Dear Bob and Roberta Smith. This is a letter of ten foot high thanks for the multitude of paint stuck and shaped seen today. I write outside the Harris Gallery where a rocked pram's wheels rotate and spin regardless of the couple nearly fighting to the side of coloured slats boarding my eyes. I remem- -ber Michael Gove's cumbersome, dear Bibles. I know my family's worth - how many challenges resented, wanted; I remember London's mad hubbub, and wonder if your election bid added colour or toned it down a bit... I think both. I come round to the fact my table for now is a long wooden bench with a wheel at one end. A metre wide, unpainted and untouched. You could go to town here but you already did.
Written after visiting this great exhibition of Bob and Roberta Smith’s work
(white font on a blue background used to aid anyone with dyslexia and not to salute Tories).