Deconstruction (with apologies to the artist)

And so they come...the great and the good, gleaming as they arrive: the art collectors; the paparazzi (“Isn’t that Lady Gaga?”); the experts who’ve abandoned their fields for the evening; the wine and cheese (but definitely not Wotsit) lovers.

Yes, they are all here, oohing and aahing as they tread the obligatory path, admiring every installation, making sure to dedicate the same time to each piece.

However, one exhibit in particular is capturing everyone’s attention; its bestockinged leg beckons, and the gaze duly follows. This artwork is so hot, the man with the fan in his hand feels obliged to waft air towards the crotch of its tattooed thigh. A Dali-lookalike strokes his curly moustache, the art critic declares it genius, the millionaire demands to buy it and I...

...I pull my cap down further to hide the amusement in my eyes and wink at the child who quickly rebuilt the exhibit.