THOSE WHO WOULD LIKE to be seen as devotees of the Muses are having a fine old time squealing about the Proletcult-style despoliation of the arts in Britain, with public funding being withdrawn by a Visigothic Arts Council from their frivolous pleasures and devoted instead to increasing the wattage of the exciting Blackpool lights and encouraging multiracial bones-playing up north.
But all this talk of cultural desertification wilfully ignores the galactic piece of Dadaist performance art that has been evolving before our eyes since the moment in 2016 when
