Right, so you're thinking of grabbing a dining table set that's up for sale, maybe from one of those lovely antique fairs in Spitalfields or a proper house clearance in Kensington. Blimey, I’ve been there, let me tell you. The thrill of the hunt! But also, the absolute nightmares I’ve brought home… like that time in Peckham, summer of '19, I fell head over heels for this gorgeous, rustic-looking oak set. Looked perfect in the dim light of the barn. Got it home, and one of the chairs wobbled like a jelly on a plate! Turned out the leg was spliced and glued poorly, a right botch job hidden under some clever staining.
So, what do you do? First off, don't just stand there admiring it from afar like it's a painting in the National Gallery. Get your hands on it. Give the table a proper, firm wiggle. Not a dainty little nudge, I mean put some weight into it. If it groans or feels like it might do the splits, walk away, love. That’s your foundation gone. Run your palms over the surface—close your eyes, even. You’re feeling for bumps, dips, or a finish that’s too perfect and plasticky. Real wood has a soul, a tiny bit of texture. Laminate? It feels like… well, a laminated sheet. Cold and dead.
Now, the chairs! This is where they get you. Pull each one out. Sit on it. Lean back (gently, mind you!). Listen for creaks. A little sigh from old wood is charming, a story. A sharp *crack* is a cry for help. Flip it over, for heaven's sake! Look at the underside. Are the joints—where the legs meet the seat—solid? Are they held together with proper mortise and tenon, or just a bunch of screws and hope? I saw a set in Brighton last autumn, all French Provincial style, but the undersides were a spiderweb of cheap staples and filler. A proper disgrace.
Check every single drawer, if there are any. Slide them in and out. They should glide, not fight you. And open all the leaves if it’s an extending table. Make sure the mechanism works smoothly. I remember a gorgeous mid-century set in Camden Market—the seller was all charm, demonstrating the slide with a flourish. What he didn’t show was the hidden crack in the runner that snagged every time. Found that out at my first dinner party. Mortifying.
And the finish! Look at it in daylight if you can. Artificial light hides a multitude of sins—water rings, scorch marks, colour mismatches from dodgy repairs. Bring a small torch, be that person. Check the corners of the tabletop and the chair backs for wear. Honest wear is beautiful—a slight patina where generations rested their hands. But big, deep scratches or stains that smell faintly of vinegar? That’s not character, that’s damage.
Oh, and completeness. Count the chairs. Sounds obvious, but in the excitement, you might miss that one is subtly different. Are all the castor cups or glides present on the chair feet? Is the centrepiece of the table, if it had one, included? I nearly bought a stunning Victorian set once, only to realise back home that two of the chair seats had been reupholstered in a *slightly* different burgundy velvet. Drove me barmy every time I looked at it.
In the end, it’s about a feeling, too. Does it feel sturdy, loved, well-made? Or does it feel like a dressed-up impostor, just waiting to fall apart under the weight of a Sunday roast? Trust that gut feeling. If something feels off, it usually is. There are plenty of fish in the sea, or rather, tables in the auction house. Don’t let the rush of a "good deal" cloud your judgement. Take your time, be thorough, and imagine it in your home, not just as a photo for your feed, but holding up for years of messy, wonderful life. That’s the real test, isn’t it?
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