Found myself in London on Thursday. Arrived just after lunchtime and after spending only a minimal amount of time lost in Kings Cross, went straight off to the
V&A. Fuck me, I've never seen a building like it. Every last bit of it has ornamental decoration and sculpture covering it. It's like they took a Victorian stereotype, upped it to the max, and applied it to every section of wall they could find. Most, most bizarre.
I only really looked at their
photography section, which was far too small for my liking (about the size of one small room), before heading out, just to spot a
Medieval plaster cast section. Figuring they may have something pagany I could see, I went in. There was some crosses with Celtic designs from graveyards which were quite pretty, but really, the whole room was the epitome of the museum: over-done, over-decorated, flamboyant and utterly, utterly mental. There's a few photos of the kind of things I mean on the link. I reckon there can't have been too much for sculptors in the Dark Ages, and they had to make every job last as long as possible, thus making every piece over-complex to the
n-th degree. It's the only explanation I can think of.
I finally managed to leave the building, went for a little walk, and found myself by Harrods. I was tempted to go in with their promises of a sale and the prospect of cheap knickers, but I figured trying to find my way to
Rough Trade might provide me with goods at a slightly more affordable price, no matter how good the Harrods sale might be.
I had drawn a map of how to find the shop from the nearest tube stations before I left Leeds, but even so I managed to get lost. I was lost on Portabello Road though, so at least it was a nice place to lose myself in. I found my way in the end but didn't buy anything, there not being anything I wanted at a cheap enough price for my stingy student pocket. The shop itself was amazing though. If the V&A is the ultimate in Victorian design, Rough Trade must be the ultimate in record shop design. Every last space was filled with CDs or records or posters or magazines. Or all at the same time. And in a space the size of a shoebox.
By now it was heading towards teatime and I was tiring, so I went off to Paddington to sit and read for an hour and await the purpose of my visit: meeting a friend from San Francisco who was in London on business for a week. He eventually turned up, we stopped in his hotel room to drop my bags off, and then we went out for dinner at
Eat and Two Veg. The food was good, but by that point I would have eaten almost anything. The berry crumble and custard we shared for dessert was lovely however. Afterwards we went back to his hotel room and proceeded to have a night of hot sex. Well we had to burn off the crumble calories somehow... Then in the morning we woke up and did the same again. Unfortunately he was flying back to the States at lunchtime so we didn't have nearly enough time for all our fondling and the like, but it was agreed that if we were ever in each other's vicinities again, we would definitely get in touch.
I spent the afternoon at the
Tate. I was wanting to see an
exhibition of art by homeless people but I couldn't find it and was too embarrassed to ask. Instead I spent far too long in their bookshop but managed to come away with only book - the catalogue for the Frida Kahlo exhibition I went to 18 months ago but hadn't been able to afford at the time. It was originally priced £35 but was now in a sale at £8. Bargain!
I headed back off to Kings Cross straight away and got there well in time for my train back to Leeds. Only for them to cancel it. Train failure or some such. I was furious, and so were a couple of hundred other people who were booked onto it. We all ended up having to pile on to the next train, along with all the people booked on to it themselves. And the train wasn't working properly so we had to go slowly. I didn't get in until 10 past 6. I wasn't a happy bunny.
But I did have a great time and that was the important thing. I took some chances, dared to be adventurous, and it paid off. Now to just find some girlies for similar excursions who live a little bit closer to home...
15:54
Returning to college from holidays is always a bastard, and the start of the spring term has been no exception. In my month off I had forgotten just how inane my fellow students are, how much I really prefer my lie-ins, how great it is to forget about deadlines and marks and credits and critical diaries and lectures. All brought back to harrowing reality this week. Bleugh. Four weeks to half term, four weeks to half term, four weeks to half term... A personal mantra which may get me through. Or may just end up stuck in my head, like annoying song lyrics. Still, anything's better than wandering around singing "'Cos I'm running around like a chicken with its head cut off" to myself incessantly.
During Rory's visit I was forced to rejoin the gym. Yes, forced, I tell you. I knew I had become unfit again but I wasn't aware of just how bad it had become until I attempted some of the exercises I was perfectly capable of performing when last a member approximately 2 years ago, and saw just how miserably I was failing. Still, going to the gym is now another excuse not to do college work, so it can't be all that bad. And similarly I can use doing college work as an excuse not to go to the gym. I win both ways!
16:17
