I assume some (possibly internet-fired) discussion must have occurred recently regarding my apparent destruction of valuable antiques (as posted in Keeping the Home Fires Burning). What ever the occasion or venue, it prompted a number of readers to discharge a few salvos of flak at me.
My abhorrence of all things Victorian aside, the furniture I broke up for fuel wasn’t valuable. The auctioneer passed the lots in, unsold. In fact, the auction house was exceedingly grateful to have the worthless items removed free of charge. If I hadn’t expunged the alchemical Vicky furniture, it would all have become landfill at considerable cost to the auction house.
Technically speaking, once a piece of furniture attains the age of one hundred years it is considered an antique, however, none of this appalling, badly made, ugly tat was ever going to rise above the circuit of dowdy little second-hand shops. I consider my actions were a coup de mâitre for Good Taste.
Donations can be submitted through the usual channels etc.
I’m ashamed to admit that I have a couple of pieces in my house that arived here because, while leaving an auction at Sworders, I was stopped dead in my tracks by the auctioneer. “Oy” he’d say in his Essex accent, “You want inny dis?” (I assumed he was asking me because I was American, and therefore had no taste.) I couldn’t resist picking through the mess — I mean c’mon, they were giving the stuff away.
Even worse, the antelope horns that are on my study wall, I paid good money for those.
Ahhh Americans… it’s illegal to shoot at them now you know. What better revenge than filling up their country with hideous Vicky tat!
You’re a brave man for owning up to it!