The block of flats in which we lived at Tunbridge Wells was built on a sloping site, with the front facing up the slope. The front of the block being at ground-level meant that the rear was supported on six-foot high brick pillars, which afforded parking space for cars under the rear of the building. One morning I was in this area with my car and I was aware that new people were moving in to one of the flats. A car had made several sorties with small items inside, backing in to a parking space two distant from where I was working. On the last of these forays, which I observed, he pulled up in front of my car and I noticed an apparently antique, gate-leg table, probably cherry-wood, lashed upright on a roof-rack. I barely had time to register what a nice piece of furniture this was, before the driver engaged reverse and backed under the building. In seconds this beautiful collectors-piece was reduced to very expensive matchwood as it came into violent contact with the enormous concrete beam, which supported the building. Poor man! I hurriedly locked my car and left the scene, not wishing to add to his chagrin.