It was a tickle, that look of indignation on the security guard’s face as he realised the source of our amusement. With a flick of the tip of his walkie-talkie, he unhooked the undergarment that was hanging from the outstretched right hand of the Townley Caryatid.
“Awww…” the crowd collectively moaned, their iPhones raised and flashing. Someone shouted, “You should leave it there! It looks quite fitting!”