The final Garfield spoke at this point. 'Look, it's meant to be a work of life you're doing here, right? Well the only other thing I know of that's commonly referred to as a work of, is art. As in work of art.' Peter-Bowman was dazzled by the brilliance of this reasoning, but he was a little unsure as to the consequences of such an insight. He scratched his nose excitedly. 'Look,' the Garfield continued patiently. 'All you need to do is understand what makes a great work of art, and then apply it to your life in order to make a great work of life. Dead easy.'

The next day, Peter-Bowman bought an art gallery. It was a rather small gallery and did not in fact contain any art. The man who had sold it too him had said that that was the point. The art was in the lack of art in the gallery. This was a little too deep for Peter-Bowman at that time of the morning. As was the sign 'Mens' on the door of his newly acquired property. He had enough of a classical education to assume it meant 'Mind', or something along those lines. He felt that in the thrill seeking world of modern art, such a classically designated gallery would be unsuccessful, but many people seemed to enter to view the works. Most would lock themselves within private viewing rooms and make delicious grunts of appreciation at the artistic splendour. Peter-Bowman was delighted. He was especially delighted at the large number of people who choose to line up in public and show their full appreciation of the art in his artless gallery by urinating on it. This must indeed by wild and exciting modern art. Trying to engage them in conversation was not very successful, but Peter-Bowman kept at it with diligence. He truly felt that in gaining an understanding of this work of art he could greater fulfil his obligation to Auntie Em to create a work of life.

'What do you think then?'

'You what?'

'Does it fulfil your need for beauty, or would you say it rather counterpoints the existential angst that grips so many of us in the modern world?' Peter-Bowman had discovered an art criticism manual and attempted to master the correct manner of speaking but felt that he may not have yet grasped the finer points.

'Don't try anything funny mate, alright?' Peter-Bowman's latest art lover appeared to hold this as a staunch opinion about the nature of art.

'No, of course not.' Peter-Bowman was not about to upset anybody when he was so near his goal. He was perfectly willing to accept that art was not to be laughed at. 'There's nothing funny about art.'

'Look, there's video cameras in here OK? You watch yourself mate.'

Peter-Bowman stepped back in an ecstatic paroxysm. Video cameras! In his very own art gallery. Truly, his art gallery was cutting edge and hyper modern. Peter-Bowman enjoyed his art gallery so very much that he began to neglect his phone box, only returning for brief visits to the toilet and a change of clothes. The Garfields were happy for Peter-Bowman. It seemed that at last he had discovered the means by which to create his work of life. But more was required.

Looking around the walls of his art gallery, Peter-Bowman began to tire of the lack of art. The sort that comes in frames. He felt that a true understanding would surely require an investigation into the true masters of the field. He went out the next day and bought the Mona Lisa, on the advice of one of his patrons.

'Look, I don't know. The Mona Lisa, that's pretty famous. You want to take a look at that son. Then you might want to call an institution of some kind, get yourself looked at.'

Peter-Bowman felt that a proper study of the Mona Lisa should be embarked upon before he followed the advice to call an institution. This would allow him to gain his own appreciation and understanding of the work, without the possibly contaminating advice of the art experts that such a place must surely contain. Besides which, he didn't want to be looked at. He did not consider himself a work of art so he wasn't sure how this could greatly further his understanding. Looking at works of art seemed to offer much greater rewards. Peter-Bowman hung the Mona Lisa above the urination work, as this seemed to give it much greater authority than had he placed it in one of the individual art appreciation booths. He wanted everybody to see it, so he could discuss it and determine exactly what made it a great work of art. Surely this could lead him into a breakthrough in his work of life that he still seemed to be unable to start.

Unfortunately, so popular was the urination that very few people ever actually looked at the Mona Lisa long enough to satisfy Peter-Bowman that they would be able to impart useful information. One promising prospect seemed to be gazing at it in deep meditation on its charms, but a careful examination showed that his eyes were actually fixed on a ventilation grid just above the painting. For a long time after this incident, Peter-Bowman himself studied the grid. Just in case there was a fundamental point that he was missing. One day a fly sat on the vent for three and a half hours (Peter-Bowman carefully noted the time), but even this did not appear to lead to anywhere very useful. The whole experience became very frustrating to Peter-Bowman, and for a day he went and sat in his phone box, shamefully neglecting his duties as curator. In the end he jumped up in a panic, fearing that he may have missed the person who could have explained it all to him. He considered leaving a stack of his tastefully printed catalogues just inside the door with a pen to ensure that anybody could make insightful comments that might assist him. Unfortunately, he suspected that this would only lead people to add to the art that proliferated inside the private booths, rather than commenting on the art already in existence in his gallery. This was not very helpful to him. Peter-Bowman had plenty of art, but he couldn't understand why it was art. More art would just mean he had more things to not understand.

The thought came to him one day as he was gazing at the Mona Lisa that perhaps the problem was that he had never looked closely enough. It was difficult to do so. The urinaters were possessive of their space. Perhaps if he could just get close enough to the Mona Lisa, Peter-Bowman could come to terms with the real essence of the painting. He thoughtfully bought a bottle of turpentine and a rag on the way home to his phone box that evening.

It had occurred to Peter-Bowman that he simply could not get close enough to the Mona Lisa when there was so much paint in the way. It was only by removing the intervening layers of paint that he could get to the heart of the painting. He set to work diligently. Firstly, he removed the Mona Lisa from the wall and took it with him into a private booth. He had become discouraged with the responses gained from his art gallery's patrons, and was not sure that they would be of any use to him in his search. The paint came off easily at first. So easily in fact, that Peter-Bowman took it as a sign that he was on the right track. His rag rapidly lost it's power and became encrusted with paint. Luckily he discovered that the booth was equipped with a supply of soft cleaning paper which he made use of. Not for the first time, he marvelled over how well equipped his art gallery was when it came to the business of art enjoyment. There was even a handy water cooled seat in the booth to keep him comfortable as he worked. At length he had succeeded in removing most of the paint and was down to a barren grey smear. This kept him interested for a time. He felt that he was almost there. Peter-Bowman stared into the grey, studying the texture of the denuded canvas and discovering features that he had never realised existed before. He sipped some more turpentine to assist his endeavours. Almost, but not quite. There was something still wrong. Gradually he realised that the grey surface was even now keeping him from a full appreciation. There was another layer to remove to reach the underlying structure that he felt would answer him.

At last he had it. He had been a fool to think that the booth had a water cooled seat. That was not what it was at all. A water cooled seat in an art gallery was completely ridiculous. Peter-Bowman stood up and raised the plastic oval. It was obvious when you put your mind to it. He dipped the Mona Lisa into the mouth of the final paint rinser and activated it. With a glorious whoosh, the machine did its job. He lifted out the cleansed canvas and gazed at its pure white surface. It was more beautiful than he could ever have imagined.