https://www.gettyimages.co.uk/detail/ne ... 2205108743

Bought the £375 package top quality stuff. Proper Pools legends it will look class on my wall, anyone else buy pools artwork off getty?

Fucking Hell wasn't expecting Iain Duncan Smith to turn up at Pools with Andy Capp!

Clearly freeloading - Ronnie has got a slightly embarrassed smile on his face being caught on camera in the company of such an odious Tory!

Will certainly scare your kids into behaving with IDS (In Deep Shit) gurning at them. I'd get one for school but I don't dislike the students that much

I've just ordered 2.

The only one with any decency and morals...Rose Stoker...good on ye lass getting out of that toxic environment.

Middle gadgey reacting to Raj shitting on his fireside rug...2 seconds later...go on boss have another.

BTW...is that actually real??? You can buy photos of the 3 Wise Men for hundreds of pounds??
Wonder how many have been bought....and by whom?!?!

And for what for!!!!
Should put a youtube video up.

Apologies in advance if you are offended in any way, but my first reaction to your post was that you clearly have more money than sense.

Please tell me that you're taking the piss in a way that's a bit subtle for a thick twat like me.

it seems dirt cheep to me when you consider some artwork fetching millions that looks as if a kid had done it just because of the name of the artist.

This is lost on me................

Aye, just about sums it up Accy.

Reminds me of a time years ago - in the days of only four TV channels - when I'd rolled home pissed around half eleven.

As ever, I put the telly on, grabbed a can from the fridge and looked for something to watch as I descended into a drunken stupor on the couch. The set was tuned to either BBC2 or Channel 4, and was currently showing the four "artists" up for the Turner Prize the following weekend.

While not something I would normally watch, my interest was somwhat piqued as there was a crazy woman - who was clearly more monged than I was - nearing the end of an incomprehensible interview about her work of "art". (I found out later that this was Tracey Emin, who I think won the prize)

As much as my jaw had dropped already, the next two took it even further towards the carpet.

Next up was some barmy wench who'd cemented about 40 tellies together in a kind of demented termite-nest-cum-wig-wam effect. Each of the TVs - some large, some small, some colour, some B&W - were showing random horse races on their screens. The posh bewer did her best to explain why, but I was still none the fucking wiser.

As if by magic, another potty posh bird appeared after Radio Rentals, with just one big colour telly on a stand as her exhibit. A glimmer of hope that this might be about to display something even vaguely artistic was quashed the moment she powered it up.

I shit you not here, on the lives of my children.

On the screen, in vivid colour, was the pre-recorded output of a medical camera that she'd taken on a magical mystery tour around the inside of her fanny.

Despite tripping over me jaw on the way, at this point I stumbled to the video and recorded the rest of the show so I could prove I hadn't been hallucinating it all due to some twat spiking me drink in the Brus earlier.

Thankfully, the final contender brought me back to reality as he was clearly taking the piss. He was a softly-spoken Irish bloke, with a twinkle in his eye that would not be noticed by the arty-farty interviewer, but no fellow piss-taker such as myself could possibly miss it.

The interview went a bit like this:

INTERVIEWER: So Séamus, how would you describe your work?

SEAMUS: Well sor, Oi'm an un-payntor.

INTERVIEWER: An un-painter? And what does that entail Séamus, if you could explain it to our viewers?

SEAMUS: Well sor, I place a large canvas on d' floor of me studio, chuck a load of different-coloured paints all over it, spread it all d' way to de edges, and when it's droy, I use a brush and some whoite spirit to reveal de real picture contained within all d' chaos.

INTERVIEWER: Thank you Séamus, and good luck next weekend. Now for our viewers, here's a clip of Séamus at work.

And from where I was sitting, "Séamus" revealed an image not unlike something I would've chalked on the school wall, that appeared to be a naked lady with huge tits.

If you squinted a bit.

I really liked "Séamus"...

Aye, just about sums it up Accy.

Reminds me of a time years ago - in the days of only four TV channels - when I'd rolled home pissed around half eleven.

As ever, I put the telly on, grabbed a can from the fridge and looked for something to watch as I descended into a drunken stupor on the couch. The set was tuned to either BBC2 or Channel 4, and was currently featuring interviews with the four "artists" up for the Turner Prize the following weekend.

While not something I would normally watch, my interest was somewhat piqued as there was a crazy woman - who was clearly more monged than I was - nearing the end of an incomprehensible interview about her work of "art". (I found out later that this was Tracey Emin, who I think won the prize)

As much as my jaw had dropped already, the next two took it even further towards the carpet.

Next up was some barmy wench who'd cemented about 40 tellies together in a kind of demented termite-nest-cum-wig-wam effect. Each of the TVs - some large, some small, some colour, some B&W - were showing random horse races on their screens. The posh bewer did her best to explain why, but I was still none the fucking wiser.

As if by magic, another potty posh bird appeared after Radio Rentals, with just one big colour telly on a stand as her exhibit. A glimmer of hope that this might be about to display something even vaguely artistic was quashed the moment she powered it up.

I shit you not here, on the lives of my children.

On the screen, in vivid colour, was the pre-recorded output of a medical camera that she'd taken on a magical mystery tour around the inside of her fanny.

Despite tripping over me jaw on the way, at this point I stumbled to the video and recorded the rest of the show so I could prove I hadn't been hallucinating it all due to some twat spiking me drink in the Brus earlier.

Thankfully, the final contender brought me back to reality as he was clearly taking the piss. He was a softly-spoken Irish bloke, with a twinkle in his eye that would not be noticed by the arty-farty interviewer, but no fellow piss-taker such as myself could possibly miss it.

The interview went a bit like this:

INTERVIEWER: So Séamus, how would you describe your work?

SEAMUS: Well sor, Oi'm an un-payntor.

INTERVIEWER: An un-painter? And what does that entail Séamus, if you could explain it to our viewers?

SEAMUS: Well sor, I place a large canvas on d' floor of me studio, chuck a load of different-coloured paints all over it, spread it all d' way to de edges, and when it's droy, I use a brush and some whoite spirit to reveal de real picture contained within all d' chaos.

INTERVIEWER: Thank you Séamus, and good luck next weekend. Now for our viewers, here's a clip of Séamus at work.

And from where I was sitting, "Séamus" revealed an image not unlike something I would've chalked on the school wall, that appeared to be a naked lady with huge tits.

If you squinted a bit.

I really liked "Séamus"...

watch a lot of quiz shows and there is one subject you know the majority cannot answer. A question on the turner prize. just shows the interest people have in it.