Jack Vettriano Artist and Model

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'There's hundreds of people out there. Hundreds! A lot of 'em have got guitars, too. They're sort of waving 'em in the air!'
Insanity listened to the 'You can tell, stupid,' said Crash. 'They've got pointy hats.'
'There's one with . . . pointy hair . . .' said Noddy.
The rest of Insanity applied eyes to the gap.
'Looks like . . . a kind of unicorn spike made out of hair...
'What's that he's got on the back of his robe?' said Jimbo.
'It says BORN TO RUNE,' said Crash, who was the fastest reader in the group and didn't need to use his finger at all.roar from the other side of the curtain. Crash did not have too many brain‑cells, and they often had to wave to attract one another's attention, but he had a tiny flicker of doubt that the sound that Insanity had achieved, while a good sound, was the sound that he'd heard last night in the Drum. The sound made him want to scream and dance, while the other sound made him . . . well . . . made him want to scream and smash Scum's drum‑kit over its owner's head, quite frankly.Noddy took a peek between the curtains.'Hey, there's a bunch of wiz . . . I think they're wizards, right in the front row,' he said. 'I'm . . . pretty sure they're wizards, but, I mean . . .'

Jack Vettriano We Can't Tell Right from Wrong

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more sharply: that's ridiculous, it's only a wall. All of him said: 'Oh. Since you put it like that . . . but what about the piano player?'looking up. The shovel thumped on the barrow.
'Only . . . something happened which probably wasn't usual . . .
'Sorry to hear that.'
Albert picked up the wheelbarrow and trundled it in the direction of the garden.
Susan knew what she was supposed to do. She was supposed to apologize, and then it'd turn out that crusty old Albert had a heart of gold, and they'd be friends after all, and he'd help her and tell her things, and
And she'd be some stupid girl who couldn't cope.
No.'I told you, I know just where to find one,' said Glod.A tiny part of him was amazed: I've hacked a hole in my own wall! It took me days to nail that wallpaper on properly.Albert was in the stable, with a shovel and a wheelbarrow.'Go well?' he said, when Susan's shadow appeared over the half‑door.'Er . . . yes . . . I suppose . . .''Pleased to hear it,' said Albert, without

Tamara de Lempicka Andromeda

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was a bar of orange soap which certainly had been used ‑ it was hardly more than a sliver. It smelled a lot like the vicious stuff used at soap, it suggested that this room had been built by someone . . . and then someone else had come along afterwards to add small details. Someone with a better knowledge of plumbing, for a start. And someone else who understood, really understood, that towels should be soft and capable of drying people, and soap should be capable of bubbles.
You didn't expect any of it until you saw it. And then it was like seeing it again.school.The bath, though big, was a human thing. There was brown‑lined crazing around the plug‑hole and a stain where the tap had dripped. But almost everything else had been designed by the person who hadn't understood deskishness, and now hadn't understood ablutionology either.They had created a towel rail an entire athletics team could have used for training. The black towels on it were fused to it and were quite hard. Whoever actu­ally used the bathroom probably dried themselves on the white‑and‑blue, very worn towel with the initials Y M R‑C‑I‑G‑B‑S A, A‑M on it.There was even a lavatory, another fine example of C. H. Lavatory's porcelainic art, with an embossed frieze of green and blue flowers on the cistern. And again, like the bath and the

Andy Warhol Guns

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far below, and erupts into fragments.
Miss Butts shuffled the paperwork nervously.
Here was one from the girl aged six:
What We Did On our Holidys: What I did On my holidys I staid with grandad he has a big White hors and a garden it is al Black. We had YES. I COULD HAVE DONE SOMETHING.
And rides away.
Miss Butts shuffled paper again. She was feeling dis­tracted and nervous, a feeling common to anyone who had much to do with the gel. Paper usually made her feel better. It was more dependable.
Then there had been the matter of . . . the accident.Eg and chips.Then the oil from the coach‑lamps ignites and there is a second explosion, out of which rolls ‑ because there are certain conventions, even in tragedy ‑ a burning wheel.And another paper, a drawing done at age severe. All in black. Miss Butts sniffed. It wasn't as though the gel had only a black crayon. It was a fact that the Quirm College for Young Ladies had quite expensive crayons of all colours.And then, after the last of the ember spits and crackles, there is silence.And the watcher. Who turns, and says to someone in the darkness:

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said Angua in the privacy of her own head. They've seen you. It's like hypnotism.
People live your vision. You-dream, just like Big Fido, only he dreamed a nightmare and you dream for everyone. You really think everyone is basically nice. Just for a moment, while they are near you, everyone else believes it too.
From me pined the Watch – well, you know why it was us three, don't you?'
'Of course. Minority group representation. One troll, one dwarf, one woman.'
'Ah.' Angua hesitated. It was still moonlight outside. She could tell him, run downstairs, Change and be well outside the city by dawn. She'd have to do it. She was an expert at running away from cities.
'It wasn't exactly like that,' she said. 'You see, there's a lot of undead in the city and the Patrician insisted that—'
'Give her a kiss,' said Gaspode, from under the bed.somewhere outside came the sound of marching knuckles. Detritus' troop was making another circuit.Oh, well. He's got to know sooner or later . . .'Carrot?''Hmm?''You know . . . when Cuddy and the troll and

Leroy Neiman Resting Lion

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carefully aligned towards the Hub because Vimes shared the folk belief that this kept it sharp. There was a brown wooden chair with the cane seat broken. And a small chest at the foot of the bed.
And that was all.
'I mean, at least a rug,' said Angua. 'A picture on the wall. Something.'
Carrot deposited Vimes on the bed, where he flowed unconsciously into the shape.
'Haven't you got something in your room?' Angua asked.
'Yes. I've got a him. And you send money home. He must drink it all, the idiot.'
'Don't think so. I didn't think he'd touched the stuff for months. Lady Sybil got him on to cigars.'
Vimes snored loudly.
'How can you admire a man like this?' said Angua.
'He's a very fine man.'cutaway diagram of No.5 shaft at home. It's very interesting strata. I helped cut it. And some books and things. Captain Vimes isn't really an indoors kind of person.''But there's not even a candle!''He finds his way to bed by memory, he says.''Or an ornament or anything.''There's a sheet of cardboard under the bed,' Carrot volunteered. 'I remember I was with him in Filigree Street when he found it. He said "There's a month's soles in this, if I'm any judge". He was very pleased about that.''He can't even afford boots?''I don't think so. I know Lady Sybil offered to buy him all the new boots he wanted, and he got a bit offended about that. He seems to try to make them last.''But you can buy boots, and you get less than
Angua raised the lid of the wooden chest with her foot.

Alphonse Maria Mucha Flower

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painted a bit, and messed about with mechanisms. Any old thing.'
Or a hammer and chisel even, thought Detritus.
'This,' said Silverfish, 'is a Silverfish handed the parchment to Detritus, who squinted at it as if he knew what it meant. Maybe he could write on this, he thought.
'The teeth followed you around the room. Amazing. In fact some people said they followed them out of the room and all the way down the street.'
'I think we should talk to Mr da Quirm,' said Cuddy.formula for . . . oh, well, I might as well tell you, it's hardly a big secret . . . it's a formula for what we called No. 1 Powder. Sulphur, saltpetre and charcoal. You use it in fireworks. Any fool could make it up. But it looks odd because it's written back to front.''This sounds important,' hissed Cuddy to the troll.'Oh, no. He always used to write back to front,' said Silverfish. 'He was odd like that. But very clever all the same. Haven't you seen his portrait of the Mona Ogg?''I don't think so.'