This week’s #writephoto prompt is this picture

Christopher Cholmeldley St John Plankton pinched the bridge of his nose. He would not give in to the migraine that was beginning to batter the back of his eyes. He forced himself to focus on the agenda that lay on the blotter. ‘Next, the committee have been asked to decide on the temporary closure of the Sculpture park at Badger’s Trollope arboretum on the grounds of a clear breach of the Society’s public decency rules. Perhaps Geraldine could brief…’

‘It’s Mars’ penis, isn’t it? I knew you’d make a thing about the penis.’ Martin Clodpollock glowered down the table.

Christopher looked from Martin to Geraldine and down at the agenda. ‘I wasn’t aware we have a problem with Mars’ penis…’

Martin huffed. ‘It’s all about context.’

Geraldine shuffled her bosoms, not a good sign. ‘You can’t contextualise a phallus, even on a god. And it’s not a question of context, but proportion.’

Christopher could feel his control slipping as a tsunami of pain rippled across his forehead. ‘Can we deal with…?’

Martin wasn’t listening. He had stood and was pointing at Geraldine. ‘Oh, that’s peachy. What about Venus’ breasts? Even Atlas would have a job hefting those two masterdons.’

Christopher felt sure his skull was about to fissure. ‘The issue is neither Mars’ member or Venus’ boobage.’

Martin sat with a thump. ‘It isn’t?’

‘No.’

‘Which god is it, then?’

‘Geraldine?’

‘It seems there was a misunderstanding when the sculptures were commissioned. As you will recall we asked the country’s leading sculptors to design a piece based around Holsts’ planets…’

Martin nodded. ‘Yes, yes. Given who they were they had a free hand, hence the engorged…’

‘Quite. I think we’ve dealt with that for now. Each piece was installed in one of the glades and lakes.’

Heads nodded. Everyone had said it was a splendid idea and would put them on the map.

‘We asked Sir Anthony Gormely to participate, but his people weren’t sure so we assumed he would decline. But it turned out he was keen and he asked which of the planets he could do.’

Geraldine looked at Christopher. Neither wanted to speak.

Martin drummed the table, his irritation growing. ‘And? Did he make some winged messenger like that thingy of the north everyone bangs on about? That would be fine as Mercury.’

‘I think the planetary connection might have become lost in translation as it were. I’ve checked the letter of instruction and it’s seems my Secretary misunderstood my intentions. The workmen are installing it now. It’s rather unfortunately taking central stage.’ Geraldine pushed a sheet of paper towards Christopher who read it, blanched and stumbled to his feet.

One by one it went around the table. As each trustee scanned the copy, they too stood and left the room, intent it seemed on checking for themselves. Eventually it reached Martin who glanced at it, growled, ‘Oh for pity’s sake…’ and walked out.

The sheet sat where he left it.

‘Dear Sir Anthony,

The committee are delighted you have agreed to provide us with your piece for our new installation. Given your imaginative interpretations the committee are looking forward to how you will represent your anus. We are delighted to confirm that her majesty will be at the opening…’

To give more context for those not familiar with Gormely’s work, this statue cast in bronze is part of an installation near Liverpool. The model from which all these figures were cast is Gormley himself.. he has form….