"It surprising how much rubbish accumulates in an art gallery," said Harold on his annual inspection of the property. "You'd expect an art gallery to be a clean white space but there's grunge everywhere."
"This is an exhibition, Harold." Felicia took hold of his arm and guided him past the mannequins and digitally enhanced images of coffee stains blown up to three feet by four and framed. She manoeuvred him in front of a series of Warhol-esque screenprints of Kurt Cobain. "I was lucky to get these," she said. "The artist just happened to have them in the back of his studio."
"At the back of his studio, in the skip I would imagine," said Harold. "Where's the art? Where's the beauty." He paused. "Where's the price tag?"