My latest thriller – currently in final edit stages, working title NEVER TELL (good title?!) – is in part about an art dealer with a shady background (though some might think art dealers are by nature shady…) The central character in NEVER TELL, journalist Rose Miller, visits his house where he has all sorts of art on display, including a Damien Hirst. Rose isn’t a fan of Hirst, and though of course she isn’t a mouth-piece for my own views (ahem. It’s fiction, isn’t it?!), I was intrigued to read Hirst’s interview in Saturday’s Weekend magazine – here – where the artist asserts that “anyone can be like Rembrandt..with practice you can make great paintings”.

Really? If this was true, everyone would be practicing like mad, no? and turning out Rembrandts left right and centre? And we’d all also be able to write plays like Shakespeare or Marlowe, poetry like TS Eliot or Emily Dickinson, novels like Austen or Dickens etc etc. Of course art and literature are so subjective, and diversity absolutely necessary: what floats one person’s boat so often sinks another’s. But it’s maybe just a little unwise of Hirst, currently basking in some, um, not-very-good-reviews of his own exhibtion of oil paintings, to make such claims. It only draws attention to the fact that he, for one, has not managed to paint anywhere near as well as Rembrandt.

As king of the bad boy YBAs and a multi-millionaire, Hhirst can do pretty much what he pleases artistically – and of course he always has a mouthpiece for his ‘rebellious’ views – so what does he care? His penchant for spots, skulls and sharks might mean some claim his work is quite crass (and yep, I might just join them) and that he’s made his fortune by latching onto a good thing. But does it matter? Perhaps that’s what art is? Does art have to be truly good from a technical point of view to be successful? Does it have to be beautiful or skilled? Or merely innovative and shocking…Whatever, I’d rather have a Rembrandt than a smelly old shark hanging from my wall, any day. Just look at the lines….

Finally, I saw five minutes of ITV’s I’m A Celebrity last night. I didn’t recognise anyone really, apart from Sam Fox, whose eyes lit up at the sight of a Strictly Come Dancing dancer in gold sequins. “You look lovely” Sam breathed. Great get-up for the jungle, Camilla. George Hamilton, still a tiny little bit suave, said “Wow, on a yacht with lovely ladies”. He was at that moment quaking in the shadow caused by the giant Kim from How Clean is My House fame. I too would have asserted ‘lovely ladies’ in that instance. Sam Fox dived into the ocean no doubt dreaming of the gold sequins. Jordan was nowhere to be seen…yet.

Quite soon after that, I switched off and went to bed.