Vintage View: Restoring antique furniture

MY grandmother was a wonderful woman for all but one thing — her menace with a rag and a bottle of French polish.

Every shivering old timber object she laid hands on was entombed in a diamond-hard, bright-orange, Gallic glare.

Worryingly, she had a good eye for a good thing. Flame mahogany having survived proudly from the time of William IV, ignited into terrifying new life. Eighteenth century rustic oak flashed into mirror sharp sterility, robbed of its shy country charm. Nana just wouldn’t be told, that swooping away with a rag and the blasted russet bottle of goop was not a higher calling.