Friends with Adam and Eve

After sleeping off my all nighter I needed to leave the confines of the flat. Kyle had been wanting to see the Temptation in Eden exhibition since we've been back, so we took the opportunity while the sun was ashining to go over towards the Courtauld Institute of Art. On the way I stopped to take this photo of some kids playing in the fountain in the quad at Kings College where the gallery is.



While waiting in que for our tickets (which are free for students by the way!) a rather condescending lady (in a twinset and pearls no less) wanted us to sign up for the usual 'friends of the gallery' type thing.

Twinset Lady: hello (bright lipstick smile)
Kyle: hello
TL: Are you here to see the exhibition?
(in my head): you mean this isn't the express checkout?
Kyle: Yes
TL: well.. maybe you might be interested some day in joining the friends of the gallery. its fifty pounds a year.. blah. blah. blah. i.e i'm telling you this but as far as i can see you are far too poor and uninterested to be a member as we are only looking for those who are available to luncheon.
Kyle: I see (polite boy he is..)
(in my head): oo.. if this means meeting more people like you? where do I sign up?
TL: So you're here to see the Temptation exhibit then?
Kyle: well.. Yes.
(oh and the reason why Kyle is the only responding here is because she completely blanked me anyway)
TL: Its very good you know. The reviews have been excellent on this one.
Kyle: No, we haven't seen the review. (then as we step up to the cashier..)
TL: Oh yes, I see, well, why would you?


hm. elitist *ahem* twit.

It didn't help that the gallery was full of others very much like the T(watty) Lady downstairs umm-ing and aah-ing, discussing pieces loudly less for the benefit of themselves or their conversation but for the enlightenment of our poor uneducated souls.

The rest of the gallery itself was not very much to my taste or interest though saved by the two Gauguin paintings of Tahitian women. Prints of which I have been struggling to find (so if you know of anywhere in London I can get some good quality ones - let me know). Meanwhile in the exhibit itself I found myself being shushed (shushed!) aside by some old ladies who sat down behind me so that they could see the painting I was already in front. nice.

Note to self: once I have amassed my own collection (please humour my Peggy delusions) that will be enjoyed for generations, must impose strict no speaking rule within gallery. rabbiters, annoying twinset ladies and smokers please go outside. done. xxw

Life On Mars Part 3

Its a God awful small affair,
To the girl with the mousey hair.

Back where I started four weeks ago I'm sitting in my flat listening to randoms on this internet machine surrounded by piles of open books.. I suppose you could say I've gone and put myself in a position that really isn't helping any productivity.

But rather than tear my hair out due to the lack of activity on the drawing board let me tell you how I got here.

My journey back from a four week trip in Brunei started as our flight zoomed into gray wet clouds causing K and I to huddle into a ball as the plane rattled into higher altitudes. Thoughts of being eco-warriorwoman come to view as I vow silently that the only mode of transport for me will either be four-legged and fast, or choo-chooing and slow. Suddenly K's suggestions to return to the UK via the trans-siberian express did not seem so ridiculous. However as we landed in Heathrow three movies and an extended nap later in just about 16 hours, all thoughts of carbon footprints were swiftly turned to the rather (un)welcoming British weather. Reminding me once again that 16 hours ago-ish, I was lying by the pool catching some last minute sun burn.

There is that moment when you open the door to your house after a long time being away when you are either confronted by: 1. aahhh.. (slinky music, soft bed and a good homemade meal) or 2. aahhh!! (dozens of small bugs swarming around your ankles, bed stripped due to pre-holiday cleaning hoo-haa and brekkie at local greasy spoon caf). Suffice to say the latter greeted us as we ran for refuge in our day old clothes. Thankfully Sha was kind enough to lend us a hand and let us stay round hers. By the time we had the keys to her place our internal clocks were telling us it sould be 6am and I had broken out in hives in reaction to the bites and stress. Meanwhile, our house was being fumigated and if you listened really carefully, you could just about hear the bastards wheezing to death, frantically jumping at the windows.

Not the welcome home anyone would hope for, but at least we're home. Even if I'm afraid to touch the floor since the pest guys said not to mop or vacuum for 10 days to make sure the insecticide gets everything. Even if the place looks like we had a party and everyone came in their work boots, spilt drink everywhere then decided to pour salt everywhere. I know, we throw some random parties. But hey, its home. At least one of them anyway.

Sailors fighting in the dance hall
Oh man, look at those cave men go

Indeed. xxw