As we are having our morning coffee in an outdoor café, a tall fellow in his fifties approaches our table. He holds a huge black folder. “Thanks,” I tell him at once, but he is not easily deterred. “I’m an ‘academic’ painter,” he says with a dignified nod. This means that he has a university diploma to prove it, which is of quite some importance in Croatia. He offers to show us his paintings. “Thanks,” I repeat. “I paint myself,” I add, “and no-one else is good enough for me.” But he is not easily deterred. “Let me show you what the competition is doing,” he says with a faint smile. “There is no competition for me,” I raise my voice a bit. “I fucked off Rembrandt, I fucked off Modigliani…” At this point he gives up. “Thank you very much for your attention,” he raises his eyebrows and puts his folder under his arm. When he walks away in measured steps, my beloved shakes her head in disbelief.