Another morning spent frowning and worrying over a pile of inscrutable books. This is a challenge.

By lunchtime I had thrown in the towel, and noticing it was enticingly sunny outside, I woke Jude from her daytime slumber and off we galloped along the Thames path and through the foot tunnel to Greenwich Park. Jude chased squirrels like an absolute loon for an hour, with me following behind as we traversed the royal park in an entirely random fashion.

Exhausted, we hurried home in time for me to dash out again to The Kings Arms in Waterloo to meet B&H (a satisfying smoke) for a Christmas catch up and reminiscences of past glories. All very jolly, although the pub was so packed you could hear the original wooden beams creaking, and it was possible to lift your feet off the ground and maintain a vertical attitude. Found some car keys on the tube, and drove home in a Ferrari.

Confused? I am.

Actually, this essay really is a bugger. I can’t seem to get a foothold. I’m reading all this stuff and I’m not sure it’s linking together in my mind, which it needs to do before I can start writing. I’m becoming aware of the passing of time and a rather ominous deadline lumbering across the horizon.

John came in out of the cold and through sheer technical wizardry (involving a large amount of wires, gizmos and gadgetry), made me all wireless. I can now blog in the bog and surf in the bath. It’s a boon. Piles of pizza for tea.

Kids in the fire and logs in the tree

Monday. Ah, Monday, and little to do except walk the dog, get the weekly shopping in, and start work on my essay. Got all Christmassy during the evening and trimmed the tree to the strains of Wham and Mud.

Wild party

Off to West Hampstead for a Christmas lunch. Met J at Waterloo and journeyed on the Jubilee Line, pausing for a swift coffee en route. The champagne was flowing, and we were soon feasting on a superb selection of antipasti, roast chicken and a fine tarte aux poires, all washed down with an ample sufficiency of robust and ebullient wines. After many hours a table we stumbled out into the dark night air. A nightcap at Waterloo and then home…as they say in Spain, where’s the day go?

Old before I die

After last night’s shenanigans I felt weary all day. Managed to summon up the energy to get up and walk Jude first thing, then spent the day generally pottering about, filing away all my course notes and putting off working on my essay. Mmm, I feel a bout of procrastination coming on.

Student shenanigans

It would be really useful if I spoke German. It appears that most of the theory I need to read for my next essay is written in German, so what chance have I got? Nine.

Ever hopeful, I struggled into the library, stopping in the madly busy Canary Wharf mall for a tiny bit of Christmas shopping, loathe as I am to indulge in this mad commercially-dictated consumerist activity of waste, greed and gluttony. Yet, we all blindly buy into it year after year...learning nuffink. Charles Dickens has a lot to answer for, if he wasn't so busy doing the twist in his grave.

Anyway, who's not listening to Sufjan Stevens? I've been addicted since 2004, and I really need to discuss this with somebody...namechecked by Snow Patrol, but still generally quite obscure. Perhaps it's better this way. So, I make it to the library at Senate House, and settle myself behind a desk somewhere in the artificially-lit claustrophobia-inducing confines of the 6th floor - that's the tower in the photo - intimidating innit? I find loads of relevant books - happy with my haul I try to read them - mmm, not so successful. There may be trouble ahead. Please would somebody explain Reception Theory to me between now and the New Year? And it's nothing to do with hotel lobbies.

This evening's lecture featured a guest speaker to discuss sexuality in Victorian London as portrayed in the novels of Sarah Waters. Bold. Lesbians all over the shop. Let's talk about queer London, oh and Happy Christmas. Afterwards we all trooped along to the bar at the Tavistock Hotel and stayed too long, which meant an interesting journey home in the company of many drunken office party revellers. I got chatted up on the DLR by a posse of drink-sodden women of a certain age...they said I looked like Jon Bon Jovi - that's how well their beer goggles were functioning - 'Perhaps you mean Catweazel?', I suggested helpfully. As I made to get off the train two of them grabbed me tried to stop me from leaving, but being on the wobbly side of well-balanced, they lost their footing and ended up in a writhing heap of bingo-winged limbs on the vommit-smudged floor. I carefully disentangled myself from their grasping hands and disembarked as quickly as I could without looking back. The stuff of nightmares!

Catching flies

I headed off to the British Library to begin researching for my next essay. I learnt the meaning of words like wirkungsgeschichte and rezeptionsasthetik which I now intend to throw into everyday conversation.

