Last night another encounter with the art market. This time the broker, like a real estate broker, not a dealer (which is more effete). If I can remember just some of the stories she was telling I'd be doing pretty well, for many lemon drop martinis were consumed. There was the one about her dating first Batman and one the USA's more renown twentieth century artists at the same time, and hanging out in the Playboy Mansion, and something about Howard Hughes. One thing is for certain, her world, and our world, were a thoroughly entertainingly zillion miles apart, and I wonder whether meaningful contact between these aliens and ourselves is possible. Of course, this is probably our fault, because we have not had enough fun. Fun is good currency with the Americans and lousy currency with the English, at least when we are incarcerated in England.

And another thing, I now appear to 'appeal' to older women, like the over fifties. When and how did this happen?!