Wayne Colquhoun-My Work As A Potter

I have been locked in a Police station every Saturday afternoon. The Old Police Station Lark Lane. For two years come rain or shine I have been there every week in a glazed brick cell……. And it’s by choice.


In the corner of, in winter, a freezing building armed only with a handful of muddy clay, with your hands in cold water. I have practised the art of throwing pots.

Sometimes being arrested would be more fun. The frustration can be devilish.

Then other times when things go well it seems worth the effort.

I understand having served an apprenticeship as a Carpenter (the best training anyone can get) the secret of perfecting anything you want to do, to a high standard, is to put the time in.

I was told a long time ago by old crusty blokes with beards, people I had been trained in various arts by, that “its 10% inspiration and 90% perspiration”.

It’s the truth you have to work hard and put the time in nothing comes naturally, and anyone who tells you anything differently is a liar.

But carpentry experience does not take into account, art.

John Parker who runs the Lark Lane Pottery looked at me with a wry grin when I proclaimed after a week or two that I was going to do an exhibition of my work, he had heard it all before.

“I want to make my clay look like metal, like work of a French Dinandier”

“Yer what” he said, and I don’t blame him he must have seen thousands of people come through his doors over the years, all of them with different ideas on different levels.

“Start small,” he would say as I threw pot after pot that were a mess over the months using tons of his precious clay.

He would be standing there scowling, calculating how much more work he would have to do to recycle my wasted clay, that never seems to go where you want it, at first. That mud seems to have a life of its own.

But he allowed me to practise.

But I think my enthusiasm won him over and he let me practise and I recycle my own clay, which is a drain

The big incentive in getting it right, is, at least partly so you don’t have to spend ages needing the air out of soaking wet clay on a plaster bat.

Clay is a messy little bugger that gets right up your arms and all over you, so you look like you have been dragged through a lake backwards.

It is the most humbling experience. To be faced with a lump of mud.

A mass of nothing. If you had it on your clothes it is a horrible stain. Yet you have to take this inanimate object and mix in a little bit of water to make it flexible so that you can mould it, upwards, and create something of beauty. There are no prisoners with the punishment that you have to endure, in order to progress to the next stage.

To lump another pound of clay on top to suffer the frustration all over again, then when you have mastered that, another pound of clay.

It was easy for me in the past to sell the art of the potter without really understanding the true skill that is requisite in order to make something that is recognised, as a work of art, when really it is only a vessel.

Year’s back my shop was featured on Flog it, and shortly after middle-aged gentleman and his wife, having seen it came into the shop.

I am a potter he said. I did not know what that was really, even though I sold pots.

Two hours later I went to a private view at the Bluecoat Display Centre to see the work of Duncan Ross and it was he who I had been speaking to in the shop.

I wish you had told me who you were I actually have purchased retail one of your pots which is one of my cherished pieces.

I wish I could talk to him now. I asked him, if he was inspired by Dinanderie and he said he was not aware of what it was.

I recall how, I wanted to make the simplest form almost like an African primitive pot. How do you do that? Google the term African pots and the inspiration is there. But like playing jazz it’s not about studying something, it’s about feeling.

How can you feel what it is like to be an African making a pot to hold grain, or water, with the basic of tools, without a kiln, firing your vessels in a hole in the ground, with fire?

The basic elements fire, earth and water are the most primitive of all needs.

They have a challenge that is hard to quantify. Why do you want to make a pot like an African? Why do you want to make a vessel in the Minoan style, what good is that. Why did the Ancient Greek want to turn a vessel for water or wine into a work of art, into an object of beauty and very often with a narrative?

Why did our ancestors paint the caves with their quarry What is the basic primeval instinct to create? To pit your self against your materials to achieve something that is more than the sum of its parts.

Magdelaine Odondu annoyed me when I met her at the Bluecoat also for a private view. Her pots were on sale for £20,000 and were not worth, in my opinion, a fraction of that. Her manager said he had driven the prices up from $300 to $30,000. Psychology I thought. But I took these two established potters that I had met, as an inspiration, which is still a prevailing influence to what I do now in my burnished work. I leave the tool marks in where Duncan does not. I still can’t understand how he manages, mostly to create such workmanship that shows his patience. Odondu is the same her burnishing is perfect, simple shapes she can feel her heritage. I am not sure how much of that is hype. I am just beginning my journey, but the art of thinking is the hidden jewel in all good potters work. The art of being able to leave something of oneself in your work, that is an intimate connection with the recipient of your work is hard to explain.

