Colour it ORANGE

Lauren was no art expert - but she knew what she liked

- Barbara Dynes

I'm here under false pretences - sitting alone in an art gallery, pretending to be engrossed in a monstrosity on the opposite wall. Someone's gone berserk with a paintbrush, splashed great blobs of bright orange around and added a menacing blue 'eye' to boot.

Modern portraits by local leisure painters, said the poster at the door.

Earlier, lots of arty people were fussing around this particular picture. Ego Friendly, it's called.

I caught words such as 'thoughtful' and 'intense', wanting to add 'laughable'. But then, what do I know about art?

'Happy birthday, Lauren!' I congratulate myself. 'Thirty today, alas.' I peer under the bench, needing to check my weekly shop is still there. Cat food, toilet rolls, baked beans... Essentials for me and Fudge. The Tesco bag looked out of place, squatting beside me in such an intellectual atmosphere, so I hid it. Crazy. Even artists and their moggies have to eat.

'This seat vacant?'

A tall, angular guy plonks himself down next to me. I blink. Drop-dead gorgeous, smiling eyes, ponytail...

'Some great stuff here!'

He nods towards the orange thingy. 'Like it?'

'It's colourful,' I say carefully. Drop-dead gorgeous guys don't come my way that often.

'Captures the subject’s personality, eh?' I decide to be honest.

'No way! I don’t like it.'