My significant other is in the rare position of having everything that he wants and is happy with everything that he has.
He’s not mopping his brow with £50s, let me be clear. He just doesn't like clutter. Buying gifts for someone like him is difficult, but like a sum done well, you can experience the satisfaction of getting to the right answer, or close to it.
He'd been researching his family tree. One afternoon, he talked me through what he’d found out. His family lived in a lovely house in the middle of Ireland, which was sold in the 1960s and its contents were auctioned off. It later became a hotel, which it remains to this day.
At first I thought I would book a trip to the house. It turned out that booking a room at the hotel was almost impossible plus the flights, hotel and taking time off work would probably be more of a stress than a pleasure. So I began to Google. I Googled the names of his ancestors. I wasn’t sure what I’d find, if anything at all.
I found two purchasable things: two mustard spoons which once belonged to his great, great, great grandfather a painting of a pony that once hung in the hall of the house in an auction for £300,000.
The pony picture was never going to be a goer, let's be honest.
I had a near-religious experience when I found out about the spoons. They were listed on an antiques website for an affordable-but-not-insubstantial amount.
It was fate.
My husband adds mustard to everything. It seemed evidence enough that a passion for mustard was a genetic trait. Maybe I read a bit too much into that.
I contacted the antiques house by email and asked to view the spoons.
Here’s a tip – if you’re buying an antique, don’t say how much it means to you to have it and definitely don’t say it used to belong to a family member. The dealer will be more likely to knock off a few pounds if you adopt an astute but relaxed attitude. If you show that you really, really want it it's unlikely they'll give you a discount.
I just said I was interested in spoons generally (I panicked), and the dealer wrote up a history of the spoons, where they were made, who made them and the design.
I found myself riveted by spoons.
When I asked to view the spoons, it turned out that they lived one street away from the flat.
It blows my mind to think that 300 years after his great, great, great grandfather commissioned these spoons, they would live one road away from his great, great, great, grandson.
I had to engineer a respoonion.
While I was chatting with the dealer and inspecting the tiny spoons wrapped in Kleenex tissue (which looked like it had served a former purpose) I asked him if he’d studied history at university. Of course he had. At the same university that I went to! It seemed like the gods were smiling on me and he knocked off £10 as an ‘alumni discount’.
To accompany the spoons, I wrote up their history: where they had been made, the fiddle-shape design, what happened to them after the estate was sold and how they ended up just one street away. I found a picture of his great, great, great grandfather too (Google) and enclosed a copy of it to bring the spoons to life. Is that a glove in hand or is it one of his mustard spoons? We will never know. Unless we look really closely.