Is the cacophonic hubbub of festive shoppers causing your head to spin? Are the surging tides of the crowds in malls and on pavements playing havoc with your blood pressure? Does the scene of yet another petulant delinquent causing destructive mayhem in the aisles, and cooed over by its indulgent milquetoast parent, giving rise to decidedly uncharitable fantasies involving wooden spoons or worse? Is your capacity for tolerance for your fellow human, being tested to the very limits by the mindless meanderings of retail retards who oughtn’t to be trusted with eating utensils let alone a shopping trolley or, heaven forbid, a motor vehicle?
If so, you’re in the very best of company. We feel your pain. However, we at the Institute eschew the chemical control of emotions in favour of the considerably more effective (and satisfying) action of putting the boot into the tender parts of an Old Master’s talent. This week you can bash a Boucher, as it were; Francois Boucher to be precise.