Trump acquittal is historic low for US

Sir, – The US Republican Party wants the world to believe that it was a “monstrous lie” that Donald Trump had inspired and in effect, ordered, his followers to carry out the insurrection of the Capitol building leading to deaths and serious injuries.

They want the world to

forget the rabid MAGA crowd were looking for several politicians, including Mike Pence and Nancy Palosi.

It was a foregone conclusion that the Republicans would vote to acquit Donald Trump.

I find that a terrifying prospect. Or am I overreacting? Perhaps the Republican Party is correct.

In that case perhaps we need to revisit history, starting with Adolf Hitler.

Thanks to our right-wing politicians we have Brexit, which is damaging our economy and place in the world. These same people are happy for us to hitch our wagon to the USA rather than remaining part of the EU which has helped us become richer and safer as a nation than at any time in our history. Harry Key.

Mid Street, Largoward.

Following the recent items on leather covers for the Radio Times, a Monikie reader sent in a link to the online marketplace site ebay. There, a used leather cover was being offered for sale at £49.99 and the descriptive blurb commented that these covers are very rare. So, if you have one, hold on to it!

Episode 53

She thinks about their saleroom days, the anticipation of wondering what they might find, and then the crowds on auction day with gran worming her way into a good position, pushing Daisy ahead of her. “On you go, hen. Use your elbows,” she would whisper. They always went to the same café at lunchtime. Then gran would pack her purchases into a shopping trolley and trundle them home.

“And that was where it all began for you?”

Daisy nods. “You learn a lot just by being there. Watching the real dealers. Working out why they’re bidding on something but not on something else. And because I was a chatty wee thing and they all knew my gran, they were nice to me. I enjoyed it. Started doing a bit of bidding on my own behalf when I was old enough.”

“But you went to university between times?”

“I did a history degree. Probably should have been fine art, but I didn’t fancy it. I still stayed with gran during the holidays and they gave me a temporary job in the saleroom. Then I moved on to one of the Glasgow houses. I don’t think I was ever going to make a career of it, the auction houses, I mean. But I quite liked the buying and selling.”

“This explains a lot,” he says. “I did find myself feeling a little curious about you. One watches, er, Bargain Hunt, you know – my wife is very fond of that programme – and one wonders how they get into something like that.”

She suddenly remembers the real purpose of this visit. Mr Mcdowall is an engaging man and very good at getting information out of people, but he owes her some information in return.

“The valuation,” she says suddenly. “Of the house contents. For probate.”

“Yes?” He sits up very straight. “My dear, it had to be as fair and as accurate as possible, but we didn’t want to over-value things either. You can understand that? As it is, most of your grandmother’s money has gone to the Inland Revenue.”

“No, no, I’m not complaining. And I’m not unhappy with the valuation. I’ve been there, remember? I know what a mixed hoard it is. I’m just curious. I was just wondering who…”

“Ah, who assessed it? Well, it had to be somebody with the right credentials of course. There’s a shop called Island Antiques, on Byres Road.”

She nods. “I know it.”

“It’s run by William Galbraith, the artist, and his wife Fiona. Between you and me, I think Fiona does most of the work.” “It’s a bit out of my league.”

“My wife prefers a more contemporary look. But I’ve met them socially. Well, Fiona Galbraith and my wife are on a couple of committees together. William keeps himself very much to himself these days.”

“So who…?” But she already knows. She just needs confirmation.

“Their son is in your line of business, I believe. Fine art and antiques.”

“Yeah. Well, I think he’s out of my league as well.”

“I never knew there was such a hierarchy.” He looks faintly disappointed.

“In everything, isn’t there?”

“I suppose so. Anyway, Calum Galbraith spends a lot of time on Garve. William has a cottage there that he hardly ever uses, but Calum does. I asked him if he would do a general valuation of the contents, one that would satisfy the Revenue, and he did it for a very reasonable fee.” “Reasonable?”

“A lot more reasonable than if I’d had to bring somebody over from the mainland.” “I expect it was. I met him.”

I slept on his sofa bed, she thinks. “Ah, that’s good. I’ve always found him to be a very engaging young man. I used to see him when he was just a lad. When Fiona used to take him and his sister to the island for the summer and I would pay the occasional visit to Viola.” “Engaging. Yes.”

Mr Mcdowall chuckles. “He confessed to me that he had always wanted to get a look at the contents of Auchenblae, but Viola didn’t exactly welcome visitors, especially young antique dealers. He knows his stuff. It’s just occurred to me that you could do worse than get him to take a much closer look at whatever is in your house. I’m sure he’d be able to advise you about getting the best price for the more desirable pieces.”

“I’m sure he would. I’ll think about it, Mr Mcdowall. I’ll certainly think about it.”

Later that day, she finds herself on Byres Road, on the way back to the flat, hauling two bags of shopping with her. On impulse, 29 she heads towards the corner where Island Antiques sits. It’s in a prime position with big shop windows on two sides, the door positioned diagonally on the corner with a shallow marble step.

It’s a shop that she has always found daunting, and she can remember venturing into it only once before. Softly lit, the space is arranged into three rooms, with expensive pieces of furniture and equally expensive artworks on the walls. Through the window, she notices a miniature bureau, with a detailed floral inlay, so desirable that it practically makes her salivate, an elegant chaise longue with a paisley shawl draped over the back, a proper straw Orkney chair with a drawer underneath the seat, and a very dark oak chest with naïve carving.

On her first and only previous visit, the briefest glance had told her that she wouldn’t be able to afford anything in the shop and now – even with her unexpected inheritance – another glance tells her that nothing has changed. It is all very beautiful, but it is way out of her league.

She remembers when she was working in the big auction house, watching the price of a Gillows desk climb higher and higher until it reached £50,000. She remembers that it sold to “Island”. Everyone else seemed to know who that was, but she was too shy to ask at the time.

She supposes that it finished up in this shop where presumably it was marked up even higher and sold on. Glasgow isn’t an obviously wealthy city, but there are a great many rich people here, often living cheek by jowl with the extremely deprived.

There are streets, especially here in the West End, where million-pound Georgian and Victorian houses at one end, built by those who made their money during the industrial revolution, give place to downat-heel council estates at the other. It is not as pronounced as in London, but it is there, a fact of city life.

She takes a deep breath and goes in.

I’m sure he’d be able to advise you about getting the best price for the more desirable pieces.” “I’m sure he would”