Some things are just worth more than others…

Yon Cash of Titans on the television was getting a bit boring.
Plus I was getting hungry so I slipped out for a Sly Nacho.
At the Mexican restaurant I tried to use my credit card but it was Cash Only.
A priest came in and pronounced all jumping bean Cans Holy, of course.
So a Lynch mob came in and strung him up until he recanted.
He asked, ‘Does my Halo Sync with the rest of my clothing?’
But just then Clay Nosh waltzed in with Lacy Nosh on his arm causing alarm…

[The above is a fragment of a poem containing anagrams of the expression ‘Cash Only’.]

It was a quiet moment at our stall – ‘Junque for Joy’ at the Antique Fair held in Winmalee High School Hall, and I sat and tried to think about something to write about for the next meeting of the writer’s group that I’m the current convenor of. The topic for the week was ‘Cash Only’. Now, given that I was at this time ensconced in an out-of-the-way spot and with no shortage of interesting characters about to observe; you’d have thought that there would have been plenty of inspiration to write about. Unfortunately, the cogs inside my head were not interfacing as they should have done, and I fear that perhaps my ‘hard drive’ needs to be defragged. Consequently, the only thing I could come up with was to anagram the expression ‘Cash Only’ and seize what came out of it – as you can see (above) it wasn’t much!

I fear that the recently announced unpalatable Federal Budget has seriously affected people’s perceptions with regard to how much disposable income that they might still have. Accordingly, I was absolutely astounded when a young man, who bought a few items from our stall, let slip that he, had lost his home in the disastrous fires in Winmalee in October 2013. In any event, it would be stretching the truth to say that business was brisk – it wasn’t! Nonetheless, we had a surprisingly large volume of potential buyers waltzing through who were happy to look, to fondle, to gush and ultimately…waste your time. Furthermore, it never ceased to astound me how many times we were asked foolish questions about certain items that I suspect even Tim Wonnacott from Bargain Hunt would find it hard to answer! All such difficult enquiries I usually leave to my good lady wife as she is an Australian and an antiques aficionado – and don’t you just admire and adore alliteration!

Anyway, I should stress at this point that I’m not an antiques buff; perhaps more an antiques buffoon. Maybe I’m just simply an antique buffoon, singular. In any event, I returned from the ‘Mexican Restaurant’ (actually the school canteen) with yet another ‘nacho’ (sausage roll) and a coffee (bored as I was) to find a potential customer prowling our modest display. I hurriedly put my victuals to one side and tried to look interested. The customer was a lady of mature age – whatever that means. I’d suspect that 50 had probably come and gone but her apparel was right up-to-date in a mutton-dressed-as-lamb sort of way. Let’s call her ‘Lacy Nosh’ because I can then reference her back to my original anagram. I suppose ‘Lucy Posh’ could be another suitable name because, make no mistake, she was posh! You know the type: sleek, manicured, not a hair out of place, make-up applied with a trowel and conspicuously…overweight. Broad in the beam, built for comfort not for speed; an old-time bushman would have described her derrière as being two axe handles wide. She was probably a refugee from war-torn Mosman or Milson’s Point, out slumming it on the long weekend.

“Can I help you?” I inquired. Lacy Nosh gazed at me with what could only be described as an imperious stare; the sort of look that probably melted the buttons off a man’s shirt 20 odd years ago. These days the same look would probably cause a tradesman to quake in his boots. She picked up a reproduction fob-watch and ran a manicured finger along its filigreed edge. “Do these… work?” She asked, arching her perfect eyebrows. A menu of sarcastic responses flashed across my synapses; I chose one of the less venomous and replied, “Only when they’re wound up.” Then I added quickly, “Actually they’re battery operated!” “Really?” Lacy replied with an upward inflection, “So this isn’t pewter then either?” Thereby disclosing what an ignoramus she really was. “Not…at these prices, you silly cow!” I thought. Steam was probably coming out of my ears already. Talk about fatuous remarks…

Right about now I really felt like giving her both barrels of my anti-elitism rant but fortunately, at this point, my lady stepped in and probably saved the situation and the sale. “Yes that’s right,” she said, “they are there just for a bit of fun; filler you might say.” I slunk away like Basil Fawlty who had just been usurped by Sybil in Fawlty Towers. There was a bit of polite haggling I gather, price was agreed upon, and Lacy Nosh reached into her Louis Vuitton handbag and produced her AMEX card. “You do take cards I assume, dear?” Lacy enquired somewhat patronisingly. “No it’s cash only I’m afraid.” replied my lady through gritted teeth. “Oh dear, antique sales methods for antique sales.” Lacy responded and laughed in a condescending sort of way that probably went down a treat with the latte crowd in Point Piper. Anyway, she produced a $100 bill, got her change and waddled away. We stood looking at each other with looks of incredulity until we both burst out laughing at the absurdity of the situation.

It was rather sobering, later that night when we got home, to watch a documentary all about a man who was a retired photojournalist. Over his career spanning 50 years, he had taken many graphic and disturbing images from war zones and other areas of dire famine, despair and abject poverty. Wretched images of bloated children starving in Rwanda; corpses piled up in places like Cambodia and Vietnam. “Too many cameras and not enough food,” as Sting once put it in a song called Driven to Tears. Finally, I had to turn it off; the images were too upsetting. I had been complaining about a lack of currency from our efforts for the day and I suddenly felt ashamed. Also, I couldn’t help but wonder if our well-heeled customer – Lacy Nosh had seen the same documentary. Maybe she might have been persuaded to donate a tray of canapés and a bottle of Moet!

The lesson I suppose is that everything has its price, including famine and deprivation. What use are antiques when people are suffering? The people who organised the Antique Fair were donating the proceeds raised from the rents paid by stall holders and admission fees to various charities – I suppose there is a redeeming aspect to this absurd business after all.

Have you sold any of your furniture or belongings to raise money for a charity? What did you sell and how did you do it?