I have destroyed more work than I have created but now, and only now, I can feel my work taking shape becoming mine, with the simplest of materials clay and a clay slip, I need to make a shape that reflects the simplest of forms. I think that the philosophy of simple materials and simple forms ties one of your hands behind your back makes it more difficult…….. And I have always liked a challenge.

Antiques Road Trip Call Again To My Shop-Charles Hanson Wrecks the Place

This time I had a bit of notice that the BBC was coming in to film the Antiques Road Trip. It was the day before I was told that it would be Charles Hanson. I had better tack all my stock down I had said to one of the crew laughing. He is the bloke who seems all over the place. Bull in a China shop and all that stuff.

They were not too late about an hour, the same amount of time they gave me to prepare last time when Edwina Curry popped in...or out, we will have to see how they edit it. http://waynecolquhoun.blogspot.co.uk/2013/05/celebrity-antique-roadtrip-drop-in-to.html

They had parked Charles Hawtree……err I mean Charles Hanson's car in the garage below the shop and we went into filming.

It was an unusually sunny day and Charles turned up looking like an mad English Colonial Gentleman from the 18th century with a floppy Panama hat and a beige suit on, err, just playing himself really.

Mad dogs and Charles Hanson I thought.

He was off “Well Hello Wayne, what a shop I wish I hadn’t spent all my money I love it”
Here we go I waited for the punchline. He then ruined my day by saying he had the grand sum of 25 quid to spend. This is going to be the hardest 25 pounds I have ever earned I thought.

But in with the spirit of the programme I tried my hardest to make a sale and I suggested a few bits. I tried to tempt him with an 18century jug with a frog and a newt inside and this of course lined him up for all the jokes about being drunk as a newt and gave him time to show what he knew. Two minutes.

I had suggested he bought a Sabino Turkey or in french a Dindan he was off dindon, dindan dindan, dingdong he sang. I called it a Turkey after that but he wouldn’t stop he just kept going on and on, he is mad.

The price tag said £68 so he knew he was safe and I left him room with a £35 ask.

I even offered to throw in one of my spectacle holders that I make. He went for it.

“That’s so kind Wayne” aiming himself at the camera he was off again this may be one for the future viewers, when Wayne becomes famous and is known for his work this could be worth a fortune”

I got a bit embarrassed.

“Yes when I cut my ear off,” I said trying to play it down and make a lighthearted joke about it.

“Yes like Picasso” he said with a confidence that showed he knew what he was talking about.

“No Van Gough” I chipped in.

The crew were having a laugh behind the cameras I just decided to have a bit of fun and wind him up a bit, but it seems there isn’t much winding required he is an off beat character.

He started whispering to the camera about getting me down to £24 and I just threw in the Sabino Dindan and the Dali-esque spectacle holder for £20.

I would not wish the next shop you go to go through what I had gone through for a quid.

Or even a fiver for that matter but that’s life.

If he had of hung on a bit I would have given him the piece for free if he promised he would go.

Jokes aside it was good fun and it seemed to go quite well The crew had a right laugh as did I, and I look forward to seeing the programme which could be anytime.

“Wayne how do I get out of here he said can you give me directions”

“Yes I replied, “Go out the front take a left go ahead where you will come to the Pier Head, and then…keep going”

He left a little calling card in our garage, he hit one of the stanchions, only superficial damage but lucky for me it wasn’t in the shop.

Not sure when the programme  will go out, on air, but it should be funny.

I don't think they filmed him wrecking the place. When the security told me he had hit a stanchion I had this image of him bringing the floor above down. Lucky it was not that serious. Ding Dong.

http://www.bbc.co.uk/programmes/b01cbn9c/professionals/charles-hanson-david-barby

The Millau Viaduct-One My Favourite Things

 I first travelled to La Belle France in 1993 and spent quite a while there.

