Is it Art

 

source: Lynn News

 

A poignant drama played itself out this week in the Fens. Not the story about the idiot at Sainsbury's, the other one. The Banksy that wasn't. I imagine that all of Kings Lynn has been talking about nothing else.

If you are familiar with my philosophy of good art - Art - first expounded in this very column just 22 short years ago - then you will understand that I do not class Banksy or his imitators as producers of Art. Some of it raises a brief, wry smile which quickly fades. But others believe that, if a bit of graffiti is by Banksy, then it is valuable but if not, then it is just a nuisance to be obliterated as soon as convenient. That alone tells you his stuff is not Art, for surely if something is genuinely good art then it does not matter who created it.

Amongst the believers must be counted the authorities in Kings Lynn who, notified of the mysterious appearance of the defacement of a car park wall, rushed to protect it. I am amazed at their moderation. Surely the wall should have been instantly dismantled, brick by brick, and rebuilt in a newly created Banksy in Fenland exhibition in the Town Hall. The gift shop sales would have gone through the roof. 

Alas, protective screen or not, it appears that the hand of the master was lacking and the graffiti has been demoted. I have no idea how they can tell. I mean, they could have put up a discreet sign saying "Attributed to Banksy" or perhaps "School of Banksy" or "From the studio of Banksy" and no doubt the populace would still flock in. As it is, that screen must be taken down and put back in the cupboard labelled "Reserved for real Banksy's".

I don't how the whole process works. Are there inspectors snooping around town centres looking for works by the Master?  Do they have peaked caps marked "Art Warden" and the power to tell people to move along and not to obstruct the work of the screen builders? Indeed, once they find something that might be a Banksy, do they take up position, arms crossed and stern looks to the front, and wait for reinforcements?

How are the good folk of Kings Lynn coping with their bitter disappointment? Were the council in full session, back-slapping and broad smiles as they contemplated the massive corporate jolly that selling the windfall would produce? And then the grim faced town clerk sidles up to the Mayor.

"Not now, Albert, they're opening the next bottle"
"This can't wait, your worship. I'm afraid it's bad news. We've heard from the experts ..."
"Nay, lad, spit it out then. What has thou to say?"
"The Banksy - I - I can't say it..."

and a worried silence emanates from the two worthies that gradually chills the celebrants and the chance of a month visiting the twin town of Honolulu begins to fade. As they slip out into the night, in ones and twos, they can hear the clerk on his phone to the works department telling them to stand down.

It's a tough business, the art game, I'm telling you.

Sen. Cassius Unveils NewTriumphal Arch

 

 Cassius: "Hey, it's not quite as big as I thought"

 

Senator Cassius, Imperator and Pontifex Maximus of Rome, stunned onlookers at a gathering in the Temple of Jupiter yesterday by proclaiming his intention to knock it down and to replace it with a grand triumphal arch, writes our correspondent who is wondering if a life of servitude in the galleys would be a sensible career move.

Speaking to members of his Sycophant party, Sen. Cassius said "This is going to be the best arch in the world. It is entirely original and my own idea. Constantine, Trajan, Marble, that Gallic guy de Triomphe, they're all losers. All those other arches, whereever in the world they are, are just copies and I'm going to sue them all for stealing my design, which I own and what's more, it's mine"

Asked about the likely consequences of destroying the great and sacred temple of the ruler of the gods, Sen. Cassius said "I'm the most devout and religious man in the world, right, but that temple is occupying a prime piece of real estate, there's a deal to be done here with the priests of Jupiter and I'm the man to do it. They get five days to leave, and I, in the name of the people, take over the temple. There, everyone wins. Did I tell you that I invented this arch? Because I did and anyone who says otherwise is a traitor to Rome".

Senator Casca, in charge of the building of the arch, made a brief presentation. He said it would be named the Arch of Cassius, Saviour of Rome, in honour of the Senator's role in assisting J. Caesar to retire. He thought that others who aided in the transfer of power, such as himself, might also be named on the arch, perhaps somewhere round the back in very small letters. "I am not in any way envious" he said "I greatly admire my glorious leader. But, you know, it was my knife that he used on that fateful day and he still hasn't given it back, of course it is a great honour for me that he has kept it but actually it was a part of  a set and it would be nice if I could put it back in the box with the others, makes it complete, you know what I'm saying".

A special poem is to be written for the unveiling of the arch by Cinna the Poet. "He's not the best poet" admitted Casca "In fact he usually gets a lot of shtick for his bad verses but it seems all the real poets have fled to Parthia or Gaul so we'll have to make do. And he's cheap."
 

 

Sen. Cassius awarded Olympics Victor Ludorum Prize

In a suprising break with tradition, the organisers of the 2026 Olympic Games have awarded the coveted Victor Ludorum ("Winner of the Entire Games") award to Senator Cassius, Imperator of Rome, writes our correspondent hiding behind a pillar. The award was presented in a glittering ceremony yesterday in the Forum, even though the games are not due to be held until next summer.

Speaking to a specially selected audience of Praetorian Guards, the Chairman of the Olympic Committee said "There can be no doubt that Senator Cassius will win any event he chooses to enter. In fact, he will not be actually taking part but he has left me in no doubt that, if he wanted to, he could easily defeat any other competitor. Furthermore, we have been asked to consider moving the games to Italy, rather than taking place at Olympus in Greece as they have for the past three thousand years, because there are doubts about the security and in any case they all speak Greek there, which Senator Cassius does not speak, and he quite understandably said to me that how the hell could he know what they were saying about him when they all jabber away like that."

