French film.
Actually we’re stood by the very closed shutters of the auction house on the quai in Libourne. The action starts at 2pm but in typical French style the doors are not even open.
There’s a crunching and a grinding as a little late the shutters starts to ascend rather like a rusty choir of angels they bleat out there need of oil, but the chain pulls them open despite the wailing.
The benches are layed out and we make our way to the third row, our first mistake – what a couple of amateurs, from here we can’t we the professional jokers at the back, next time it’s armchairs to the rear.
At 14:15 we’re away to a stuttering start to find that the order in the catalogue has no reference at all to the order in which the items are going to be sold, it’s not random it’s French. We move on through the cabinets, the pens go for 360 it’s too rich for our blood, the large broken Chinese vase starts at 300 !
Then there’s the telephone bids, the auctioneer get his phone out and starts phoning people himself, they’re typing the catalogue in as they go, it’s not bad it’s French.
The crowd is restive throughout the telephone war as we take no part. The auctioneer calls for quiet and we crack on, slowly at times, tres vite at others. A lamp for a Euro (trust me you don’t want it). The chairs are up but they get to nearly 600, the jardiniere with the crack – another 600.
The skies are dark now and the big brown furniture is going cheap, it’s time to head for the door.
Shhh he might think we’re bidding
Start closing credits, play music.
Ruby&Ruch 