Toby Walne's book is a conundrum, a book which might be serious, and might not, and may be both. There are signals, like the nostalgic illustrations, and the choice of proposed investment items (old toilets?), that suggest that the writer's tongue is firmly in his cheek. And yet the research and the figures propose that his feet are firmly on the ground. As an instruction book for financial investment the book might be a red-hot poker; but then perhaps no more than any other investment advice. Red-hot pokers, by the way, unlike feudal titles, koi carp and celebrity hair, are not suggested as an investment opportunity.
Starting from the proposal that nineteenth-century explorations were in part financed by the sale of collected curiosities, the book suggests ways that the sideways-thinking investor might adopt the mentality of the Victorian explorer in looking for investments to be found along the path less travelled. It outlines a number of items which may, just, still be obtainable through tortuous routes, and some which are probably to be found in most people's homes, if only we take the trouble to notice them. A dip into the darker waters of various online auction sites reveals that some of the less-likely objects of desire are still there to be snapped up, though I have yet to be offered a shrunken head, at least not from a reputable dealer, `prodigiously moustachioed' or otherwise.
My hunch is that we buy or keep stuff to create and refashion our own pasts, to tell us what we want to be, and where, in an ideal world, we would like to have come from. A handbook for building a collection, even virtual (or maybe especially virtual), may function as a skeleton museum in itself, and like the best museums, can turn us back to ourselves, as the question `What do I know?' becomes `How and why do I know that?' And anything that makes us look at how we know the world ultimately becomes an incentive to invest in ourselves.