Christopher Pratt (cpratt) wrote,
Christopher Pratt

Dammit, it's still cold.

Well, today was okay. I managed not to freeze my ass off, but I'd forgotten how much I hate the wild temperature swings you have to endure in cities like this in wintertime. You know, you go from sweating like a madman because the temperature's jacked up into the 70s in a shop, to the sweat freezing on your brow as you wait outside for the train.

The Surrealism exhibit at the Tate was lovely - it was a treat to see a few pictures I'd been familiar with for most of my life up close in personal. They had the fur covered objects, the lobster telphone, a wonderful Brancusi sculpture, you name it. (Come to think of it, the Brancusi probably was in the Tate proper.) I spent a good while staring at the tiny brushwork of a couple of Dalis, and admired a few Magrittes as well. But the high point for me, as always, was sitting down in the Rothko room for a while, just letting my mind wander.

The fish tank with basketballs has now been set up properly and is open for viewing. Yay! Sadly, though, I couldn't find Bruce Nauman's "Double No" anywhere on display. I wonder what they've done with it?

Annoyingly, something has gone seriously wrong with my back. I suspect it had something to do with schlepping six bottles of wine over here for my Dad (and for the family Thanksgiving dinner). Waiting in line at the Tate to buy Dan a caffe mocha, something tripped the emergency stop brake and I doubled over in pain. Thankfully it subsided just long enough for me to hobble back to the table with our coffee. Still, that was totally unexpected and very, very painful. I rested for a while while Dan looked around the third floor, but eventually I was able to get up and have a look around for myself. After a quick spin through the bookshop - they had this wonderful art book of "queer" paperback art from the 1940s ff that I would have bought had it not been so expensive (it even had this weird Sam Delaney cover from the 60s) - we headed out for our 6 pm reservation at Livebait, a seafood restaurant nearby that was supposed to be good.

Sadly, it wasn't really. My mussels were okay but small in size, and my entree (cod) was boring as all hell, mitigated slightly by butternut squash puree and parsnip crisps. Dan's dish, however, was inedible for some reason, and we left kind of bummed and 40 pounds poorer (it would have been a lot more if we hadn't had the specially priced early bird menu; London seems to have a monopoly on mediocre food at outrageous prices).

Once home it was time to hang out in front of the TV with some wine. First, a 1991 Riesling from the Moselle, which was absolutely phenomenal, then the same thing in a 1998 version. The older one was almost like Eritrean honey wine, absolutely lovely, whereas the new one was much sweeter but still fairly good.

Now, I'm going to head back into the living room and rejoin Dan at the TV. I think Airport is on next. My kind of show!

  • It's July 2013.

    Remember when I wrote a lot on LiveJournal? Yeah, me neither.

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