So, my love and I found this vase in my grannie’s bathroom. When Grannie Flo passed on there it was, nestled between her Glastonbury wellies and the Aldermaston CND march banner she cherished unto death. Sniffing it, I guessed she used it to keep her stash of hash fresh, and later, to keep her false teeth in. It now whiffs of Steradent.
The vase is kind of bluish with a green fluorescence and, seeing a similar jug go for 53 mill at Bainbridges Auction House, we expect big things from our evaluation. Okay, not £53m, but maybe the late 30’s? We were a little peeved that the auction house would take £12mil in fees but, heyhoe, what the heck. It will leave enough to refurbish our shed into a serious player in the real ale brewery game. At least, we can clean the mysterious green mould off the containers.
Anything left over will go to my Mum’s weight lifting class to upgrade their equipment. The sight of middle-aged grannies toting purloined road bollards over their permed heads brings one to tears. I did suggest, at the annual vicarage bring-and-buy, they borrow the brass altar chalices to work out their diminishing, vapid triceps, but the vicar wasn’t best pleased.
The auction house that sold the vase employs eight people and their highest sale previously was £100,000. This latest hit, netting them the said £12m in fees, is £1.5m per head, although I doubt they will share the proceeds. I guess life isn’t like that.
And so, art lovers, here I stand, vase in hand. Don’t concern yourself with the cracks, the Araldite can hardly be seen. Although the Artists Mark may appear to be marker pen to the uninitiated and the ancient Chinese script maybe borrowed from a laundry bill Uncle Cyrus brought home from Singapore when he was deported for mistakenly flashing a Papal Nuncio in the seventies, any anonymous Chinese buyer won’t see that anyway.
I will take an offer.