A Spring Morning in Bletchingley
Last month took me to Bletchingley, a pretty Surrey village you can easily miss if you blink, and home to Lawrences Auctioneers, a family run saleroom that has been part of the British antiques world since 1964. Robin Lawrence, the chairman, took over from his father in 1998, and the business is run by Robin alongside Directors Sarah Ward and David Bradbury. It has the particular atmosphere you only find in auction houses that have been doing this for generations. A little dusty, a little exotic, entirely unpretentious. (You can check upcoming auction dates on their website here.)
I wasn’t there to bid. I had won four lots the previous week and was collecting them. What I didn’t expect was to leave with something far more valuable than anything I had actually bought.
The Democracy of the Saleroom
The room was alive. Staff moved with the easy purpose of people who have done this a thousand times, setting up for the next sale. A smartly dressed woman was collecting Hermès scarves she had won earlier in the week. Two older men, flat caps and careful hands, were loading a chest of drawers into the back of a van. And there was me, looking pretty scruffy, collecting a handful of modest lots that had caught my eye.
It reminded me why I love antique auctions so much. They are one of the last genuinely democratic spaces in the world of beautiful things. Your budget does not define your taste and your taste does not define your worth. The woman with the scarves and the men with the chest of drawers were all, that morning, in on the same small conspiracy of loving old things.
The Advice That Changed How I Source
I found myself talking with Sarah and Clementine, one of the team, and it was Sarah who said the thing I haven’t been able to shake since.
‘Buy pieces that sing to you.’
Not pieces that are a bargain, nor pieces that are reassuringly expensive. And definitely not pieces just because you think will sell. Nope — you must buy pieces that ‘sing’.
I have turned that sentence over in my head more times than I can count, and it’s now reshaped how I source vintage and antiques for The Blue Loft.
Why Chasing Margins Is the Wrong Question
Before that morning, I had fallen — without noticing — into a familiar trap. I was chasing margins. I would spot something, run the numbers in my head, decide whether it stacked up, and buy accordingly. The problem with this approach is that it puts a stranger between you and the piece. You start buying for an imagined customer rather than for yourself. You begin choosing things you would never actually live with, and hoping someone else might. That is not a strong foundation for a business built on taste.
Sarah’s advice changed the question I ask. Instead of what will sell, I now ask, does this piece grab me? And if the answer is no, I put it down. If I don’t love it enough to live with it, I can’t reasonably expect anyone else to.
Following Colour as a Compass
The clarity of that shift has surprised me. It has also made me pay closer attention to what I am genuinely drawn to, as opposed to what I have been trained to think is sensible. For me, it always comes back to colour. Bold colour, unexpected combinations, pieces that stop you in the doorway.
It is something artists understand instinctively. The ability to place colours next to each other in a way that feels alive on the wall, the shelf, the table. Once you start noticing that quality in a piece, you cannot stop noticing it. It becomes a kind of compass.
From Studio Pottery to Coloured Glass
Interestingly, following that compass has taken me into new territory. I have always gravitated towards ceramics and studio pottery. My late grandmother used to say that while ceramics feel warm to the touch, glass feels cold, and I have always agreed with her. But lately I have found myself pulled towards coloured glass in a way I never was before. Chunky Murano style pieces. Deep jewel tones that catch the afternoon light and throw a slick of colour across the wall behind them. They sing, to use Sarah’s word, and I am happy to follow that wherever it takes me.
The same is true of vintage artwork. I have always loved colour in paintings, but now I lean into it more confidently. Strong contrast, presence, a clear point of view. Mid century work often fits the brief, though not exclusively. And candlesticks, which I have always loved, have become more selective. Only the ones I would genuinely want on my own mantelpiece make it into The Blue Loft.
Permission to Trust Your Own Eye
What Sarah really gave me that morning wasn’t a sourcing tip. It was permission to trust my own eye. The pieces worth selling are the pieces worth living with first.
The Blue Loft exists because I believe vintage and antique pieces deserve to be styled and presented with the same care as anything newly made. But that care has to begin somewhere curated with honesty. It begins with choosing pieces that mean something to the person choosing them.
Finding the Piece That Sings to You
So when you are next browsing a shop — be it The Blue Loft, another online store or any shop on your high street — I would gently suggest asking yourself the same question Sarah asked me. Not what’s trending. Not what matches the sofa. But what makes you stop, come back, and look again. That is the piece worth bringing home.
Find your piece that sings and explore our latest collection here.
Anna x
The Blue Loft
