³ÉÈË¿ìÊÖ

They asked me if I knew the value and when I said no (why would I be there if I knew the value already, honestly a little common sense is all you need sometimes!) they asked if I knew anything about it at all.

Well'it's a vase'made from pottery I guess. Is that right? I don't know where it was made, I don't know who made it, I thought they would tell me all those things, surely that's the point?

It used to be my aunt's that much I do know. She lived near me when I was young, round the corner in fact. She and my mother were extremely close and she seemed to take me under her wing from a young age, teaching me more than any teacher could, if you know what I mean. The vase in question stood on her fireplace, she seemed to produce that kind of thing; her house was filled with bizarre objects which anybody else would've thought was rubbish. Not her though, no she loved all of them, and none more than the vase.

I remember one day it was raining, as it seemed to do less in those days although I guess I just remember the sunny days more. Anyway it was raining but my aunt decided that it would be the ideal time to teach me the finer points of cricket. You see this piece here, the one that sticks out a bit, that's where I chipped it with a ball she had bowled me a little too fast. My mother was furious but my aunt found it hilarious and congratulated me on what must have been a six.

When my aunt died, only a year before her sister, she left it to me with a note: 'for years of rainy indoor cricket to come.' Since then it's sat on my own fireplace, and it was only after a near-miss six of my own young niece that my husband suggested getting it insured.

It did feel strange asking its worth when it was so obviously priceless, and I fell about when they told me that it was almost completely worthless. That was so like her; picking up pieces that no-one else would think to save and making them feel like more than the entire world.