While I was in the library, I became aware of a bit of a kerfuffle at the information desk. A terribly posh elderly woman was demanding various things in a very loud voice, and disturbing the whole of the vast reading room. Eventually she sat down, presumably waiting for her books, and promptly fell asleep with her mouth hanging open. That was about 1pm, and she was still there in the same position when I left at 4.30pm. Perhaps she had died there.

I scurried around Birkbeck library, scooping up books with all the gusto of a contestant on Supermarket Sweep and then made my way to the lecture on Interdisciplinarity - oh dear! This time it was me who was catching flies. A cure for insomnia has finally been located in Bloomsbury. Dull as ditch water. Nothing that a few pints of the barman's finest over at the SU couldn't put right, including a lively debate on Mahler. It all happens dunnit?

Reception theory

And so it goes. One down, one to go. I began research on my essay based on Reception Theory. All good stuff I'll have you know.

By the end of the day, my brain was that fuzzy with the reading of all this critical theorising, that The Royal Variety Performance was a welcome no-brainer. Barry Manilow, Ken Dodd and Rod Stewart - it's cutting edge stuff. Who needs Spitting Image with grotesques such as these?

Signed, sealed, delivered...well, almost!

The good news is, it's all done. The essay that is. Written, annotated, bibliographied, and tomorrow it will be printed and bound, and I shall hand it in on Wednesday, two days early. Unless I decide to change it again - doh! The bad news is I've only got three and a half weeks until my next essay is due...gulp! So, apart from finishing an incredibly long essay on the changing patterns of patronage in the 19th century, and having a complete spac-attack (can I say that?) when my laptop decided to shut-down and none of the changes I'd made in 5 hours working on it had been saved - I cried - but I carried on and it's done.

I won't mention it again. Well, I might.

Here's a picture of Jude hunting bush tucker in Greenwich Park. Those pesky squirrels!

Daaaaarn in Margate

I was up with the lark to walk Jude before dashing off to Victoria and taking the train to Margate, meeting up with Juliette and Trent on the way. Di met us at the station and we trooped back to her fabulous house for a delicious lunch. By the time we got out for a walk along the seafront it was already dark, and it was pretty cold and windy too, so we just paused briefly to stare into the inky blackness relieved only by the occasional line of white water as the waves broke beneath the promenade. We found a cosy pub, ideal for a couple of aperitifs and then went back to the house to make dinner. Juliette and I excelled with a parsnip and sweet potato mash, and a butternut squash flan. Washed down with plenty of vino, it was a superb evening. Di and I sat up late discussing our various cod-philosophies, which thank goodness my brain decided not to store.

Sunday was beautifully sunny, and we headed back down for a blow along the front. The obligatory fish and chips lunch was partaken overlooking the harbour, and it wasn't long before we were embarking back upon the rather arduous journey home, which involved a bus to Faversham and a train which stopped at every pillar and gatepost after that. Nevermind, I was home in time for the Antiques Roadshow (!), a soak in the bath and The Producers on DVD which was a hoot.

Soanes

Today, me and some of my fellow-studentinos were treated to a private tour of Sir John Soanes Museum. I've been there before, so I knew we were in for a bit of a treat. It was great to be shown around, and I still got that tingly-sensation when the curator in the picture room opened up the flaps to reveal what is hidden behind. One of the top places to visit in London I reckon. Next time I go it's going to be a drawing class I am told - yikes!

We retired for lunch in a nearby pub (which served an excellent pint of Bombardier I must say) before heading off to college, stopping for a coffee and muffin along the way. The evening was spent discussing Victorian sexual morality and porn, which is always a nice way to round off a Friday. I was knackered and headed home for Simon Schama's fantastic Rothko episode.

Monday through Thursday

OK, so I'm crap at keeping this up, as it were. But I've been under a bit of pressure writing my first proper, MA standard essay. When you haven't done anything like it for 15 years, it becomes quite a challenge. Not only that, but I find myself questioning everything - is this good enough? What are they looking for? Who ate the last chocolate digestive?

While I was worrying away at my essay on Monday, I received a phonecall from a very good friend who's a violinist in the Royal Opera House orchestra, asking if I wanted to go and see the final dress rehearsal of Carmen the following morning. I considered it for a nanosecond and then accepted. So, on Tuesday morning, there's me standing in the pissing rain outside the ROH stage door in Floral Street waiting for my ticket, watching the horse and donkey being delivered ready for their stage debut. I ended up in the coffee shop supping americanos with members of the cast in full costume and make-up, before being ushered to my seat in the orchestra stalls. The house was full and the opera was stunning all the way. This is how the other half live. It was only 11 o'clock in the morning, and there I was, jobless and skint enjoying some of the very best in artistic performance London has to offer. Mustn't grumble, can't complain.

