My palms are sweating. I've thrust my hands deep into the pockets of my suit jacket (Moss Bros, £65) to ensure I don't make any sudden movements. Occasionally I risk pulling out my pen (Bic, 59p) and scribbling down some notes in my pad (a car launch freebie).
What I'm trying to avoid is any arm or head movement lest it get mistaken by the eagle-eyed auctioneer as a bid for one of the lots, most of which are selling for more than the deposit I laid down on my modest Basingstoke abode (2 bed, terraced).
I’m at Christie’s, the London auction house, to watch more money than I (and possibly many of you) will ever see get laid down on ten items of memorabilia related to the James Bond movie Spectre. The star is an Aston Martin DB10, one of two unmodified cars out of the ten made. The rest were ‘modified’ during the filming. I shudder to think what manner of crimes were exacted upon them.
In the auction room in King Street, SW1, members of the press have to stand in a special area cordoned off from the glitterati. I’m pretty sure that even if I did inadvertently scratch my temple or twitch my nose it wouldn’t be taken as a bid, but I can’t be too careful.
Press aside, everyone here is impossibly glamorous. It could actually be a scene from one of Daniel Craig’s Bond movies: I hear many different languages, catch a whiff of strong Martinis as a tray-toting waiter floats past and see heavily insured jewellery sparkle in the auction room’s spotlights.