Farewell, David Hockney, and thank you.

You painted a hill I used to have to cycle up when I was a student in York, going home to East Yorkshire once a month - a terrible, merciless, grinding wretch of a hill that left me walking like a merchant seaman for a week after I did it the first time.

I'm grateful to you because your painting pulled no punches. It's exactly that dire, in a way that's suddenly so lovely when you get to the top, because (a) oh wow, look at the vale of York, and (b) HOORAY! THAT BLOODY HILL IS OVER WITH.

You saw this - and of course so much else, across your incredible career. But for this, I'm personally grateful. Thank you.