Well, so much for my ambition to write something at least once a month. Knew it wouldn't last. Anyway, now that I've found my little personal space once again, thought I'd attempt to actually write something. Doesn't even have to be anything profound or remotely humourous, just a few lines of the literary variety.
I arrived in London after a very lengthy drive, broken up with many stops for pees and lattes. Of course, it goes without saying that I got lost once I left the motorway and had to navigate the mean streets. Yes, I have a satnav, of sorts, but she lost the GPS signal when I needed her most leaving me to drive around aimlessly hoping to stumble across my final destination, which, of course, well, need I say.
On Saturday I took in a few sights. First up, Borough Market where I half-expected to see contestants from The Apprentice flogging a selection of hastily created culinary delights. Not that I missed them. The Market massaged my senses with the most wonderful assortment of visual displays, tantalising aromas and delightful tastes.
Whilst posing for a photo in front of a sun-drenched St Paul's Cathedral I received a text from Scotland bemoaning the current, and usual, state of affairs regarding the amount of rain falling on my homeland. I laughed, but before I could reply the clouds gathered around me, and St Paul's, and emptied their contents with a ferocity that reminded me of home sweet home.
Refuge, and an excuse to feed my latte habit, was sought in Apostrophe until the rain stopped. Taking advantage of the break in the clouds I squeaked my way across the Millenium Bridge toward the Tate Modern in search of some cultcha.
Hopes of being dazzled were quickly dashed as I entered the Material Gestures wing. I was back to my cynical self as I wandered around looking at the blobs of paint flung on various surfaces as if they were a local primary school project. But it was the little blurbs next to each piece that raised my spirits and gave me a more on-depth and academic way of looking deeper into each piece. Of course, that is a lie. The information provided just reassured me all these people had their head up their arse, and that is about the size of it. Mind you, it was probably good work if you could get it. The whole experience reminded me of lots of modern poetry. A bunch of pretentious farts trying to prove how clever they are, and if proles like me don't get it, that's because I'm thick as mince. I quite like mince really.
Okay, so maybe I'm being a tad harsh on those poor misunderstood artists, and you're thinking surely there must've been something that caught my eye in a positive manner. Well, if I had to pick out one exhibition that both excited and entertained me, it would be John Heartfield's photomontages in the Poetry and Dream wing. John used satire to expose the deceptions of politics, especially Hitler's Nazi Germany. If you visit the Tate, don't miss this exhibition.
Next on the agenda, Harrods. Did I buy anything? Well, I tried to look the part, especially in the Home Department, or whatever it was called. I paused for a while and discussed, with great emotion and enthusiasm, whether I preferred the silver cutlery set at £13,000 or the gold one at £30,000. I lingered for many minutes, hoping to catch the eye of the smartly dressed sales advisor, but to no avail. He obviously had my number and could tell at a glance I was no more than a chancer pretending to live the dream. I thought it rather funny when I walked away that he pounced on a rich-looking American couple who took my place in front of the cutlery display. I thought of heading back, introducing myself and asking them if they wanted to 'chip in' for the set, but my partner dragged me away towards the ice cream parlour where a mere £30 secured a couple of ice creams.
And then it was back to the real world of London, which is getting around on public transport. For a country lad like myself it was a bit of a culture shock. All that standing in crammed carriages, up elevators, down elevators, back on another train, link with a bus, and repeat process until nackered. I missed my car, not to mention the mountain views.
And that was my day in London. As for the night, well, that's another story which I don't have time for just now as I'm being dragged back out to do it all again.