I would be very happy for you if this happens. But it's hard... for so many different obvious reasons. I hope to receive a canvas signed by Banksy… and maybe stenciled in there at the show.
This is very difficult. More than anything, because Banksy would send it to my address. Quite a difficult thing.
There is always hope.

But right now, I'm rooting for you!... We hope that one Forum member... can have two... and one can send it to you. 🤞

Obviously I'm not kidding. I live on utopias and hope. Otherwise I wouldn't be who I am. 😎

Packing crates/etc for the artworks

Hope no one is planning on flying out of Glasgow tonight - looks like chaos at all UK airports. 

The admin of arranging all this stuff must be a real ball ache. Far cry from the old days for Banksy, I'm sure. Now he's got to call around getting quotes from folk with trucks, arrange NDA's, make sure they're not being followed, kill some of the drivers at the change over points, etc.

Don't think there's a Herald left in Glasgow newsagents so if you're like me and get here late today don't waste your time looking. Newsagents by queen St station said someone wiped them earlier in the day and a member of staff in Sainsbury's said I was the 6th to ask if they had any more.

This reminds me, true story, shortly after mum died (mine, not yours), my sister and I were going through her stuff. Some members of the family wanted a few items of clothing, etc, so we were having to arrange that.

Long story-short, we found our mum's old vibrator. Not our finest hour as a family.

Picture the scene, our cheeks still damp from our mother's funeral only the day before, now my sister and I gagging and dry-heaving in our mother's bedroom.

I'd never seen such an old sex toy. Steam-powered, I believe it was. This huge thing. It looked like an anti-tank round. What followed, after we'd composed ourselves and stopped crying and scrubbing our hands in the bathroom, was an extremely intense conversation about what to do with it, our dead mother's vibrator.

I was all for throwing this out, and was partway through checking whether you can put Bakelite into the recycling bin, when my sister started saying we shouldn't be so hasty, and maybe we could sell it instead. That it was probably valuable. Collectable. It still had its box and instructions and everything.

I can do many things, most things, I'm adaptable, morally adventurous, a survivor, a bit like a cockroach, but I just couldn't bring myself to sell my dead mother's sex toy to a stranger online. Donate it to a museum, yes. Random sex archaeologist pervert, no.

It was sad, but it had to go. My sister and I, together, almost ceremonially, tossed the vibrator into a wheelie-bin, an act which in its own small way, reminded us of our mother.

if true.... this is the weirdest story I've ever heard !
thanks for sharing it with all of us

drip - I'll get you a book and sign it for ya. Worth more than a Banksy signature for sure. That lad is on a Greatest Hits Tour. He'll be taking up a residency in Vegas next, so don't have him deface & devalue your book.

👍👍

If anyone can use Lroy’s ticket and gets him merch then they can give to me tonight and I will post to him. Lroy will confirm ok as this will save him postage as I’ve got him the Farce t-shirt).

I think they’re just getting ready to pack up a very valuable installation. 

Thank you. I have a similar, perhaps sadder story.

Several years after the incident with our late mother's vibrator, my sister was tragically given her own terminal diagnosis. She was only 48. She had a couple of grown-up children, but a few young ones too. It was all very sad, and certainly in no way fair. If I could've traded places with her, taken her cancer into my own body, I would have.

Anyway, clearly still scarred by the time we found our dead mother's sex toy, my sister didn't want her own children to go through that. So, after being given the bad news, the worst news, she raced straight home from the doctor's office, and began throwing out anything that may be uncomfortable or disturbing for her children to find.

The way my sister was hurrying, you'd have thought she was going to die that evening. My sister later told me that, after she'd been told she was dying, she figured she'd have no use for her vibrator anymore (we have no secrets in our family, but I sometimes wish we did).

Anyway, at some point during the proceedings, my sister's adult daughter turned up. She asked her mum what she was doing with this big black bag of stuff in the middle of the room. Her mum replied that she was just throwing some old stuff out. Stuff she wouldn't need anymore.

Her daughter said, "Oh, well let me go through it first, in case there's anything I can use."

"DON'T LOOK IN THERE!" my sister cried, but too late.

Her daughter had thrust her hand into the bag, grabbed the first thing her hand found, she thought it was a torch, and pulled it out. There she was. Holding her mother's sex toy. A proper diaphragm destroyer. A sex toy so large, it probably had a bigger engine (and chassis) than my 96 Nissan Micra. It had probably done more miles than my 96 Nissan Micra.

In trying to avoid traumatising her children, my sister had EXTREMELY traumatised one of them. Good times.

Anyway, there's a happy ending to this story, my sister still died, but not for many, many months later. She had over a year and half more of life. The combined might and skill of the UK's NHS and the whole of medical science kept my sister alive and healthy for so long after her diagnosis, she actually got bored and went out and purchased another vibrator before she died. I know this for a fact. I shouldn't, but I do.

RIP sis.

the one just in front at Goma wearing a Gucci belt and a big yellow Rolex ... guaranteed original... COA on the way