A Nice Bit of Class – The Average Brit’s Take on Turner’s The Fighting Temeraire

Right, we all set? Good. Don’t want any funny business, mind—my brief’ll have a word if this goes pear-shaped. Arthur Daley, that’s me, purveyor of fine goods and services, at your service for this Apollo lark. Now, I as I was saying, I was just concluding a perfectly legitimate business transaction down the Winchester when your lot collared me, banging on about this ‘Art for All’ malarkey. I thought, “Here’s a chance to show the cultured types a bit of class.” So, they shove this Fighting Temeraire by Joe Turner under me nose, and I’m here to give you the SP, straight from the horse’s mouth.

Now, let’s have it right—this painting’s a proper belter, ain’t it? You’ve got this old warship, the Temeraire, looking like it’s seen better days, being towed by some poxy little tugboat. The sky’s all fiery, like someone’s torched a warehouse full of dodgy fireworks, and the water’s shimmering like the Thames on a good day, before the fly-tippers get busy. It’s pure poetry, this is—makes you wanna stand up and belt out ‘Rule Britannia’ with a pint in your hand.

Turner, he’s a clever geezer, no question. He’s got the colours banging—golds, reds, blues—like a job lot of silk ties I shifted last week, only classier. You can almost smell the sea, hear the gulls, feel the breeze on your face. It’s like being down Southend, only without the aggro of parking the Jag. Mind you, it’s a bit mournful, innit? This grand old ship, hero of Trafalgar, being dragged off to the knacker’s yard. Reminds me of me old mate Dave’s Cortina after the MOT boys got hold of it. Still, it’s got heart, this painting—tugs at the old ticker, even for a hard-nosed businessman like yours truly.

Now, don’t get me wrong, I ain’t saying it’s perfect. Where’s the life, eh? No geezers on the tugboat having a crafty fag, no dockers flogging knock-off rum. It’s all a bit too clean for my liking—Turner’s painting for the toffs, not the likes of me and Terry, that’s my former head of security. You understand, of course, a successful businessman can’t be too careful nowadays. Speaking of Terry, who’s now Downunder by the way, transferred to oversee my Antipodean franchises, but speaking of him, he’d have been useless at this art critic game—too busy flexing his muscles to notice the brushwork. Me, I’ve got an eye for quality, always have. Ask ‘er Indoors—she’s forever moaning about my taste in furnishings, but she don’t complain when I bring home the readies to keep her in frocks and gin.

Value-wise, this Temeraire is a goldmine. I reckon you could flog it for a couple of mil, no bother, if you know the right faces—South London’s full of ‘em, and I’m your man to make the introductions, for a modest commission, naturally. Sothebys has got nothing on me. Got a client in mind already, fella who deals in ‘collectibles,’ no questions asked. Course, I wouldn’t hang it in the lock-up—too much damp, and ‘er Indoors’d have a fit if I tried squeezing it past the lava lamp in the lounge. Besides, it’s a bit big for the Winchester’s back room, and the punters’d only spill lager on it.

So, what’s the verdict? Turner’s Fighting Temeraire is a proper slice of British brilliance, a real crowd-pleaser. Makes you proud to be a Londoner, even if the Old Bill don’t always see it that way. It’s got class, it’s got soul, and it’s worth more than a lorryload of my finest velvet paintings of Elvis. Apollo, you’ve got a winner here. Next time, though, let’s have something with a bit more razzle-dazzle—maybe a portrait of Thunderbolt Titan, won the third race of the undercard of the English Derby. And I do happen to have a share in the thoroughbred. Right, I’m off to close a deal on some ‘antique’ candelabras before ‘er Indoors starts asking where I’ve been. T’ra, you cultured lot!

Note: This article is a fictional/parodic homage to the cited TV show character. It is not affiliated with the character, or authored by the show’s creators, or any related entities. No affiliation is implied. Also, the Apollo magazine cover above is not an official cover. This image is a fictional parody created for satirical purposes. It is not associated with the publication’s rights holders, or any real publication. No endorsement or affiliation is intended or implied.

‘Canon Fodder’ is our shrapnel-streaked zone of cultural combat, where sacred cows of literature and art are gently led out back and…reconsidered. From brooding oil paintings to bloated book prizes, this section assembles critics, aesthetes, and barely concealed saboteurs to ask the hard questions: Is it genius or just large? Is that brushwork or branding? And why does every novelist now write like their agent is watching? Welcome to the canon—please mind the crossfire.