I have a secret passion: I’m addicted to antique porn. No, not the sort of blue material featuring the exposed ankles of Victorian-era scullerymaids: rather, all those shows like Antique Roadshow and Pawn Stars that feature the treasures of yesteryear.

And I blame my wife for making me pick up the habit.

It started when she dragged me away from writing semi-ironic captions for cat videos to come watch 19th century ceremonial Afghan daggers on TV. The blandishments of the pseudo upper-class “antique pimp” intrigued me. Despite my initial hesitations, I was interested. Perhaps on some level there was shame involved.

I vowed not to look again… or at least for a few weeks.

But soon enough, I was watching some old Etonian deviate spruik 18th-century Korean chests. “Phwoar, you don’t get too many of those to the pound… or Australian dollar!” I thought to myself.

Tea caddies were next. It’s amazing just how many people have these things hidden in their homes like old copies of Playboy. Tea caddies are almost like a gateway drug into the world of antiquing. You start with the caddies, and before you know it, you’re buying thousand-pound Ormolu clocks.

But even that doesn’t satisfy you. You stop playing Grand Theft Auto V to look at Louis XIV chairs. “Just look at the legs on those,” you think to yourself. “They just go on and on.”

By the time you realise you’re addicted it’s too late. The antiquing monkey is on your back. You promised yourself when you started that you’d just look at the high-end material. But now even the humblest of tat – Elvis memorabilia, Smurf figurines, Bakelite jewellery – have you running scenarios in your head. Where did these objects come from? What is their history? Are their owners “treating them right”?

You’re afraid to admit these thoughts to others. Particularly your work colleagues. They’d never understand. Maybe they’d even “judge” you.

The newsagent doesn’t say a word when you pick up your copy of Antiques Monthly. He knows your ‘thing’. He knows how antique porn has saturated our culture. It’s almost tempting to buy a copy of Huge Jugs in a brown-paper bag to throw him off the scent (which is actually full of pictures of oversized Ming vases).

Soon you become bolder. You scour the net for tickets for the Antiques Roadshow stage show. You find dates for auctions in your local area. “Maybe I’ll just pop over if I happen to be close by,” you tell yourself, already making plans to “just happen” to be in the area.

But you’re not a full-blown addict yet. Right now you’re just content to watch, not buy. It’s those other people that have the problem.

But you have to wonder if it’s only a matter of time before you have your own room entirely dedicated to Batman memorabilia, a garage full of penny-farthings and a pantry full of Victorian kitchenalia.