My Dad is one of the world’s greatest hagglers. He will haggle himself a deal no matter what the occasion. So, when he and Mum came to visit us in London, back in the mid-nineties, I reckoned I knew something he would like.
We did the usual stuff, we bought them some dinners and they saw a show but, when Dad got out of the car on the outskirts of Hounslow early on Sunday morning, he knew his real treat-time had arrived.
Is it still there, I wonder? That big big field – with a gate and everything – and miles and miles of cars, boots open, folding tables laid out, with their owners nonchalantly displaying their wares. The Mother of all Car Boot Sales.
I had added one finesse to our visit to the Car Boot. Something specifically designed to heighten Dad’s fun. It was… a ‘Mission’. I had thought hard about something I needed, something odd, something to hunt for. What I came up with – and I hope I’m giving some of you a new word here (although you are very smart, so probably not) – was a little thing called an 'Escutcheon Cover'.
The front door of our little house in Twickenham led straight into the living room and the front door had a large keyhole through which the West London winds would come a-blowing. An escutcheon is the metal plate that goes over a keyhole to protect the door from the knocks of misguided drunken key-entries. Sometimes they come with a circular cover piece which can be swivelled around to let the key in but normally they just sit over the hole and keep the draughts out.
So there we were, on a mission to find an Escutcheon Cover on a bright warm summer’s morning. It really was a very nice excursion.
One of Dad’s foibles is that he absolutely has to talk to everyone he meets. What’s more, he addresses everyone with the same cheerful familiarity that would lead you to believe that he has known them all his life. This made for slow progress through the lines of marketeers.
At one point I had to ease him away from a gang of heavily-tattooed motorcycle guys who were eyeing him suspiciously as he prodded them on the forearms and cheerfully asked whether ‘those things hurt?’
Of course we were never going to find an Escutcheon Cover, much less a suitable one. It was just something to keep an eye out for as we strolled around.
Except he did. Hawk Eye Dad pounced on a plastic box full of assorted things and emerged with the exact item pinched in his fingers. A solid brass Escutcheon, complete with cover.
It was here that I learned a valuable lesson in haggling – one that I often use (or at least quote) in my dealings with people. That lesson is, When Haggling, Start Low.
The man in charge of this particular car boot was reclined in a deck chair reading a battered copy of 'Jaws ' and he seemed hugely disinterested in how his trade was progressing. Dad leaned over to him with the prized item pinched between thumb and forefinger and he started the bidding in a way I would never have guessed.
“A little thing like this,” my Dad said chattily, “Sure you couldn’t want any money for that at all.”
The man looked uncertain. He looked at Dad and he looked at the little Escutcheon (and cover). He hesitated.
“You’re right,” he said, sounding as if he was surprising himself, “I couldn’t ask for money for a little thing like that.”
It was like the Jedi Mind Trick in real life.
Dad said, “That’s great, thanks,” and prepared to withdraw before anyone changed their mind – which is another good haggling-hint.
But suddenly a shadow fell on proceedings. A huge, bejewelled, floral-patterned woman emerged from somewhere to the side of the car.
“Well that’s just bloody great!” she bellowed, “I sit out here all morning and you give the bloody merchandise away.”
She wasn’t kidding either. But we smiled and nodded and got swiftly away with our totally-free brass escutcheon. Even at some distance, we could still hear the poor man getting ‘what for’ from his beloved.
“This is a grand place,” said Dad, looking all around. “We’ll have to come back.”
I had added one finesse to our visit to the Car Boot. Something specifically designed to heighten Dad’s fun. It was… a ‘Mission’. I had thought hard about something I needed, something odd, something to hunt for. What I came up with – and I hope I’m giving some of you a new word here (although you are very smart, so probably not) – was a little thing called an 'Escutcheon Cover'.
The front door of our little house in Twickenham led straight into the living room and the front door had a large keyhole through which the West London winds would come a-blowing. An escutcheon is the metal plate that goes over a keyhole to protect the door from the knocks of misguided drunken key-entries. Sometimes they come with a circular cover piece which can be swivelled around to let the key in but normally they just sit over the hole and keep the draughts out.
So there we were, on a mission to find an Escutcheon Cover on a bright warm summer’s morning. It really was a very nice excursion.
One of Dad’s foibles is that he absolutely has to talk to everyone he meets. What’s more, he addresses everyone with the same cheerful familiarity that would lead you to believe that he has known them all his life. This made for slow progress through the lines of marketeers.
At one point I had to ease him away from a gang of heavily-tattooed motorcycle guys who were eyeing him suspiciously as he prodded them on the forearms and cheerfully asked whether ‘those things hurt?’
Of course we were never going to find an Escutcheon Cover, much less a suitable one. It was just something to keep an eye out for as we strolled around.
Except he did. Hawk Eye Dad pounced on a plastic box full of assorted things and emerged with the exact item pinched in his fingers. A solid brass Escutcheon, complete with cover.
It was here that I learned a valuable lesson in haggling – one that I often use (or at least quote) in my dealings with people. That lesson is, When Haggling, Start Low.
The man in charge of this particular car boot was reclined in a deck chair reading a battered copy of 'Jaws ' and he seemed hugely disinterested in how his trade was progressing. Dad leaned over to him with the prized item pinched between thumb and forefinger and he started the bidding in a way I would never have guessed.
“A little thing like this,” my Dad said chattily, “Sure you couldn’t want any money for that at all.”
The man looked uncertain. He looked at Dad and he looked at the little Escutcheon (and cover). He hesitated.
“You’re right,” he said, sounding as if he was surprising himself, “I couldn’t ask for money for a little thing like that.”
It was like the Jedi Mind Trick in real life.
Dad said, “That’s great, thanks,” and prepared to withdraw before anyone changed their mind – which is another good haggling-hint.
But suddenly a shadow fell on proceedings. A huge, bejewelled, floral-patterned woman emerged from somewhere to the side of the car.
“Well that’s just bloody great!” she bellowed, “I sit out here all morning and you give the bloody merchandise away.”
She wasn’t kidding either. But we smiled and nodded and got swiftly away with our totally-free brass escutcheon. Even at some distance, we could still hear the poor man getting ‘what for’ from his beloved.
“This is a grand place,” said Dad, looking all around. “We’ll have to come back.”
