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).