That's where I really got my buzz for hunting down art and antiques in places in towns, that, at the time, had never had an Englishman in. I loved it I was like a grown up kid on a treasure hunt.

I realised this is what i wanted to do.

What a chore it was, heading down to the South of France towards Montpellier it was like driving on the old Snake Pass.

This would be 1993 and plans were underway to connect the Languedoc region up with the North, the A9 was under construction, which made it worse because the roadwork’s created extra delays while huge wagons curled around mountainous terrain where no vehicles should go.

Driving for a day sometimes you would not see a soul it was like the land that time forgot.

Millau (pronounced like a cats Meow) was a nightmare.

It is one of the most beautiful places in France.

The town has a holiday feel, surrounded by mountains the hang gliders would drift down from the craggy ledges like little coloured spots on a sky blue canvass, slowly drifting gently into sight on the breeze.

Campers would pitch tents next to the river that meandered through the valley.

I used to watch the petrol gauge in my transit visibly empty and I would cringe at the juice it would take just to get back up through the mountainous pass that was the only way to get through this region for me, and everyone else.

In the summer with the stifling heat and without air conditioning it was a particularly challenging routine.

Traffic jams don’t suit the French.

You only need one Frenchman to honk his horn and they all start, and you cant even ball at them to shut up because that starts world war three.

I have spent hours cooking in my tin can behind a lorry full of cement or livestock crawling on the limit of about 20 miles an hour.

I used to try and do it between twelve and two p.m as only mad frogs and Englishmen go out in the midday sun

Passing a lorry on a narrow mountainous road is a hazardous affair. Especially when you are in the wrong place, or the wrong side of the car.

First you sneak your head over to the left of the car, to check if the coast is clear to overtake.

Only to have it almost lopped off by a crazy French person doing the free roll down the other side, as if been set free, after his crawl up behind Le Camion.

That’s where I learnt half of my French with my cassette ablaze in the car “Repeat after me ......Ou est. La Cathedral…sil vous plait” and Quell Heure est I’ll” and other stupid sentences that I never ever needed.

It’s also where I learnt to swear.

 Expletives are soon picked up on a French road when you are sat on a red hot seat stewing in 98 degrees, when all you want to do is get to a hotel and freshen up, or better still get to the sea.
On one trip I rolled down the mountainous path and right into an Opel garage at the foot of the pass to have them all laugh at the diesel filter on the Vauxhall Astra  I had just bought from Penny Lane Motors, who are not recommended by me.
 Yes it looked like it should have been an air filter in a fish tank. I give them a right telling off when I got back.
I had been through Millau 50 times and then one day I noticed on the horizon the strangest thing.
There were poles being erected. Not just any old poles, they were like stilts that were springing up they were like skyscrapers, massive things, growing out of the earth.
Even in the distance you could see the scale of them.
The next time there was another few, and then the penny dropped when as if by magic a concrete carpet was being laid across them one at a time.
 This was not possible I would say it defied gravity. It couldn't be possible to build a structure so light and simple that high.
Surely it couldn’t work, and yes, it was a bridge under construction.
Sometimes it would be half covered in mist other times it would be a silhouette as bold as brass against the hue.
 I would look every time as I travelled past on that horrid road to see the progress.
 It must be one of the wonders of the world if they can pull this off I would say.
And they did pull it off and it was opened.
Designed by Foster and Partners but erected by Frenchmen it is a remarkable feat of engineering that shows us British up.
http://www.fosterandpartners.com/projects/millau-viaduct/
Click on the above link for a full history of the feat.

The British designed it but we would not have the nerve to build it. It’s the sort of feat that built the Seven Wonders of the World.

Yes we will put the A75 between two mountains some one probably quipped in jest, but they did it.
Not only did they have the nerve to build it, they made it so beautiful and with as little concrete that is physically possible.

They made it float as lightly on what looks like mid-air. The thin air that the hang gliders gently fall from atop a ridge on the other side of town.

Its suspension defies gravity.

If you build it light it will hang light.
The first time I drove across it was worth every centime of the ten euro or so they charge.
I just had to stop at the viewing platform, with a café, and eat a packet of biscuits.
It seems to have become a shrine for people to wonder at the feat of engineering that all French people should be proud of. A pic-nic area with distinction.

