Post 1561. Sunday July 2
‘It’s a hundred and eighty years old’. I picked it up. ‘Careful you don’t drop it, it’s worth a fortune’
‘Are you sure Granny?’ I asked. ‘It’s weird’.
Why anyone would want a little plaster model of a girl sitting on a rose bush holding hands with a tiny slimy dragon, I couldn’t imagine. It had a maker’s name scratched on the base. Carter or Carver or something. ‘He’s famous you know’ said Granny. ‘Up there with Rodin and, erm, that other chap’.
Granny had decided to sell it. She agreed it was pretty hideous and thought the money would come in handy. She asked me to take it to auction. So I did.
‘Lot seventy-five’ yelled the auctioneer. ‘A miniature by Carter… or is that Carver? Whatever. I’ll start the bidding at one hundred pounds’
I was amazed. Bids from my left, bids from my right. A hundred and fifty, seventy, ninety, two hundred.
‘Two hundred and eighty pounds. Going…going…gone’ he shouted swinging his gavel downwards.
Bits of the little plaster model flew everywhere. The dragon’s head landed in my lap, the girl’s bosom in someone's hair.
‘It's Carver by the way’ called someone from the back as he studied a piece of the base.