At this point one of the Guards was seen to whisper something to the Chairman whilst stroking the hilt of his sword. The Chairman drank some water, coughed a little and resumed

"As I was saying, the games will definitely take place in Rome, and any other cities in Italy that are pleasing to the gods, and Senator Cassius, as Pontifex Maximus, will of course inform me in due course of the gods' wishes.  In addition, all athletes from Greece, Macedonia, Parthia, Syria, Iberia, Dacia, Carthage (if it hasn't been destroyed by then), Gaul, Upper Rhine, Lower Rhine, Eqypt, and Britannia are disqualified for being foreign. The selection of the athletes to represent Rome and the Italian people will be made by Senator Cassius. The judging will be supervised by Senator Cassius and medals awarded to those who find favour in the sight of Senator Cassius. Long live Senator Cassius".

 In other news, Senator Cassius has been awarded the Golden Boot for the 2028 Football World Cup and declared as Man of the Series for the Ashes against the Huns (date to be arranged).

 

Name that Party

 Earlier this year Jeremy Corbyn, one time leader of the Labour Party but an independent since 2024, announced the formation of a new party, called Your Party. The cunning plan seems to be to propel himself and some like minded people back into power.

The Corbyn crowd are currently having a conference. However, the usual stuff of such get togethers - rousing speech by the leader, voting for composite motions and desperate scrums for the canapes at fringe meetings - have been entirely overshadowed by a huge row between Corbyn and co-leader Zarah Sultana about who can be a member. Such disputes are endemic to ultra left parties.

An even more fascinating question is what the party is to call itself: the monicker Your Party being something dreamed up in a hurry, apparently, and not necessarily intended to be the permanent name.

They have canvassed ideas and there is a short-list to be voted on. Whether the result will immediately trigger a split, a walkout or a furious media row is not yet clear. Up for grabs are "Your Party", "Our Party", "The Popular Alliance" and "For the Many". Rejected names include "It's My Party (and I'll Vote if I Want to)", "The Very Popular Party, Honest", "It's Party Time" and "The English People's Popular Front". The latter came under fierce attack from those favouring "The Popular Front for the English People", and a splinter group representing "The Peoples' Popular Front (England)" walked out in protest. Meanwhile, those favouring "The Party of the First Part shall be known as the Party of the First Part" attempted to walk in, but were barred for being too Marxist.

Questioned about his relationship with Sultana, Corbyn said he would be happy if she was co-leader but really he would be the main leader because, frankly, she was rubbish. Sultana said she greatly admired and respected Corbyn but if he thought she was playing second fiddle then he had even more screws loose than everybody thought. Corbyn announced an emergency motion that the Party owed a huge debt to Sultana and would she now kindly sod off. Sultana moved a composite motion to promote Corbyn to Honorary President and therefore to bar him from being leader. The debate continues.

Poor old George

 The following popped up on my tablet whilst I was browsing Facebook to see if any more people I had never heard of, and who had nothing whatsoever in common with me, wished to become "friends",  and as it seems to be important, I paid it a little attention.

 It is an advert but I have to confess that I don't know what it is advertising¹. The name is Penhaligon certainly, we've established that from the masthead, from the collection of boxes and packages being admired (in a rather creepy and smug way) by the smooth-faced young man and from the display of the same name embroidered on his sweater. But Messrs Penhaligon seem to be featuring the large bottle with the unfeasibly large, possibly quite dangerous, stopper which is named The Tragedy of Lord George.

The young man seems to be reclining on some sort of carriage in the outdoors, in a mountainous and snowy place. Perhaps it is the one-horse open sleigh we hear so much about at this time of the year.  

We are informed that the stuff in the bottle has "notes of warm rum, tonka beans and shaving soap". I think we can fill in the rest of the picture from here.

Scene: A raging blizzard engulfs Penhaligon Hall, time-honoured seat of the Penhaligons in deepest Cornwall. Enter young Lord George brandishing a bottle and old Tregorran, the family brewer

George: I've done it, Tregorran! They said I was mad, but I've perfected the formula. For years we Penhaligons have brewed whisky from the traditional ingredients of pasty juice and the runoff from tin mines. But now we have something to make everyone sit up and take notice.

Tregorran: Nay, young sir, you do be being headstrong. Tain't safe to meddle with the ancient formula. Handed down from father to son that be, and there's always been a Tregorran to make sure that naught was changed. I beg 'ee, sir, think again. Think of your father.

George: My father has always held me back, Tregorran. Laughed at my ideas. Scorned me in front of my friends. Well no more! This ends now. I'm taking this bottle to the brewery on Bodmin Moor and nothing's going to stop me!

Tregorran: Oh sir, there do be a raging blizzard a-blowing. The roads will be blocked. You'll be beset by enormous hounds, I shouldn't wonder, and they do say the Revenue Men be abroad on the A37. 

George: But I don't need the A37! I shall take the one-horse open sleigh. I shall skim across the fields and into the high hills, fortified by tots of warm rum, tonka beans and all the shaving soap I can stomach! Ha ha!  

He dashes off into the night leaving the faithful retainer aghast

Tregorran: Tis the curse of the Penhaligons! Alack that I should see this day. We'll be hearing no more about Lord George, that's for sure. Hmm, I wonder if I could turn his mixture into an Eau de Cologne or something similar. Could retail it for £245 to the fine folks up in London, I shouldn't wonder. Let's see, warm rum, tonka beans and shaving soap. Yes, just need to find a name for it...

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Note:

1. I looked it up just to be sure. Yes, it is a cologne sold to the fine folk of London all right.