I find it hard to put into words what is so good about it, other than its simplicity.
All brilliant design should make you wonder why it is good not state the obvious as journalists are paid to do. You do not need to write pages about it. Just look at it.

It has alleviated the traffic queues.

But now the views down to the valley of the River Tarn directly below the viaduct and the green forests that border it, are over, all too soon and you hanker for more.

In no time at all, unless you stop, you are on your merry way dreaming of the cool blue of the Med, as you should have done in the first place.
I don’t know how many awards it has won but it gets my award for sheer audacity and undertaking and beauty.

If you drive down to the south of France try and go over the Millau Viaduct.
It would be daft not to jump at the opportunity to traverse two mountains suspended hundreds of feet in the air on a slither of tarmac held up by slender sections of wire above a beautiful valley.

Its not Bijou and its not as if you can put it in your pocket, but still, it is one of my favourite things.

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Millau_Viaduct

'Pass' Chair Designed by Ernest Gimson-Piece of the Week

These are remarkable chairs designed by Ernest Gimson.

Yes, we know most people think a chair is for sitting on, but if you study the evolution of design through the ages nowhere is it more apparent than in furniture design.

The way a chair sits is paramount to its worth, oh yes, and how comfortable it is, also matters to some.

 But sometimes comfort can give way to design because after all a piece of furniture is also there to look at.

You may have a surplus of chairs or tables, but sometimes just for aesthetic reasons it proves important to have something around you that you, can adore, that gives you pleasure.
If it works as a design and you can reliably sit on it well there you go.

This is a design which, at its time of manufacture has one foot in he past.
The splats on the back of the chair are taken from a French design.
The whole chair looks as if it could have come from an older period, which is of course something the artisans of the British arts and Crafts movement strived to achieve.

All the honesty and integrity of construction is evident in the design and I particularly love the way the upright support for the ever so slender armrest almost looks as if it had been speared into the frame.

As if a matador, had launched a pair of daggers diagonally, just to put a finishing touch on the carefully thought out design.

Apart from design this is an architectural important element of the construction.

They allow the narrowness of the uprights to astound you at the delicacy. They seem to float, those the arms that gently bend.

It is both a masculine and a feminine design for this reason.

Without the surprising part of its design you could never enable such a fragile looking armrest to function.

And function it does it is comfortable and is supportive of the back. You know it’s a craftsman made piece as all the joints are pegged.
It still feels fresh and modern today as when it was designed in 1907.

Edward Gardiner probably made this chair, on or shortly after that date.

It is known at The Pass Chair, simply because, a Mrs Pass commissioned the design from F.W Troop.

The design was used as platform chair for a church hall in Wootten Fitzpaine in Devon.

Also known a higher backed version, which is often described as The Chairman’s Chair.

Cheltenham Museum has a pair in their collection donated by B.J Fletcher who was the headmaster of the Leicester School of Art and also Birmingham Municipal School of Art.

Fletcher is known for his designs for Harry Peach of Dryad and it was said he was an exponent o the arts and crafts ideals.

That aside it is just a smashing looking chair.

This chair is now longr available.

The Liverpool Everyman,Such A Tragedy-Why Did They Have To Knock It Down?

Yes it can only happen in Liverpool a city where the clowns in charge take a piece of culture and raze it to the ground and then make a full scale press assault in order to pull the wool over the eyes of the people.....and almost succeed.

Even all the luvvies who live and work around the Hope street area did nothing.

I was so bogged down with world heritage issues, and why should me and my colleagues do everything, to kick up a fuss over this tragic event being played out on centre stage right in front of everyone.

It is a deep regret, because both me and my colleagues at LPT have a social conscience and we now feel guilty for not arguing for its retention.

They even sold the fittings off on the basis of "Own a piece of history". This by the very people who removed the historical context.
The Everyman Theatre was not the best piece of architecture, there is no denying that, but it was this theatre that added to the cultural identity of the city.
From the 1960's and 70's it grew.

In the 80's there were some of the countries most iconic theatre and inspired films emanating from this little provincial place, with big ideas.

Some of its playwrights would become houshold names can you believe that.

I can even smell the grit and sweated determination that you felt emanating from the walls as I write.

