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At Stranger Collective we love to Feed. We do it every ten days (or taking a Day 10 as we call it). It's about keeping our thinking fresh by continually nourishing the parts of our brains that deliver those lightbulb moments so that we stay original, vibrant and ahead of the curve.

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A night in pictures

High-rollers and art lovers gathered to admire and acquire exceptional work in aid of Save the Children’s refugee crisis appeal.

The night through Amie’s eyes: 

He just strolled up barefoot with that naive confidence some kids have. He had a Save the Children collection bucket in one hand, and a bag of crushed walnuts in the other. “Five pounds a nut”, he called like a London grocery stall seller. The suited man looked down, shrugged and dug into his pockets. “Oh, why the hell not”, he said, as the coins dropped into the bucket. “Keep the nuts”, he added. 

 

The night through Nicola’s eyes: 

The whirl of the kids making a real rumpus.  Bumping into people’s legs and smashing walnuts with a mad piece of automata. One, after, another, for, hours. Poor Juliette our auctioneer dutifully raised her voice over the din,  charging ahead with more than 100 lots. The only thing these kids were worried about was getting their turn on the medieval-looking contraption. It occurred to me then that this was the reason we were gathered there at Jubilee Warehouse. If the night helps just one child refugee to be a little more carefree, it will have been worth it.

 

The night through Alfie’s eyes:

From behind the bar I was treated to the audio version of the auction. At the start there were obviously a few people more versed in the art of bidding, and their noise broke the ice in a gallery full of auction freshers. Luckily, the more beer I poured, the more confident the voices got. At times it felt like Rebecca and I were literally fuelling the bids. Everyone went home heavier for booze and lighter for cash. Job done.

The night through Anna’s eyes: 

For me, the auction was a blur, because it had to work and I didn’t know if it was going to work, so I was rushing around trying to make sure it did. It was only at the end of the night, when every piece of work had been sold, and every glass of Prosecco had been drunk, that I got what it means to be part of a collective.

 

*Thanks to Ruth Littlejohns for the wonderful photos.

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