I had a bit of spare time this lunch break, and it was way too cold to go window shopping, so I climbed the marble stairs, in our central library, to the art gallery on the very top floor. Two things immediately struck me; the first being the fantastic architecture of the library building, and the second that worn shiny steps are hard to negotiate, which explained why, when I got to the top, I found the gallery almost completely empty. My powers of observation were obviously very keen today. Anyway, I expect that you now think I am going to attempt to describe the portraits which I found before me? Well, I'm no expert, but they looked pretty ropey to me, but no, I'm not going there. What I am about to reveal, was to put it mildly, very revealing....

There he was, in room three, (the exhibition rooms flowing into each other through massive double doors which are permanently wedged open), not an exhibit I was expecting. He was sitting on one of the observation benches. He wore a scruffy suit jacket, a wool hat, and that, my friends was all! His trousers and other garments were on the floor beside him. He smiled at me. Needless to say, I quickly back-tracked my way out of the gallery, and down the stairs - even more treacherous when hit at speed.

I then went to the nearest library desk and reported my experience.

"Oh, that will have been Jack," the desk clerk replied,” he's harmless. He thinks he's a work of art!"

One of things that had impressed me, about the paintings, were their flamboyant titles. A splatter of blue Dulux, for example, was entitled ‘Dewdrops in the Dwindling Desert”. How, I wondered, might Jack be labeled?