Come Back To Me

Okay. It's Friday night and I'm feeling a little bit off because I smelt some rancid milk a couple of hours ago. I think that there is no worse smell in the world than off milk. It truly is disgusting. Since I last spoke to you a bit has happened, I've looked at a lot of things - most of them interesting. I've also seen a few familiar faces which is also nice. First of all was Rowan. I went out to his place, meeting him at Baker Street Station. He's still the same nice guy which is great to see, no sign of an accent at all which I'm not too surprised about. We shared a few Fosters and enjoyed a lovely curry cooked by his girlfriend, Sharon, who in addition to being a great cook is also a lovely girl. For a Kiwi. I managed to get through the night with a minimum of inappropriate comments although one of them is sort of haunting me. I'm sure no offence was taken, but with hindsight I probably didn't need to say it. One of those jokes that doesn't quite hit, or perhaps it was too close for comfort. Ha!

Yesterday was a pretty big day. Dad, Stuart and I packed a few sandwiches and headed off to the Tate Modern Art Gallery which was pretty nifty. It's in a converted power house, I'm pretty sure that they stole the idea from Brisbane. It was fantastic though. Now, I don't profess to like modern conceptual art, but some of it was pretty neat. One of my favourites was an oak tree that looked like a glass of water, another was IKB 79 which was created by an artist by the name of Michael Clarke Klein. I think. I could be very wrong, and I do have it written down somewhere. Basically though it's just a canvas with his own individual colour on it. A colour that has an international patent on it. There was a comment from the creator about how it was his ultimate expression of freedom or something like it. I think that's what I like about that stuff, it seems to me that a lot of it is people trying to have a bit of a giggle. People trying to take the piss a bit. They had a few of Jackson Pollock's pieces, none on the scale of Blue Poles though. There was also Salvadore Dali's Lobster Phone which was quite neat. I sometimes think that I'm a bit of a pervert.

Somehow Dad and I managed to lose Stuart whilst exploring the building, so we left him. Dad and I went to the Globe theatre which was actually a bit of a let down, I'm sure it would have been much better if there had been a performance. We then adventured back across the River Thames to St Paul's Cathedral. There I climbed all of the steps to the top and was rewarded with a wonderful view of a lot of London. It was a beautiful clear day and it felt good to get the legs pumping and to feel the sun on my face and the wind in my hair at the top.

Dad and I returned to the apartment after that, and thankfully Stuart was there, with the backpack. I was a bit disappointed. I headed out directly from there to meet up with Sarah in Notting Hill and got there with a minimum of fuss. It was great to see Sarah again, as well as Danica. I also met Sarah's boyfriend, Simon, and found him to be a pretty cool dude. We drank some Scorpions in an American themed bar, then headed over to a pool hall called The Elbow Room where I enjoyed a couple of 2 for 1 beers. One of the beers I sampled was Budweiser, not Budwieser. I think that there's a difference in spelling. I know that the slogan for one is The Beer of Kings, and the other is The King of Beers. Either way it wasn't the American one. I still didn't rate it though. Definately not a XXXX, so obviously shit.

It was a pretty quiet night really, we made some plans for the weekend, maybe do a few of these ones. Possibly those ones too. Could be a bit wild.

Today was spent looking at shops. I found this to be tremendously depressing as there was a lot of clothing that I would have liked, but with the exchange rate and also the reversal of seasons it just wasn't practical. It also made me feel like an ill kempt slob, and although I am quite probably always an ill kempt slob, I don't often feel like. Saville Row, Fortnum and Mason, Harrods - all fantastic stores where I could easily spend thousands of pounds. Very depressing. I think that when I get home I'm going to have to buy a pair of shoes/boots to make myself feel better about it. Kinda pointy toed ones.

As I said earlier, tonight is Friday night and things could get a bit loose. I received a message from Rowan to say that he and Richie Finnila are in Piccadilly Circus having a couple of beers. I'm pretty keen to see David Honour too, but that off milk is still haunting me. Maybe I just need something to eat. Hmmm.

In a side note, I bought a book today in Harrods. It's actually 4 books in 1. They are all by John Fante. In this I discovered that the book from which I took the inspiration for this blog is actually Wait Until the Spring, not Wait For The Spring. Oh well, you live and learn, and I mean a half arsed effort is sort of what you expect isn't it?