It was the longest, cruelest winter on record.

Gabriella Hautington had been dispatched from The Tate Modern to ensure the smooth running of this month’s media event. The local staff had been far too lax. They’d allowed this northern outpost of high culture to become infested.

“If they not buying coffee or spending in the gift shop , they’re out.” Gabriella ordered.

She and Security drove every skiving construction worker and malingering unemployed person from Scourfield’s shiny new municipal temple to contemporary art. They were “out” in the January snow.

“Oh no, here we go again ”, she thought . “Lunch-time at the site next door, and here’s another one. Filthy overalls. Shaven head. Youthful neck already blooming with tattoos.Curled up and stinking like some disgusting stray cat next to our radiators, with his little plastic box of sandwiches. How sweet. “

“You out!” She snapped.

“Why?” he asked.

“Because you’re not supposed to be in here.”

“I were thinking, are these pictures like dead-valuable then like ?” He asked , sitting up and pointing to the long wall of paintings in front of him.

“They’re Jack Almond oil, acrylic and water colour. So yes, they are very valuable,.”

“Why is his work valuable?”

“ Look, I haven’t got time for a silly game, but for your information he’s agreed to his first ever public appearance, and that’s with me. The opening starts in forty five minutes . Mr. Almond is a young, reculsive autistic prodigy . He’s donated this series to us, and ,” she swelled with pride, “I’ve got Adrian Searle to cover, not that you’d know, but Adrian’s The Guardian. In fact there’s going to be all kinds of media and European arts specialists turning up .”

The uber-curator narrowed her eyes , “Look, what’s the point in us talking? I don’t speak plebian and you didn’t understand a word of that did you?”

“So me and my mates can’t come in here again , not even for few minutes, not never?”

“Correct, and absolutely not. New gallery rule . Now please, go out through the main exit and don’t come back in, ever. It’s really very simple.”

“Alrait, the truth love: we’ve got no heaters in our cabins . If our site manager sees us going off- site for too long he’ll dock our wages. So, if we can’t come in here, can we stand by the extractor fan down side of your gallery , please ?”

“No. Get . Out !”


It was minus three and snowing goose feathers against the cabin windows. Too cold for laying bricks . It was bearable for the younger ones like himself, but the old-timers teeth had started chattering and they’d begun hugging themselves to keep from turning blue. A cabin-full of bricklayers and hod carriers were staring at him.

“ She’s a right evil witch. I’m sorry they kicked you out , but I aint never even talked to any of the gallery staff before. Uncle Phil brought my pictures down for them in his trailer last week and they told him , me and any of my mates could definitely go in there, whenever we wanted to, an’ look at ‘em . I didn’t lie to you” Jack glanced nervously at his mates.

There was a chorus of grumbling voices.

“So what you going do lad?”

“Go back in , like it says I’m to, in the gallery letter , at one o clock . I'll try get an' me pictures down off the walls . I just didn’t think they’d nick ‘em off me like that .”

“They’re worse than thieves lad. It’s lying and thievin’. What we taught you eh? You should never trust no one in a suit. ”

“What did you say earlier Jack, summat about a guardian ?”

“Dunno, think they’ve hired this, like , big bouncer to keep us out . Called Hadrian, he is” Replied Jack.

“Don’t worry kid , if he says one word, just one word to you’s , I’ll spark that fecking guardian clown right out , and you can be sure of that . No let’s go and get your pictures back my son . Are you with me lads !” Roared Mad Mickey O’ Collins from the door of the cabin.