They all look grim under the orange sodium lights. None of the jolly, TV antique people here. This lot are out for a bargain, jaws set hard against the opposition – this is a battle of wits and determination. Anyone of those faces could be bidding against you, so don’t show any emotion.

You can spot the newbies, getting all excited and fidgeting as their lot number comes ever closer. They leap in with a bid too high and allow themselves to be pushed beyond the limit they’ve set themselves. Often, as I saw this morning, they are amazed to have won their item. The auctioneer commented, “Yes! You won!” Their round, shiny, country faces beamed.

It’s a bull ring – most of the time it is livestock that is bought and sold here. All sorts crowd in – the country squire type, the mousey ladies, the neck-tattooed ex-cons, the wheelers and the dealers, the collectors, the car boot sellers, some. I think, come for company and the occasion.

The stuff in the bullring looks a lot like tat, mostly because of the setting, but get it back home, polish it up a bit and there are interesting things to be had. I nearly got sidetracked into bidding for a folding case of butterflies – or lepidoptera, as the auctioneer informed his amused audience.

At ten o’clock the auctioneer makes a solemn progress towards his podium, ringing an old school handbell drawing all the stragglers to start of the sale. It’s an almost religious procession. He belts through the lots. Some of it must be fairly good. He goes over £100 a few times and gets over £200 for a cast iron garden table.

Then my number’s comes round. No bids. “Someone give me five.” I flash my card – he sees another movement first. I get in at eight. It goes to ten… twelve… I come in again at fifteen. I’m considering wether to go any higher when the gavel comes down and I’m the winner.

A pair of tatty, japonaise style cane tables. One will fit perfectly in the space my daughter has reserved for a bedside table. We’ve been looking for something that size for a while.

I get it home, clean it up with vinegar and water. It’s not quite as bad as thought. With a little polish, it looks okay next to her bed, be-lamped and covered with bedside table bit and pieces. I take a photo and send it to my daughter who is away for a couple of days.

The phone rings – a happy girl on the line. “You got it!” she squeals.

It was worth the effort.