Jen's friend Lizzie was stopping with us for a week and I was happy to haul the poor girl around with me on my never-ending attendance of the latest free gallery event, movie or lecture. The first night she stayed with us we went together to see a brilliant Indian movie at the National Portrait Gallery. While the story itself was an unremittingly sad and emotional one of a poor family – the almost wholly female audience at one time couldn't keep their sadness contained and in one moment sighed, sniffed and knuckled away tears together in a testament to the exquisite emotional tension created – there were moments of extraordinary emotion, especially between the brother and sister, that made my heart ache for my brothers and sister. At the death of the sister I thought I was going to start bawling. Terrible form really.
In direct contrast to the film's virtuoso performance on my heart strings on Thursday, Friday I got to exercise the cynical and disdainful muscles of my wank-o-meter. Monica, Lizzie and I went to the Victoria and Albert Museums Village Fete and, although billed as the coolest event of the museum's calendar of often painfully cool events, it was preciously boring. Being quite a devotee of the museum, and even having been lucky enough to work in their marketing and press department, albeit for a short while, I am particularly aware of the V&A's niche market – wealthy, pretentious and very 'dahlink'. The fete was interesting for about 20 minutes and the crowd was painfully fashionable, luvvie and overly concerned with enjoying themselves because they were 'there' and it was 'wonderful', but it just lacked soul. The most fun had by the three of us was the good old 'stick your head through the hole and put your face on someone else's body' stand. The people you could become were two super models,
a pair of Rasta,
a tattooed man and a cyclist - weird combination but it worked. With the digital camera clicking away Monica and I provided a little light entertainment by getting carried away and having diva fits and being fawning photographers in turn.
In direct contrast to the film's virtuoso performance on my heart strings on Thursday, Friday I got to exercise the cynical and disdainful muscles of my wank-o-meter. Monica, Lizzie and I went to the Victoria and Albert Museums Village Fete and, although billed as the coolest event of the museum's calendar of often painfully cool events, it was preciously boring. Being quite a devotee of the museum, and even having been lucky enough to work in their marketing and press department, albeit for a short while, I am particularly aware of the V&A's niche market – wealthy, pretentious and very 'dahlink'. The fete was interesting for about 20 minutes and the crowd was painfully fashionable, luvvie and overly concerned with enjoying themselves because they were 'there' and it was 'wonderful', but it just lacked soul. The most fun had by the three of us was the good old 'stick your head through the hole and put your face on someone else's body' stand. The people you could become were two super models,
a pair of Rasta,
a tattooed man and a cyclist - weird combination but it worked. With the digital camera clicking away Monica and I provided a little light entertainment by getting carried away and having diva fits and being fawning photographers in turn.