The cheek of it, lounging on a chair was a sparkly glittery Skelly, looking like he owned the gallery, all smug.

Whilst Richard and the gallery owner were chatting about the scarf and she was stroking the cashmere and laughing, I turned to the Skelly and said,

"Hey you Skelly, what are you doing in the London art scene, go back to your grave where you belong. I know your game."