... if this were 'my' story it would be my almost claim to fame but it isn't. It is a family story, one of many very interesting ones. I'm sure Moannie will pop by later and put us right if my recollection of the event told and retold to me isn't accurate.
In the early 1950's my father JP, who is french and was living in Cannes, was still in school and in his teens, he delivered meat for a local butcher. One day he delivered meat to a house and instead of the usual woman an old bald man answered the door, he took the delivery from my father and told him to hang on a sec and he disappeared inside, presumably to look out some coins as a tip.
He soon returned with a scrap of paper which he wrote upon and mumbled, 'here you are' or something to that effect.
My father, balancing his bycycle walked away and looked at the scrap of paper. It had on it a line drawing and a signature. My father thought, ' Miserable sod!' and scrumpled up the paper and threw it into the gutter.
The man was ............
Pablo Picasso...
dog by picasso
bull by picasso
