The Lichtenstein Retrospective was so beautiful! I know I might sound a little demented (I haven’t been to a gallery in a long old time) but it was so breath taking to be so close to such beautiful art. I must have looked a little strange with my face pressed up to the glass to see the paint on the canvas. I was so fascinated to study the imperfections. I was worried I would zone out after a while because my attention span is so poor but I made it round the exhibition twice!
I was in love! Even if you don’t rate art it would blow your socks off.
This is a photo of me looking super lanky in London. I know, the photo is pretty self explanatory. Never underestimate the simple mindedness of the audience and all that..
I gots no photos from the Tate Modern. Hawk eyed gallery workers were watching me wearing Kayleigh’s flash camera round my neck and were poised and ready to pounce. I got out my phone to show Kayleigh a text message only to be reminded by a polo shirt that photography was not permitted. From his reaction I was fearful he may be carrying a Taser. Jeeeeeeeez. But no, no…I get it.
Anyway. What I came here today to say…well…what I came here today to confess was…
Well, it’s just that…
Few things fill me full of dread and disappointment as…
No, I think disappointment is the wrong word. Disappointment is:
- Pealing back the foil on a container of Philadelphia only to discover that it has grown a furry green jacket.
- Finding out a slamming hottie has a girlfriend.
- Being told in no uncertain terms that you are more likely to be able to learn the Japanese language in 12 hours than find an American Apparel bikini that will fit your boobs.
- “You have 0 minutes left on your Spotify Account. Please play £1,000,000 to continue listening to the new Yeah Yeah Yeah’s album you’ve been rinsing dry for 32 hours.”
No. So.. Sorry. I digress like a motherfucker. I don’t think anyone really likes admitting things that make them sound lame or abnormal. I mean, like, exceptionally so.
But I’m going to go for it.
Live music does absolutly nothing for me.
Less than nothing.
Live music does -4 to me.
I’ve been to see many a band in my time. And I just don’t enjoy it.
1. I don’t like waiting.
2. I don’t like being in rooms that quickly change from being too cold and then too hot.
3. I don’t like the smell of stagnant beer, piss or sweat. Atleast when you could smoke inside this would be the most prominant odour.
4. Why do all men with alarmingly hairy necks congregate at the front? I don’t like being shoved so close that this neck hair is in my mouth.
5. I don’t like drinking beer. Or spending £6 for the privelege. I don’t understand why nor enjoy when people piss in the left over plastic beakers and then throw it. I can’t speak for certain and you should never say never but I can’t see myself ever getting drunk enough that I piss in whatever I was drinking and then throw the contents over a strangers head.
Oh but Sarah, you must enjoy festivals, right?
No. All of the same applies but you are outside, sleeping on the ground. Eating nothing but cereal bars for 4 days. The sight of a toilet with a low yet passingly acceptable level of hygiene is nothing but a drug induced dillusion, whilst you squat over a cesspit shuddering through the waves of nausea trying to avoid making contact with any of the four walls, ceiling or floor. The bands of yester year (the soul reason you spent £200 on your ticket) come out and play the same over played songs like the puppets with cracked out hollow eyes that they are.
For days after you return, you cannot summon the energy to even stand in the shower. The water runs black for days. “What has happened to me…?” you wonder? You cannot remember as you blacked out for 48 hours after drinking your weight in Tesco Value Whisky and the only act you can remember seeing is Scouting For Girls.
And let’s face it, everyone hates Scouting For Girls.