Just enough time to rush home and walk Jude and get myself back into town to meet H for dinner before making our way to the New Ambassadors theatre to see Love Song, the new comedy by John Kolvenbach. Starring Cillian Murphy and Neve Campbell, it was an excellent play, although I'm not sure if it was comedy or drama. Great performances though. Not a bad day all round!

On Wednesday I spent most of the afternoon in the library at Birkbeck, before meeting up with my personal tutor (oh yes) to discuss and agree the title of my research project for the spring term. We finally agreed on...wait for it: Investigating public spectatorship via technology and materiality. It's a corker isn't it! Don't ask me what it means - I've only got to do it!

Thursday was spent in the British Library, with an evening lecture on Convergence and Music in Art History which was interesting, followed by our little Christmas party. Everybody brought in drinks and nibbles which we proceeded to consume in the lecture room until the security guard kicked us out at some ungodly hour.

Picture gallery

Well now things appear to be working again, I can start using pictures like in the olden days and stuff.

Not much to say, because after a smashing evening in Wimbledon, which made it three in a row, I spent Sunday in the recovery position.

This is a sketch by Lord Leighton, by the way.

A week is a long time in art history

Oh bother. A whole week seems to have slipped by like a knob of butter across a hot frying pan. And what have I got to show for it? A bottle of whisky and a pain behind my eyes? Well, yes and no, but I have been a busy bee. In fact I'm busier now than I've ever been. How did that happen?

The week started off sedately enough. Monday and Tuesday I was incredibly st-st-studious and spent the entire time working on my essay. It's meant to be 5000 words but I'm already well over 6000 - better to edit down than to pad out is what I think. By Wednesday, the walls were coming in at me, and as I gazed in a boss-eyed fashion at my laptop screen, dazzled by the sun reflecting off it, I thought bollocks to this. I need to get out of here. So I grabbed Jude (who up until that point was gently napping on the sofa and was slightly puzzled as to what was going on) and we headed along the riverside to the Greenwich foot tunnel, emerging by the Cutty Sark and than spending the next two hours larking about in the right-royal park. There was an abundance of squirrels and Jude was in her element. Unfortunatley the little icon which enables me to post pictures here seems to have disappeared - hopefully temporarily - cos I've got some loverly snaps so I have.

Anyway, I'm giving away the plot. But it's all done in the best possible taste. Thursday I packed my satchel and spent the day in the British Library doing research for my essay. The British Library is just brilliant - I love it. You just look up books on the internet database, request them, turn up and there they are. If you order more a little sign lights up on your desk when they're ready - how cool is that? And it's free.

The evening lecture was about gothic architecture, based around Prague and Prague Cathedral and Charles IV. Most interesting - as was the discussion in the bar afterwards. Stayed too long, which led to...

...bleary eyes on Friday. But I was up with the lark and off to the Chola Sacred Bronzes exhibition at the Royal Academy which is fascinating, although I would have liked to have had a bit more information (6.5/10), then on to Kensington and Leighton House. What an intriguing place - not what I was expecting, although I'm not sure what I was expecting. Not a fountain and a stuffed peacock in the hall that's for certain. Amazing decor, and amongst other things, stuffed full of Burne-Jones paintings, and of course Leighton masterpieces. The exhibition of drawings (A Victorian Master) is well worth a visit.

Afterwards I returned, after a five year absence, to my old stomping ground: Local Government House in Smith Square for my successor's leaving drinks. Great to catch up with everyone again - before I knew what had happened it was 11pm...and I had had too much Kronenberg. Doh!

Pandora's Box

Hello. Am I the last person in the world to discover www.pandora.com? Probably. It's great and eats your time. Now I listen to 'Geoff Radio' all day long. I'm particularly keen on My Chemical Romance.

So, another soaking out on the farm at 7am, then back to bed with the soggy Sunday papers. I cooked myself a full English and then got back to the blinking essay. Didn't stop...this is hard. Really hard.

So, Lauren leaves IACGMOOH. More room for the others to sit down then.

Essay essay essay...

Hugo jetted off to Holland at the crack of dawn, leaving Jude and I to fend for ourselves. The weather was foul, so it was just as well that I had earmarked this weekend for a spot of essay writing. Time seems to be galloping away with itself and the deadline is looking frighteningly close now, and although I've been doing a helluva lot of research and note-taking, I haven't actually written anything yet. And that troubles me deeply.

