I’ve been struggling with curating our new art lending collection at the library this week. When Beth popped in to show me her progress on her shamrock sculpture - judging by her photos it is going to be a triumph - and to drop off her portfolio, I latched on to her like a drowning woman to a life raft in shark infested waters. “You have to help me. My eyes are blurry at this stage thanks to the weird paintings people have sent in. I swear, some of them must have been done by three year olds.”

She frowned at me. “Not all abstract art is bad, Nina.”

I grabbed her arm and led her to the community meeting room which I’d commandeered because it had enough table space to spread out the works. “I know that. I like abstract art. I mean they were literally painted by...

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