I saw a man in a white shirt and jodhpurs carrying a dog-lead and attached to the other end was the pierced labia of a women whose pubic hair was depilated. Her nipples were also pierced and depending from them was a red plastic tray. Occasionally he would send her to the bar and she would return with the drinks balanced on the tray. She was completely naked apart from stilettos and had a fantastic bum, but her small tits were droopy through years of this kind of abuse. I was absolutely transported by this couple. I had gone there searching for a model for a picture I had planned for the Skin Two magazine. It was to be of a woman, nude in my kitchen with washing lines attached to her nipples and clothing hanging from the washing lines. I subsequently made the picture and it is entitled The Most Scurrilous Washing Line in Christendom. It seemed that reality far surpassed the most perfervid of my imaginings. If Lot could have seen this, he would have called upon the Almighty to invoke the red flame of wrath to smite these alienates from God.

I went to the toilet for a leak. As I stood at the urinal, eyes were upon me. A man in high heels was fixing his make-up in the mirror and God alone knows what was going on in the cubicles. My penis shrivelled like a slug under salt. I rushed out again to see the Dog Lead Man slapping his slave’s bare arse in time to the music, then sticking lit candles on to her tits with the aid of needle-sharp holders.

I took up my position near the bar and observed them. All artists are voyeurs. We are anthropologists of the human condition, we observe and take notes. The notes become works of art.