Arty Farty

The Lady PF and I went to a private viewing of the Royal Academy of Art’s Summer Exhibition.

It was some sort of jolly organised by the National Association of People Who Do the Same Job as Purple Fred – or something like that, anyway. We’d seen it on the telly the night before, so we had a rough idea what to expect, but as stated it was all very arty. There was pretentious twaddle, including something that Tracy Emin had knocked up in about thirty seconds and had already sold for some ridiculous price; There was one picture that we both agreed should’ve been called “What it Feels Like to Have a Migraine”, and at least a few things that we’d have bought, had the price been about a thousandth of what it was.

The statue of St Bartholomew by Damien Hirst was absolutely stunning, although incredibly gruesome, and interesting in that even though he’d been flayed alive, he hadn’t been circumcised. But my favourite was a postcard to the selection committee from an artist who’d been constantly rejected, and had written to ask them to grant her her dream of being exhibited – so they exhibited the postcard! It had already sold as well, for an amazing one pound ninety pees.

Other than that there was a chamber quartet happily tootling away in one corner, an amazing amount of free champagne and incredibly sweet wine, and a selection of nibbles that was even more pretentious than the art – although rather more enjoyable, as well.

And then we found our way – rather squiffily, it must be said – back to Waterloo for the train home :-)

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