Dozens if not hundreds of little cliques, gathering in cafés and gin houses, all publishing their little pamphlets and manifestos - I mean, it’s simply not a movement without a manifesto, darling - catfighting like a bunch of schoolgirls, who’s in, who’s out, why weren’t you at my oh-pening? Odieux collectionneur de bibelots bourgeois, you promised. ‘The real Dadas are against Dada,’ what does that even mean? And have you heard about what Marcel’s been getting up to in New York? He tries too hard, too hard, they all do. It all makes my teeth ache, darling, be a dear and bring me some more drops for my tea?