I can conjure up images of actors pouring their hearts out, crying, laughing out loud, entertaining inspiring, motivating, moving boundaries in their art .

I recall seeing MacBeth with one of Liverpool's sons the actor David Morrisey, god it was an awful. thing.

http://www.telegraph.co.uk/culture/theatre/drama/8513038/Macbeth-Liverpool-Everyman-review.html  It went on and on, made worse by the fact I had just had kidney stones removed and I felt I was being tortured both on and off the stage.

You are not supposed to criticise Shakespeare, but really, in Morrisseys dying scene that went on forever, I unwittingly spoke out, just under my breath, only to get a crack in the ribs "Oh just die will you so I can get home" Yes I have also been bored to tears there, but it all counts.

The walls were rich with history, the spirit that this place absorbed became a breeding ground for future generations.

Yes it was a little rough around the edges, reminding us of that cheeky little scouser that we all know that makes us cringe but instead you laugh and love him.

Yes the scruffy little kid down the road that looks a bit dirty but you know its only skin deep and its nothing a bit of soap and water wouldn't clean up.

So they have a bit of cash slapping around in Liverpool and what have they not managed to homogenise they think, The Everyman.
 And what do the uncultured clowns who are in control do.............they knock it down, and tell us its all going to be alright because we are getting a new one.

Its like buying a load of duty free cigarettes because they are cheap and then you remember you don't smoke. Did the NWDA have surplus funds they needed to offload.

They bulldoze it right in front of the noses of the posh little dears that can  now afford to live in the, now gentrified, as they now call it, The Georgian Quarter.

I don't begrudge them the money they have earned it, but my recollection is that it was the anger and oppression of a generation inspired by John Osbourne, Harold Pinter and Tom Stoppard plays that made this place what it was. It had history in its walls.

The bricks oozed the heritage and the past words of artists that had found their feet there.

The cafe in the basement was an institution. http://www.liverpoolconfidential.co.uk/Food-and-Drink/Bars-and-Booze/Everyman-Bistro-the-final-countdown It was the place that characters such as Arthur Dooley and the art teacher who taught Stuart Suttcliffe came to blows. Everyone has a tale to tell about the place it had character, and characters were attracted there.

It was a place for renegades, it was a place for actors and musicians. It was a place you could just have an unpretentious drink.

This was the theatre that saw fledglings such as Pete Posslethwaite turn into accredited actors. It was a breeding ground for actors who were in, Boys from the Blackstuff , some, shouting Gizza Job and went on to get a massive one, starring in Lord of the Rings.

 Willy Russel plays were put on there and were made into films.

But it all started with ordinary people. How can you measure the decades of people who had chatted and planned and plotted there.

Richard Hawley summed it up at a recent Philharmonic concert 

http://liverpoolpreservationtrust.blogspot.co.uk/2013/02/they-have-knocked-everyman-down-how.html Live on stage he said "I cant believe they knocked The Everyman down. Or words to that effect.

And what do they do now, with "Our" Everyman, spend a fortune on destroying its soul, like they did in my opinion, with the Bluecoat that still had Herbert Tyson-Smiths sculpture studio intact. Will it demolition destroy its soul? Yes, it has for me.

But all we hear from Everyman and its dog is silence. Where is the alternative argument that we used to breed there.

It is being hailed as  a great success, Regeneration in fact.

I would prefer the gritty edge that it had, and with a little gentle modernisation you could have kept its unique-ness, the thing that made it special.

Gazing at the Tragedy that has befell my very eyes, everyone seems to have been taken in by it, not a murmurs of dissent from the masses its a real shame from a city that used to fight for its heritage.

They have knocked down an institution and are building a plastic replica of the very thing that should have been retained.............History and tradition obliterated. It wanted saving from itself and the people who ran it.

And for all the great playwrights, whose work was played there I say, sorry for what they have done, the Oligarchs of Liverpool have made  huge mistake.

