Felicia slumped in a vacant chair and let out a long sigh. When no-one asked what the matter was, she took a deep breath and sighed again.
Jasfoup looked up. "Okay," he said. "I'll bite. What's up?"
Felicia glanced at the ceiling. "The second floor," she said. "The sky. Heaven. God and above all that, the Council for the Reunification of Artistic Practice."
"Crap," said the demon. "What's up with them?"
"They've banned the show I was going to put on next week. Now I have an empty gallery and may as well close until the new year."
"You should," said Harold. "This is Laverstone. The only art people buy at this time of year are prints. Unless you stock your gallery with mass-market Twilight rubbish you're not going to make a penny until after the sales anyway."
"The monkey has a point," said Jasfoup. "What was the show? Before it was vetoed by the Cultural Quango, I mean."
"It was going to be 'Sacred: Images of the Yoni in popular culture."
Harold sniffed. "If John Lennon loved her, she must have had something about her besides a complete lack of talent."
Jasfoup laughed aloud. "You were going to have a week long show about vaginas?"
"Not just in art," said Felicia. "Popular culture. Graphics, craft, garden landscaping. Even crochet."
"How did they even hear about it?
"I made the flyers out of Penthouse magazines."
"I know." Jasfoup grinned. "Harold's only three pages short of a complete issue."