I realise that we are all worn down, exhausted by a tsunami of boredom after – what is it? – ten years of B*****,  but even so I am appalled by how low we have now sunk as a nation.

I went to a quiz last night (Yes, my team did win.  How sweet of you to ask) and there was a round on the novels of Dickens.  That was hard work despite the fact that I am probably one of the few people living who has actually read ‘Little  Dorrit’, verily a rival to B***** in length and tedium if ever there was one, and it occurred to me that we are probably the last generation that will be remotely familiar with that style of writing, unless Disney decides to turn the miserable, dwarfish and sanctimonious heroine into some sort of Hollywood princess.

I have long suspected that we have collectively abandoned anything remotely intellectually taxing and this was confirmed beyond reasonable doubt yesterday when I rang the National Gallery.  I had read in The Times that there was to be an exhibition of the works of Sean Scully, a favourite of a chum, so I went to the NG website to find out more.  Naturally I went first to the section concerned with shopping opportunities to see what the book of the exhibition was like and if there were any prints of his work available.  It was almost certainly easier to find the Minotaur in the maze than locate a given artist so I turned to the trusty landline and rang them.  Old enough to remember  that as a choice?

I feel that only the extensive use of capital letters will do justice to the horror that I am about to reveal.  Stop reading now if you are under 18 or of a delicate disposition, not very likely but one wants to avoid being sued.  I enquired of the hapless youth who answered how it was possible to find the works of a given artist as the prints were displayed by title or popularity with no sign of an artist’s name.  He said that they had done ‘extensive research’, which is youth-speak for ‘Googled it’, and discovered that people weren’t interested in names.  The most preferred option was to search by COLOUR.  I swear this is true.  Look at the website for yourself and there is an option to find something you like the look of by clicking on a COLOUR.

Let me remind you that we are not talking about something you might buy from Ikea to match the curtains in the spare bedroom.  This is what is on offer from our NATIONAL gallery.  I can’t swear to this (Google it if you can be bothered) but I would be staggered to find this happened at the Louvre or the Prada.  ‘Are you’ I asked in what may have sounded a slightly arch tone, ‘selling art or wallpaper?’

Readers, even with my seemingly indomitable, Dunkeresque optimism in the face of overwhelming odds, even I despair.