This tragedy was sanctioned under Warren "War Zones" Bradley's stint as leader and has now, as with Central Library, been hijacked by Joe Anderson http://www.liverpooldailypost.co.uk/liverpool-news/regional-news/2013/06/18/new-everyman-theatre-a-step-closer-as-topping-out-ceremony-held-99623-33489865/  And all this played out before the adoring public of the Daily Ghost getting the news from The Everyman-Playhouse PR press plumpers and its Directors Deborah Aydon and Gemma Bodinetz who have worked the system to their advantage.
I recently received a phone call asking me for money to contribute towards it. It now looks like they have run out of cash and are now begging bowl to the masses.

John Osbourne's most inspiring play that informed a generation that inspired so many writers and artists that performed at The Everyman was called,

 "Look back in anger"  And Yeah, I do!

Liverpool Banksy Destroyed-You Dirty Rat-Or Was It A Cat?

                                                     Now Here’s something to really get hacked off about.

 The Whitehouse Public House on the Corner of Duke Street Liverpool is in the Shadow of Gilbert Scott’s gigantic sandstone Cathedral and recently had become as Iconic a landmark after was claimed that the Graffiti artist Banksy hopped off a train and knocked a quick mural of a giant Rat in the dead of night on its facade. It was said this happened in 2004 and was then covered up in 2008 when Liverpool was European Capital of Culture.

The property had been left to decay and It was claimed it was to be preserved, after a repairs notice was served on the properties owners, but Liverpool is a city that is incapable of preserving anything of note these days be it old or new.

Several owners and as many promises later and the artwork has now been obliterated.

It has been hacked off with bolsters in what could be termed a savage act of vandalism by somebody who did not understand its significance and has underestimated its importance. You can see through the scaffolding it is now bare brick.

In today’s art-market it could have been worth more than the property that sold for £130,000 recently.

I smell a dirty rat aided and abetted by Liverpool City Council who need to approve repairs on a listed building of which this was one.....before they are carried out.

It seems hard to believe that you would do this without consultation to the masses.

What is the point of having a planning process?

It also opens up some interesting questions and not just why do pay a city council to preserve our heritage be it old or new, or in this case both if they let it be destroyed by property developers who do not care about Liverpool's Heritage.

Questions, questions?
If an artist paints something on other people's property without asking.
Can the owners of the property do whatever they want with it?

The public were taken by the fact that they have a Banksy in their city, but do the public have a claim over it?

I usually campaign for old things while I deal in 20th century and modern art so I would like to think I understand how people can be affected by something that touches their souls.
Art is like that and it is not for me to say what their taste should be. Young or old good art will last..........unless its in Liverpool that is.

This artwork can never be replicated you can never sum up the spirit of an original,  and destroying an original Banksy to put in its place, a copy is beyond a joke. It would be a repro.

This mural certainly was an asset to the area creating huge amounts of publicity on a national level.

Banksy has certainly touched a modern generation who are in tune with the meanings and the messages that he portrays in his art.

It warrants another question.
What is more important a listed building with a mural or the mural itself?

The owners are going to say we had no alternative and we will get someone in to daub a new one.
That will not wear with me it can never be replicated with a steady hand.
The same effect of waiting to be arrested in the dead of night is what gives graffiti art its spirit.

Like him or loathe him Banksy has created a whirlwind.
Some towns are proud to own one and recently an auction sale of a 4ft by 2ft slab of concrete with a Banksy on it, was put up for sale in a Miami auction room.

The auction was halted after a campaign by Haringey councillors.

Claire Kober, the leader of Haringey council, wrote to Arts Council England and the mayor of Miami, Tomas Regalado, to ask them to intervene to stop the sale but it appears the decision to withdraw the item came from the gallery owners in consultation with their lawyers. The FBI refused to confirm reports they were asked to investigate.
The sale was dramatically halted just moments before it was due to go under the hammer.

The Banksy had disappeared from a wall of a north London shop in mysterious circumstances After it had been daubed on a Poundland shop.
Slave Labour, a spray-painted artwork depicting a child making union flag bunting and seen as a critical social commentary on last year's diamond jubilee, was expected to sell for about $700,000 (£460,000

So while one council fights to save their Banksy in Liverpool we let them destroy ours.

So who polices Liverpool's Heritage Police. What was our leader doing.

So has the Banksy been taken off and put up for sale?

Have the owners sold it, or has it been shipped out in the dead of night to end up in America or just obliterated off the face of the earth?


