Not a Picasso...

I think it incredible that anyone would even think about giving a woman two noses, let alone three breasts. But the other night, just as I was thinking of calling it a day and going to bed, that's just what happened to me. Opening my notepad I picked up my trusty pound shop felt tips and began scribbling away. It was almost the work of a moment, well about two minutes worth of moments, but when I had finished there in front of me in glorious feltpenicolor was my Pablo Picasso.

"Oh no! I'm having a Picasso attack!" Whatever that means.

All those years of looking at his paintings on the television and in books must have seeped into my mind because there's no escaping his influence in this doodle. And I'm not at all sure that whilst I was doodling it I didn't feel something or someone take hold of my pen and do my scribbling for me. Mind you that could just as easily be my mind playing tricks on me. He does that sometimes. Once he put a bowler hat on a fish and told me to smoke a pipe that wasn't a pipe at all.

Anyway, This is not a Picasso. Not that you needed telling. But he's in there somewhere. He's probably in all of us somewhere.

Bet he wishes he had some felt tips now.