The one on the left is the star of the show - a baluster wine glass in perfect condition, with a bubble running right through the stem, dating from around 1720-1730 (first quarter of the 18th century to you). This is the one I had my black heart set on. The one on the right is a nice, folded-foot wine glass, which I can confidently call 'baustroid', because of the little blob of glass on the bottom of the stem - this puts another £50 onto it's final sales price. It is mid-eighteenth century (1740 to you). I would have come back with a lot more glass than this, had I not met a well-known dealer in the car park, as previously warned.
I am really pleased to have met him, despite my somewhat limited purchases, as he has turned out to be a good, friendly bloke. But - as of course we had to - we agreed not to bid on each other's favoured glasses, and hoped that some of the local dealers were sunning themselves in Glastonbury, this hot day of the sale. I am very happy to get the baluster, and it is a toss-up as to who makes the biggest margin on the sale, but I have to remember that he makes his living from this caper, whereas I do not. As it turned out, hardly anyone bid on anything, and the bids left were cheeky, so we both came away with a lot more value than we paid for. But all this talk of monetary value is vulgar (though I expect to make about a grand on my two...). Suffice it to say that if you want a fun day out for all the family, do not go to an auction.
I reminded myself of a comment he made to a mutual friend, shortly after he knew of my existence as a non-dealer/non-collector: "Life was so much simpler when people like him were not around - we just turned up at the sales and bought the glass".
I know what he means, but it still pains me to watch him walk away with my glass, as it must pain him to watch me walk away with his.