Is it only Liverpool as a city that can disrespect its heritage in a manner that allows 46 listed buildings to be destroyed in the last 10 years.
This was a listed building with a famous artwork you couldn't make this up.
This combined with the fact that there are hundreds of decaying properties of architectural interest, it makes one think that consecutive administrations at Liverpool City Council don't have the ability or desire to understand our history. They just don’t care.

Then to make it worse they allow a modern landmark to be butchered in plain view with little or no consultation to the masses that pay their wages that feel this piece of modern art was done for them.

Lets Butcher a Banksy,
Now that’s real Culcha for yeh!

Celebrity Antique Roadtrip Drop In To My Shop To Film......With Edwina Curry.

I decided to open the shop Saturday last 25th May, as there was a massive commemoration to honour the part Liverpool played in the Battle of the Atlantic.

So I get in and put my lights on and a board out in Water Street and my mobile rings.
“Oh hi it’s the BBC we will be with you just after eleven”
“What for” I asked as I didn’t have a clue
“Antique Road Trip”

“Oh right” I said as I realised I didn’t even have a shave and I realised I wasn’t looking my best. Surely they could have let me know and I would have made an effort, but there you go we can manage this lack of oversight that makes the usual lack of planning that the BBC undertake, look efficient.

I found a razor and s destubbled my chin and had a little tidy around. It wasn’t bad and its something I can take care of. It was after 12 and I sent a text to check I have the right day receiving the usual we are a little bit delayed.
I had been going to pen a letter to the Antique Trade gazette complaining how the glut of programmes are not helping the trade when the phone rang some weeks ago.

“Hi Wayne its Celebrity Antique Road Trip we would like to film in your shop”

“Where do you want me?” I said ashamedly capitulating to the power of the media.

Now here I am standing in front of the washroom mirror with a head like a burst couch and a hangover after a late night in Alma De Cuba in Seal Street regretting it.
“Who is the celebrity? “ I had asked and the subject was surprisingly well dodged by Sandy on the other end of my mobile.
It was manic in the streets so I got them into the private garage that was half empty below the building and I went to greet them.

I recognise that face I thought as a woman walked towards me.

“Bloody ‘ell its Edwina Curry” I said under my breath as I greeted them all welcoming them to India Buildings.

Trust my flippin’ luck I thought she must be one of the most hated politicians in Liverpool.

 Most Liverpudlians have abandoned her saying she was from Crosby and that’s not really Liverpool. I will just have to get on with it I thought, but I am in for it when this programme goes out.

To commemorate the passing of Lady Thatcher I had a recent antique in the window to show my feelings towards her.

 I had been saving it for a special occassion.

Was this now, not looking in good taste or are we going to get into a bit of a ding-dong.

She was quite nice really I was surprised on how pleasant she was as they set up the gear and off we went.

They started looking around in cabinets and behind things and in no time at all “Whats this Wayne,” she said

I couldn’t believe it she had found an old 50’s corset that I had found in the bottom drawer of a cabinet, a Maccassar Ebony buffet and I had forgotten about it.
Trust her, no one has even noticed it before and off she went modelling it while I am standing there thinking I wish I had sent that letter in to the gazzette.

Then she tries it next to me for size to see if it fits.

“I can’t believe I have just let you do that,” I said. Thinking how am I going to retrieve my reputation after this.

Anyway in for a penny I threw in a pair of flapper girl garters that she loved and we were off, here is a cigarette holder while she pretended to blow smoke in my face I just stood there flabbergasted.

I don’t usually do cringe but I must have looked like I had been slapped.

Her and the BBC dealer who was a nice bloke doing his best to control her went off round the shop and we managed to calm her down.

It is a good job I had just moved house splitting with my ex-girlfriends because I wouldn’t be getting in tonight after having Egwina in the shop.

Then to make it worse she is kissing me goodbye on camera.

 My god those same lips have been all over John Major I thought as I tried to keep a straight face.

The things you have to do for publicity.

Next thing I am having my photo taken with her and she is going to tweet me will I ever live this down.

I think I will stay closed from now on of a Saturday.

I am going to be in a lot of trouble when this goes out which I think is September.