This piece was written in response to the weekly photo prompt provided by the Unicorn Challenge , a labour of love for two Scots.

Phyllis Tine, she of the forked tongue and acidic bile, was fond of regaling the world in general (since no-one wanted to lose two hours of their life they’d never get back) with her opinions on what constituted ‘right’.

‘It’s just not right’ she would say as she launched into this week’s diatribe about what new thing had offended her and all ‘right thinking people’.

‘Look at that. There was nothing wrong with the old wall but they (in Phyllis’ world ‘they’ referred to an ever expanding list of persons or entities that would never be on her Christmas card list if she ever got around to having one) but they have let some vandals spray it with graffiti. That’s like finger painting. It’s not art. I mean, look at it. What’s all that rubbish mean, I ask you.’

Not pausing, lest she should be interrupted by someone in her unwilling audience (which was about as likely as The Second Coming), she continued unabated.

‘I blame Picasso meself. It’s all gone down hill since he turned up. Da Vinci must be rolling in his grave. Mind you, ever since Mrs. Gruntfuttock at Number 17 told me he was a nancy boy my estimation of him is not what it was. Why can’t they just live a nice life, like the rest of us.’

Metaphorically girding her loins, Phyllis announced she was going to the Town Hall to lodge a formal complaint. ‘European City of Culture? Not likely.’