Some galleries are really extraordinary. The last opening we were invited to, at a gallery in Valencia that shall, for the moment, remain anonymous, was a typical example.

The two of us wondered in past someone leaning nonchalantly in the doorway holding a plastic cup half full of wine, and who didn’t even glance at me as I passed, into a very good little gallery space – quite small, but well finished and lit. There must have been about a dozen other folk there, clutching their plastic cups. We wandered about, had a look at the 5 or 6 pieces in the show (which were not bad, but included a couple of very large digital photographs that I can only describe as conceptual). This took us about 15 minutes.

Then we stood around, waiting for the gallerist – or the artist – to come and introduce themselves, tell us what it was about. Or at least offer us a plastic cup of cheap fizz. Nothing. Not even did anyone acknowledge us.

What’s up with these folk? What do they have a gallery for? To show and sell work? Or is it just some kind of toy, like a dolls house where they can re-arrange things and invite their friends to have a look?

We gave them another five minutes to notice us, and then left. Clearly nobody expects to sell any work from this gallery at any rate.