Did you spot the gold discs stuck all over the Henry Moore Gallery?

Even if you did, you probably don't class that as art either.

Modern art is one of those wonderful like it or loathe it phenomena, like Marmite, wasabi, thongs and Lost.

And it seems to be getting weirder by the day, with artists determined to outdo each other by creating the least artistic thing imaginable.

A perfect example is this so-called sculpture by artist Graham Hudson in a London park.

He claims it's a statue of Saddam Hussein's first wife Sajida Talfah – but it's a dead ringer for a boulder wrapped in blue plastic, criss-crossed in tape.

Concept

Whatever the message behind such "concept" pieces, many feel like a 21st century version of the Emperor's New Clothes.

I must admit, I'm not exactly an art aficionado, although I used to love kids' TV show Take Hart and can certainly appreciate things of great beauty.

It's just that for me, they're more likely to be found in Whistles and Karen Millen than Leeds City Art Gallery.

But now, shoving Leeds lad Damien Hirst and Tracey Emin into the shadows, a new set of artistic enfant terribles have arrived.

Trendspotters know that this year the only art that counts is street art – previously known as graffiti.

Critics have called it "puerile and idiotic" and refuse to accept it as an art form.

But we're not talking about morons with spray cans daubing phrases like "Daz woz ere" on every surface.

The world's most famous guerrilla artist, Banksy, fills his work with anti-war, anti-capitalist, anti-establishment and pro-freedom sentiments – it's intelligent as well as pleasing on the eye.

Street art can be a small black and white stencilled image, huge colourful mural, and everything in between and it can breathe life into a grim urban landscape.

But its appeal has now gone mainstream, with the first auction dedicated to urban art held this month at Bonhams.

And hardcore fans believe selling it off for six-figure sums misses the point – it's meant to be public art, free and accessible not exclusive and costly.

Endorsed

Still, for those of us who aren't satisfied with walking past it on the way to work and want to own it, plenty of street artists now commit their work to canvas and cardboard as well as less-movable materials.

And while the genre has hit the headlines because it is endorsed by stars like Brangelina, ordinary folk want a piece of it because it's modern, irreverent, beautiful, and speaks to them in a language they understand, more than most traditional artwork ever could.

Generations X and Y can see greater value in art that comments on the world we know, than in images like the Mona Lisa or Van Gogh's Sunflowers.

And let's face it, some of the work lauded around the globe, by artists like Jackson Pollock, look like they could've been produced by a toddler with a few tins of paint.

So if a pickled sheep, a man dressed as a bear, and a bare room featuring a light that switches on and off are all classed as art, I don't see how anyone can argue that images produced with a spray can aren't.


Minding the pennies


THERE'S always a price to pay for the party lifestyle, whether it's spending the night with your head down the toilet or the walk of shame the morning after.

But even worse is the financial cost of living it up every weekend.

Even if you're not as stupid as the girls that buy designer clobber they can't afford, just to look like their favourite celeb, you can still end up overspending horrendously on those big nights out – not to mention the odd spa treatment to help your skin recover from the lack of beauty sleep.

Finally, at the grand old age of 31, I've realised the only way to stay in the black is by keeping an eagle eye on your bank balance – reading bank statements rather than shoving them in a drawer; knowing when direct debits come out and even sticking to a budget on nights out.

Yes, I know it's not exactly radical and grown-ups everywhere will be shaking their heads in disbelief that it could take someone so long to reach this basic stage of money management but believe it or not, my mates are even worse.

I am now the number one fan of It Pays to Watch and The Sunday Times Money supplement and I write down every penny I spend.

Boring though it sounds, it's actually strangely satisfying and, amazingly, rather than feeling impoverished – I actually feel empowered.


Proper grounding

WHENEVER your head starts to swell, there's always something waiting to bring you back down to earth.

I got all excited when Leeds College of Technology asked me to reminisce about my reading experiences for a National Year of Reading display.

Surely it was only a matter of time before Channel 4 came knocking on my door to film my answers to questions like what was my first car; greatest love; favourite part of my body etc – you know, like they ask celebs like Jamie Oliver, Jon Snow and Teri Hatcher in between programmes.

No sooner had I drifted off into a star-studded daydream, my car packed in. Again.

So, to start it I now have to turn on the ignition, get out of the car, open the bonnet, untie a special wire and press the exposed ends directly on to the battery until the car starts, then re-tie the wire, close the bonnet and jump back in.

Quick getaways are not an option.

Delusions of grandeur have vanished.

My feet are once again firmly on the ground – and encased in rubber-soled shoes so I don't electrocute myself.