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Years ago, someone who lived near me really enjoyed peeing in the stairwell next to my flat. He was our local Banksy. Because the lift did not stop at every floor, I had to use the stairs, so I got to observe his bold use of colour and imaginative take on negative space. After I finished critiquing his themes and technique, I would go into my flat and come back with a pail of bleach and water to wash away the work, while meditating on the fleeting nature of art, on all forms of human expression and on the transient nature of life itself. But I would not let the erasure bother me too much because the next day, he would once more bless me – and everyone using the stairs – with another pungent commentary on current affairs.