Don't Tell Them How Many Bedrooms We Have

 

You know when "home time" is approaching at the school near me as cars start parking along the lane (this didn’t happen when I was at school - you walked or got the bus home.) An unsmiling lollipop lady stops traffic for them to cross the road. She’s there in the mornings too. Once I was passing her when she was walking into the road holding up her lollipop stick. A mum was saying goodbye to her daughter. When the daughter was halfway across the road the mum shouted, “I mean it Laura - DO NOT tell them how many bedrooms we have.” The pointing finger underlined her conviction. Her daughter cast a look over her shoulder and looked embarrassed.

 

What an odd statement. I scribbled it in my diary and read it recently. How many bedrooms did they have at home - six, ten? Did they own a hotel with twenty bedrooms? With half an hour to spare I thought I'd knock out an abstract painting and here is done with a knife and  acrylic paints. At home there are three bedrooms and each box represents a room. I often lie in my bed and look around the room and think by the end of my life I'll have spent more time in this room than any other on earth.

 

This painting is dry and ready to post. This sort of tosh sells for fortunes at Sotheby's in New York but you can have it for £14,800. I'll even throw in an £5 frame and postage for free.

 

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