A small group of people, curatorial staff I guess, hovers nearby. I move closer to stand behind them, wanting to know what’s in the box. It could be something from the Royal Collection, and on the off chance it is something from Her Majesty’s private stash, I definitely want to be the first commoner to clap eyes on it. Of course, it’s just as likely to be the star piece from some small, regional gallery, which is even more thrilling. Everyone knows what HRH has – there are multiple volumes on the subject. But obscure collections founded on the largesse of wealthy graziers are frequently dusty repositories for long-forgotten masterpieces.

I look at the packers again. I’m jealous. Jealous of their uncomplicated working lives, but especially envious of their privilege: to be the first to behold what treasures lie within these crates, even before the curators or the most officious and overbearing director. To slide back the lid to reveal … What? Magic.

I’ve felt this way about art since I was four years old and ran away from Mum in the Fitzroy Gardens. She says she was frantic, looking everywhere and imagining me squashed on Wellington Parade, but all I remember is where she found me: in front of Fairies Tree. Ola Cohn’s beautiful carving was my first experience of art. Of course, it took me a couple of years to realise it was art, but that feeling of wonder, of being swept away by colour and beauty and imagination, has stayed with me ever since.

Their drills start with a whir and they work their way carefully around the edge of the crate, extracting screws and dropping each one into a small container. When the last screw is out, the drills are set aside. One of the men, the younger looking of the two, pauses and pats his chest, taking a few deep breaths. He has a black stubble beard and scalp to match, both contrasting sharply with his pale skin. Even from here I can see beads of sweat shining on his forehead.

‘Alright Tommo?’ asks the other guy. He’s all grizzled chops, swept-back leonine mane, and the sort of half-moon glasses favoured by jewellers and watchmakers. An artisan in his own right. He has one hand on the lid of the crate, his attention on his partner.