No Future

Every time an email arrives my phone emits a self satisfied burp and I, eager for adulation, rush to see who it is from. All last week (and this) each time we heard this prefiguration of joy Miss Dover or I would yell out "Standpoint" and collapse into hysterics. Easily humoured we were well aware (especially as the week wore on) that Standpoint were not calling and we would not have to do a presentation on Wednesday. One of the non STANDPOINT! emails was from M's new Italian (or French?possibly Swiss) intern Miss Pietrobon who sent me a request for titles, sizes and prices for the work selected for the London Art Fair. She ended her email with:

"I hope to receive a quick response from you."

So I thought I'd better crack on. A couple of hours with a tape measure and a thesaurus and I was there. During the process I remembered my art teacher at school. Mr Hiddon was a science fiction illustrator, a fact he kept under wraps. It was only when I spotted his name next to a beautiful painting of a derelict spaceship that I realised he had another life beyond the rule of terror in his art room. The ship hung in space (as they do) but out of every window and hatch squeezed some sort of blob-like alien plant life. I titled some of my foam filled cars in his honour.

I couldn't find an image of this ship so here is something else. It isn't by Mr Hiddon, I think he would prefer it that way.