AN OBITUARY of a recently deceased scribbler – albeit one who was talented enough to have up to six columns on the go at any one time – recounted that he could be so desperate for inspiration that, on hearing a squeal of brakes, he’d rush outside in the hope of finding a story to write about. I suffer from the opposite problem with this wonderful column. There are usually so many fascinating items for sale each month that I am forever failing to find space for the ones I want to include. Not in August though. Come August most auction houses pack up shop while their staff don their summer plumage and head south into Europe’s raging heatwaves and wildfires by way of congested airports and cancelled flights. The more sensible head north for sport, of course. But the upshot is that, with almost no auctions, I am left casting about for entertaining bits to write about.
This is why an unavoidable road trip to non-central London
