Sign below a certain ‘not for sale’ painting in the Nov. ’94 exhibition-

     The most valuable painting in the world- to our family, anyway. Those who have visited us in the past, either on our houseboat or at home, will remember our dear old puppydog ‘Barney’. Even though she was an old lady of thirteen, we still called her puppydog because one didn’t use such vulgar expressions as ‘dog’ in her presence. We used to say to offenders ‘ She’s not an animal you know; she’s one of the family’.
     And so she was- friend and guardian;  first she nurse-maided the man-cub then the she-cub. She was Granny minder, security officer, confidante and ladies’ companion. As I told her every night in the goodnight-biscuit ritual- ‘A number one, ace puppydog, all round, in spades, of the first water- Oh yes! Yes, yes, yes!
     Now she’s gone and there’s a void in our lives. She lies sleeping in a corner of our garden. The grass will eventually level out and smooth over, as time will smooth the empty ache.
     Meanwhile, I make no apology for my sentimentality, and I’m not at all ashamed to admit that as I bustle about the house and her soulful gaze catches me in an unguarded moment I still have to blink away the tears. People ask if we’ll have another, and we just don’t know. Barney would be a very hard act to follow.