Just one thing
That's all the culture you can apparently do in London in a day, unless you're super organised. Or have a helicopter.
On Sunday I was supposed to go to Musical Event A, meet N.E. for a catch-up, attend Musical Event B, meet P.S. for a catch-up, attend Musical Event C and call it a night.
Instead I missed A thanks to the tube deciding to take two hours to get from Heathrow to central London. It kept stopping at stations that didn't seem to be listed on the map.
Met N.E. for lunch, which turned into waiting long time for a table, waiting long time for service, eating lunch and exploring for long time a fantastic Dali/Picasso exhibition, which made me so late that I missed event B. Not that I minded, exactly. The exhibition was completely fabbalas and there was even Art for sale. Yes, actual Picasso drawings of funny-looking horses (only 500 squids! That's almost affordable even in rondts! I did consider buying one so I could one day say to dinner-party guests 'Oh, that? That's a Picasso. [pause for effect] It's not a print.'), and very very expensive Dali etchings (starting at 3,000 squids for a squiggly nude wench drawn on a piece of paper slightly larger than a 50p stamp) and the loveliest Chagall paintings (supposedly not quite so sought-after as Dali, having a starting price of 1,100 squids).
P.S. brought her sister along and instead of C (Bach's Musical Offering) it turned into rather too many delicious cocktails and lots of nosy questions on my part about the respective love lives of P.S. and sister. Then there was a lot of chatting to a young plaasjaapie working at Giraffe who kept insisting he was not from Johannesburg when I *totally* had his accent placed. How often does an ex-pat get to serve a party of three South African customers on the banks of the River Thames?
Well, probably every day, knowing London.
On Sunday I was supposed to go to Musical Event A, meet N.E. for a catch-up, attend Musical Event B, meet P.S. for a catch-up, attend Musical Event C and call it a night.
Instead I missed A thanks to the tube deciding to take two hours to get from Heathrow to central London. It kept stopping at stations that didn't seem to be listed on the map.
Met N.E. for lunch, which turned into waiting long time for a table, waiting long time for service, eating lunch and exploring for long time a fantastic Dali/Picasso exhibition, which made me so late that I missed event B. Not that I minded, exactly. The exhibition was completely fabbalas and there was even Art for sale. Yes, actual Picasso drawings of funny-looking horses (only 500 squids! That's almost affordable even in rondts! I did consider buying one so I could one day say to dinner-party guests 'Oh, that? That's a Picasso. [pause for effect] It's not a print.'), and very very expensive Dali etchings (starting at 3,000 squids for a squiggly nude wench drawn on a piece of paper slightly larger than a 50p stamp) and the loveliest Chagall paintings (supposedly not quite so sought-after as Dali, having a starting price of 1,100 squids).
P.S. brought her sister along and instead of C (Bach's Musical Offering) it turned into rather too many delicious cocktails and lots of nosy questions on my part about the respective love lives of P.S. and sister. Then there was a lot of chatting to a young plaasjaapie working at Giraffe who kept insisting he was not from Johannesburg when I *totally* had his accent placed. How often does an ex-pat get to serve a party of three South African customers on the banks of the River Thames?
Well, probably every day, knowing London.
posted by vivaldifan | 8:14 AM
1 Comments:
About two years ago I was quite flabbergasted to find myself, in a gallery, facing a Matisse drawing that I realised I could *technically* have actually bought. Of course, that would have maxed out my frankly ludicrous credit limit and been highly inadvisable, so it's just as well that it was a pretty ugly drawing.
But, £500 for a Picasso? I'm amazed.
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