Away from
the festivities at the Manor, Kenneth the Phantomime is travelling to the town
of Titbury von Streudelheim for the last auction sale of the year. He is so
excited at the prospect of how much the sale of the rare Viking doll will bring
that when he takes his seat at the auction house and happens to glance down, he
realizes he is wearing mismatched socks, a travesty for one of such sartorial
elegance as he.
‘Never
mind,’ he says to himself. ‘I expect I’ve got a matching pair to these at home!
Ahahahahaha!’
(His
excitement is also such that he is even prepared to forgive whoever put a
goat in his kitchen overnight. The goat is very cute. Its collar said its name
was Bernard. But it did eat his oven gloves. And the tea towel with the print
of Frida Kahlo on it.)
The auction
room is filling up. The Phantomime can hear the buzz of excitement about his
Viking doll lot. He smiles to himself. He knows there is a lot of interest, not
only in the room itself, but from abroad. He sees several auction room
employees armed with mobile phones to take phone bids, and the screen set up to
take internet bids is positively throbbing with anticipation. This is going to
be one very profitable day, he thinks, rubbing his hands together. The Viking
doll is Lot Number 9 – his lucky number.
‘I don’t
know how you can sit there and be so smug,’ says a voice on his right shoulder.
Kenneth frowns. It’s that annoying Voice of Conscience again.
‘Look,’ he
says, crossly. ‘I bought that doll in a fair and square business transaction. It’s mine
to do with as I want.’
‘That’s
right!’ says the Alternative Voice of Conscience on his left shoulder. ‘Finder
is keeper and all that.’
‘But surely
this is a moral dilemma?’ says VOC 1, who happens to be called Hugh. ‘Surely
you know the problems they are facing up at the Manor?’
‘He does,’
says VOC 2, who happens to be called Donald. ‘But what does that have to do
with him?’
‘Well,’
says Hugh. ‘For a start, Kenneth is making a very nice living for himself. He
doesn’t want for anything…’
‘Apart from
a return to my former glory days of stardom,’ snaps Kenneth.
Hugh gives
him a bit of a look. ‘Is it always a good thing to hark back to the past?’ he
says. ‘Is it perhaps better to be forward thinking, to look ahead to the promise of new horizons?’
‘I was cut
off in my prime,’ says Kenneth.
‘He was,’
says Donald. ‘And think what the proceeds of this sale could do to reignite his
career. Think how much a good dollop of cash could elevate his standing in the
world of celebrity!’
To be
honest, Kenneth the Phantomime hadn’t thought along these lines at all. But now
Donald has put the thought into his head…well, yes – this could be the trigger
that launches him – The Glorious Phantomime - back into his beloved show
business! Oh yes! He’d be able to leave this little nondescript backwater of a
place and move back to the bright lights of the big city. He’d be able to bribe
people to be his show biz sycophants. He could buy his own theatre and install
himself as the STAR!! Gosh, today was getting better and better.
‘You are
absolutely right, Donald!’ he says, turning to the brash little trumped up ego
on his left shoulder. ‘This is my opportunity to put myself back where I
belong!’
Donald
slaps Kenneth on his shoulder. ‘Atta boy!’ he says. ‘Now you’re thinking like a
true star!’
‘But…’
begins Hugh, realizing his days as Kenneth’s Voice for Good are probably
numbered.
‘Oh, do
shut up!’ says Kenneth. And he flicks Hugh from his shoulder, sending him
flying into the nearby display of a Royal Albert dinner service (one side plate
short of a set, one gravy boat - slightly cracked).
The auction
begins. The Writer has never attended an auction in real-life, but she is an
armchair antiques expert and knows where she’s at with the sale of old goods. She
quite fancies being an auctioneer, if only for the fun of having a gavel to
smack down good and hard when she’s having a trying day. Must be a very good
stress reliever. Anyway, back in the sale room, Lot Eight – a pair of quite
hideous vases – have just sold a smidge beneath their low end estimate.
‘Lot Nine,
ladies and gentlemen,’ announces the auctioneer, ‘is a very rare and fine
example of Scandinavian carving from the Viking period, circa 845 A.D. It
has been authenticated by museum experts and the ‘Made in Taiwan’ stamp on its
bottom is also confirmed as a piece of ironic art work by the mid-20th
century artist, Windemup Bigtime. There has been a lot of interest in this
piece and I can start the bidding here at £120,000…’
‘*!@?@^**
@?!!!*’ says Kenneth, jumping up from his seat.
The entire
auction room stares at him.
‘Was that a
bid, sir?’ says the auctioneer.
‘No,
no…..sorry,’ says Kenneth, sitting down. He puts one hand over his mouth and
the other under his legs to stop himself shouting out again, and jiggling
around.
The bidding continues at a frantic and fast pace, offers coming in from internet and phone. Up, up, up it climbs. Red, red, and redder grows the Phantomime’s face.
The hammer finally comes down at a sum that far outstrips the amount even Kenneth himself had imagined.
‘At
£845,000, then,’ shouts the auctioneer, himself getting a bit excited at the
thought of the commission he is raking in, ‘hammer’s up…for the final time…are
we all done? SOLD!’
‘BANG!!!’
(Not the
gavel – Kenneth the Phantomime collapsing heavily to the floor with the
excitement of it all!)
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