During the week, I might have as many as 50 ‘tabs’ open on the computer; articles that have generated a germ of an idea, research for an article I might be writing. They just pile up on me. Sometimes when I can think of nothing to write, I flip through them in turn; refresh my memory. Sometimes they are just there because I intend to link to them in the Saturday Evening Post.

Equally I flip through Twitter from time to time. I’m not a huge fan of Twitter – and have a positive aversion to Facebook. To all those who send me requests to link on Linkedin – I haven’t been able to get into my account for about three years now; it’s ‘linkedin’ to an obsolete email address – you are wasting your breath!

That was by way of explanation for what follows.

One of the people I follow is @MarkGSparrow. He’s an interesting writer with a contrarian view on a number of issues. Often witty; sometimes obtuse. During this past week he was positively Delphic. Going on about visiting his corner-shop.

More cornershop nonsense. http://t.co/73m5K6K23c

— Mark Sparrow (@MarkGSparrow) August 3, 2014

No, I didn’t follow the link – I should have done though!

One of the articles I had an open tab on was from a young artist who has created something extraordinary. Superb photographs detailing what was obviously an ocean of hard work – and real inspiration. I didn’t think it lent itself particularly to an article, I was thinking of linking to it on Saturday.

Instead, feast your eyes now – the young artist is Lucy Sparrow. Yes, Mark, the penny has finally dropped! Your daughter; and how lovely to have a Father so proud of what you have created – and how lovely Mark, to have a daughter you can so justifiably be proud of.

Whilst some have spent the past few months on Twitter, doing nothing more with their time than trying to upset someone else – Lucy has created a magical body of work. It’s a ‘corner shop’ made entirely of felt. Each piece – and there are hundreds – lovingly hand stitched and for sale when the exhibition is over. I’m going to buy myself a packet of Benson and Hedges to remember them by when they appear in plain white packets – I trust the Guardian will buy the long lasting felt version of their newspaper for when they finally go out of business. They should.