Tight SainthoodOne evening a decade ago I was lured to a book launching in the City, a typical affair in a third-floor art gallery off Post, all shiny surfaces, oozing hipsters, and those god-awful earnest attempts at playfulness. The gallery was arranged in a series of stalls "selling" twee little competitions, books, etc., where the prize was a random word. You were supposed to string these together to make Art. All very jolly.
The first two (and only two) words I won were Tight Sainthood. It seemed to fit.