Public art is a strange business.
Traditionally our streets have been decorated by big brown metal effigies of people who were very good at making money, being horrid to foreigners or talking parliamentary bollocks - preferably all three.
These days we're more likely to be confronted by toe-curlingly bad depictions of people off the telly, but at least you get a chance to play 'Who the Fuckissit'.
Stranger than all of these, however, is the brick snow dome on Broad Quay.
When they demolished the old Co Op building back in the day, somebody had a tiny fit of conscience and kept the two stone figures from the front of it.
Down at ground level they looked a bit odd, so they built a brick igloo around a puddle, stuck them in it, looking for all the world like a couple of fugitives from justice, bolted a spitty lion on the back and called it a fountain.
They clearly don't belong there, and their expressions make it obvious they're as embarrassed as everyone else about it.
What they needed was something more exciting than a floating crisp packet to focus their gaze upon.

Mermaids are rare this far from the sea.
This one defied all the odds to spend some time demonstrating her ample charms to the stone boy and the Jeremy Corbyn lookalike, but it was all in vain.
She stayed for a week, and then was gone.
Maybe the call of the sea was too strong, maybe not enough people believed in her.
Or maybe the Harbour authorities chucked her in a truck and dumped her in their yard.
No sense of humour , some people.