It’s tough time to be a politician wherever you are, what with the pandemic, increasingly polarised views and the perils of social media. Two recent and not altogether unconnected events remind me that political legacies can defy early reputations. As Churchill’s personal brandy glass and monogrammed slippers sold for a combined premium-inclusive £60,000 at auction the other day, the almost mythical status of our greatest ever wartime leader was set against the rather less generous views of Chips Channon, celebrated diarist of the 1920s and ’30s, whose journals have been republished in unredacted form for the first time.

Channon, a brilliant writer of sometimes dubious views – he thought Hitler marvellous and Churchill the most dangerous man in Europe – was an unparalleled observer of his times in terms of wit yet was almost invariably wrong about public figures, events and how everything would turn out. His career as an MP was certainly overshadowed by his writing, and a good thing too.

How different was the experience of the nation’s first prime minister, Robert Walpole, from the frenetic lives of 20^th century incumbents of that role. Walpole, who took office exactly 300 years ago on April 3, enjoyed an uninterrupted term in office of over 20 years – still the longest ministry of any PM. He is generally seen as one of the best political leaders we have ever had and navigated a careful course of moderation and tolerance to establish political and social stability. How different from the bearpit Commons that was to follow.

I never thought I’d see the day when serious money was bid for… well, nothing really! But in a way that is exactly what we have been seeing over the past few weeks with something called NFT and now with a Tweet.

Pulling value out of thin air really started when the digital space became sophisticated enough to mimic (to a degree) the real world. Most obviously, Bitcoin led the way here, and we now see single units changing hands for astronomical sums. But Bitcoin isn’t linked to any tangible asset, it’s really just an idea, or rather a common agreement that the idea has real value and creates a means of trading value. What happens when confidence wains? Does the house of cards come tumbling down?

NFT (Non Fungible Tokens) allow artists to sell a work of art in the digital space by issuing single units of digital code from hundreds of thousands that, placed together, make up the digital artwork. Controlled through blockchain – and so supposedly protected from fraud – it allows ordinary members of the public to invest modestly in extraordinary artworks at the highest level, while bringing the artist a large amount of money and a small commission on the resale of each NFT.

Again, though, to me what the buyer owns is little more than an idea.

Now we have news of the sale of the first Tweet ever posted by Jack Dorsey, founder of Twitter. It’s 15 years old and reads: “just setting up my twttr.” No doubt it’s an historic post, and bidding has reached $600,000 for the NFT of its unique digital signature.

I’m sure it’s all very exciting but I can’t help feeling more comfortable with bids for a solid bit of oak or maybe a decent daub in a nice frame.

One of the auction phenomena of recent years has been the market for whisky. Really, there are two markets: one focuses on rare survivors of long dried up distilleries and bottled single malts that have so far escaped the corkscrew; the other is the rather more manufactured line in limited edition releases created specifically to entice collectors.

So popular has whisky become as a collectable that it even has its own stock exchange. Understandably, what started in Scotland circa 1495 (with a bit of push from an earlier Irish concoction) later gave the island of Islay the enviable status of the highest value of exports per head of population of anywhere in the world. In recent years the worshipful dram has attracted the attention of other nations. You can now buy whisky made in England, Wales, Australia and even Japan – arguably the most esteemed producer east of Speyside.

Just like the sale of diamonds, whisky auctions are ‘occasions’. One of the more memorable has just taken place, attracting more than 1500 bidders and amassing a hammer total of £6.7 million for a single collection of 3,900 bottles.

Dallas Dhu 1921 Private Cask 64-year-old, an historic malt from one of the ‘lost distilleries’, was a much sought after highlight, but stealing the limelight was a single bottle of the Macallan 1926 Fine and Rare, bottled 60 years ago and one of only 14 such bottles surviving from the 40 ever produced. The price? A cool £1 million.

The announcement of an interesting auction linked to the band Radiohead reminds me that what is known as provenance is a vital part of the world in which we live and work. Essentially, it is the recorded history of an artwork or object.

Why is it important? Because it is vital that anyone consigning something to auction has the right to do so. In other words, they must either be the owner or ‘title-holder’ themselves, or have authority from the person or body that is to put it up for sale.

Often this can be very hard to prove; how many of us have purchase receipts for family heirlooms that great aunt Violet passed on when she died twenty years ago? Perhaps you have a photo from years gone by that includes the object in question, showing it to have been in her possession.

In the case of Radiohead, up for auction is an A2 sketchpad left behind in a barn at a fruit farm in Oxfordshire in 1993, when the band was working on their seminal album The Bends, which was released two years later.

The consignor turns out to be the man who had been sent in to clear out the barn after they left, having lent them instruments and a PA sound system earlier.

Vitally, as he told Sky News: “I was informed that anything remaining in the room was not required by the band and should be thrown away or kept by me if I so wished. I kept the sketchpad and discarded the carpeting.”