“I’m getting rid of my past”, said Fhai, wrapping up the last of the plates.
The time had finally come to sell some bone china and a collection of old valve radios. I’d hoped to get an idea of where to go to sell these in the week but I’d been so busy having fun with twelve hour days that just didn’t happen. Undeterred Martin and I set out with the car loaded to see if Martin’s legendary bargaining skills could work in reverse. “There’s no point in going to that village”, I said, “They only deal in expensive antiques, let’s go here, there’s an antique centre with fifty dealers”.
It turns out that the center is on the main road and there is no car park. We decide to park in the hotel car park a hundred yards up the road. To avoid the threats of clamping we saunter through the hotel trying not to look too gay. “When do you do food at the bar?”, Martin asks as we examine the menu. I’m already getting hungry.
The first antiques shop has a mix of some nice things and a load of what Amanda calls “tut”. As Martin asks the man if he’d be interested in a valve radio I browse and start totting up how much money I could have made from my large collection of Matchbox toys if only I still had them. The answer on the radio, and the china is no, but apparently a man advertises in the local paper for radios and there’s another man whose number will be texted to my phone later in the day.
We walk down the road to the antiques emporium and try to find someone who owns it. This turns out to be the suspicious looking man on crutches at the door. “Not interested in radios” he says, moving his weight from one crutch to the other. “The china is Royal Adderley”, says Martin hopefully. “No”, is the reply. “There’s a seven year cycle for china and that’s not being bought at the moment”, he continues. We leave wondering if china is on the same cycle of time as Hailey’s comet and set out in search of the local paper.
This turns out to be a herculean task. Both the lady in the paper shop with the sort of hair Princess Anne would admire and the lady in the Tourist Information Office who spends all her time pointing at bits of the forest for lost ramblers haven’t heard of it. We leave the village with another free paper. I check the free ads as we drive out of the hotel car park having walked past the hotel bar. “I am dominant and I’m waiting for you” is the headline of one of the adverts, clearly not someone interested in a valve radio.
In a moment of desperation we try over the road in what appears to be a condemned council tip. The man who runs it stands at the back in a clean white doctors coat watching ‘Churchill’s Bodyguard’ on the TV. Not even he wants our haul.
“Let’s drive down to the coast, there’s loads of antique shops there and we can park at Waitrose for free”, Martin said eager to do any deal today. We drive up the high street through the market and take the turning that we both think will take us to the car park. “I think we need to turn left or we will end up at the ferry” I say five minutes later. We turn and arrive back at the bottom of the high street. We drive up the high street through the market and take the turning that will take us to the car park.
The market people are much nicer as we walk down the road compared to when we were driving up it but, alas, there is no antiques shops anywhere. “Let’s go to the pub, or Oyster Bay”, I say. Clearly we both need cheering up. “There’s a chippy here, I’ll treat you.”, Martin offers.
“There’re not at as good as the one’s we had in London - and that doesn’t look like a large portion” says Martin as we walk back to the car. At the top of the high street we wander hopefully past the car park turning. We find a pub with great food and Guinness. Gloom descends.
We drive home past the first antiques shop. My phone has been silent all day - we begin to think that the man who wants valve radios doesn’t exist. “Let’s just try this one last place”, I say as we stop outside what looks like a tin shed divided into two antique shops. The old woman in one side beckons us in, “Don’t go next door, they do repro - I hate it”, she says sitting next to a gas fire I think I threw out from my house many years ago. Things look good, she is interested and seems to know her stuff. Items are examined closely through a large magnifying glass. “I can’t read the name of one of the ships” she says offering me a plate and the magnifying glass. I try to make out the name but the magnifying glass seems to have had the middle of it ground with a handful of sand. Perhaps this is what made her eyes so bad ?
“I know you don’t give your name to all the girls but leave it with me and I will call you” she says to Martin. I begin to have visions of Norma Desmond. Panic sets in. “Let’s get Amanda’s friend John to value it”. I pray that Martin will get the hint that it’s time to leave and not to leave his number. Norma does not look happy at the idea of loosing trade. Martin looks hopeful and throws himself full into the part asking me who John works for and when I can do it. We edge to the door. “Here’s my number, call me in the evenings - not in the day as the dentists will go mad and shout at me. My name is Penny - I don’t give out my number to all the boys.”, shouts Norma Penny as we pack the car.
We drive back in silence. “She will go mad - we haven’t sold anything”, says Martin. “Let’s put it in my spare bedroom and try again another day”, I reply.
So, that’s how Fhai’s past came back to haunt me.
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running since 1203). Today those stalls are lost beneath a new shopping mall but back then they housed fruit, vegetables, meat, household wares and, of course, a fish stall.
