So yesterday I was walking into work, and I spotted two overcoat-clad art-nutters wandering down Farringdon Lane. The taller one was weilding some kind of digicam, as if it were a comedy prop – like a flamingo or a banana skin. Occasionally he’d spin like he was on castors and take photographs of bits of graffiti. The other one looked moody, crouching under a huge furry deerstalker and reading a copy of “Metro”. I had experienced an art moment with Gilbert and George. In the evening I bumped into someone from the very opposite end of the same culture – Mr Big sitting in bar a in Soho.
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