I managed to write the opening paragraph!

Meanwhile, Jude caught up on some zzzz's.

Frith on Friday

As luck would have it, the Guildhall Gallery are currently showing an exhibition of the work of William Frith - one of the best known of the Victorian narrative painters. How relevant is that? I met my fellow-students at Bank and we proceeded to the Guildhall. It's free on Fridays, and just as we arrived, a free tour was starting - it was all going our way. The Guildhall Gallery has some fantastic examples of Victorian art - including Pre-Raphs galore - so we were in our element. We also had time to explore the newly opened remains of the Roman arena beneath the building - fascinating.
A spot of luncheon near Kings Cross and then onwards, ever onwards to the British Library. I became a fully-paid-up member and had a browse around. What a great place - think I'll be spending quite a lot of time there.

Back to Gordon Square for the evening lecture. We looked at the Victorian attitude to the rural landscape in art (idealised) and how this was subverted by Grayson Perry's recent exhibition called The Charms of Lincolnshire. All good stuff. Time for a swift half to round off the day, before hurrying home to catch the dulcet tones of Simon Schama.

Reception theory

Thursday already? How can that be so! Time is fleeting.

Jude is becoming a regular commuter on the DLR between Crossharbour and Greenwich. She should soon be able to make her own way to the vet there. The wound had healed and quicker than you could say antidestablishmentarianism the stitches were out and we were free to go.

By early-afternoon I was in Birkbeck Library where I struggled to read the set texts for the evening lecture. This was like wading through molasses wearing flippers. Crikey it was dull. I nodded off about seventeen times before I finished. So I headed off to the lecture with a certain degree of pessimism. However, there was no need for it as the lecture turned out to be the most interesting yet. We looked at British art in the 18th Century, focusing on Wright of Derby and linking this to reception theory. In a nutshell, this is the critical approach to art which involves analysing the artwork through the study of the period and circumstances in which it was created, and questioning the received wisdom of contemporary commentators. The lecturer had researched Wright of Derby through looking at original source documents (specifically letters) and suggested that (a) Derby has no real claim to Wright as an artist - from a young age he lived all the world and Derby does not feature in his work and (b) he was no artist of science and industry as history has pigeon-holed him. Nor was he a portraitist of the middle-classes. It is most likely that the famous science paintings were commissioned and therefore should really be viewed as portraits. The vast majority of Wright's oeuvre was in fact landscapes.

Anybody still awake? Mmm. As is becoming customary, we retired to the SU Bar to argue the toss over a few pints of cleansing lager.

Victorian overload

Up with the lark and off to the V&A for a heady dose of Victorian art all in the name of research for my essay. I met up with one of my fellow-students so we could give each other moral support as we waded knee-deep through this quagmire of sacharine sentimentality. The V&A houses the Sheepshank collection. Sheepshank was typical of the new breed of successful Victorian industrialists who invested their cash in art. Prior to that, taste in paintings had been dicatated by the aristocracy and landed gentry, but by the middle of the 19th century, the nouveach riche middle-classes were steering the course of public opinion of what was good art, much to the chagrin of those who believed the narrative and genre scenes they encouraged through their patronage, were bad for British art. So Sheepshank's collection is a splendid example of the taste of that era. It is extraordinary to imagine that some of these picture at the time were so popular that when they were exhibited a police officer would have to stand in front to move the crowds along. Art had never been so popular, and nor has it since. Yet the art that the Victorian's adored is now considered by many to be of little merit as art. But it is fascinating, and often very beautiful.

We also had a wander in the atmospheric art library, and I joined up so that I can come here and order books. What a great place to sit and study Victorian stuff. Finally we visited the British Art galleries where we came across Landseers and all kinds of fascinating items - like the models for the Albert Memorial and the Crystal Palace, alongside some nausea-inducing artefacts which formed part of the Great Exhibition. Definitely worth a repeat visit.

Onwards to Millbank and after a spot of luncheon, more Victorian art courtesy of Tate Britain. Slightly concerning to see some gaps on the walls with notes to say that pictures had been removed due to 'water ingress'. Not good - especially as one of them was The Awakening Conscience by Holman-Hunt. Still, plenty to look at including Millais, Egg, Burne-Jones, Rosetti, Hughes and Mulready. Not sure about Mulready though. I was taken with the Fildes which I don't think I had noticed before. The bookshop beckoned, but once again I resisted. It was good to get out in the fresh air for a run with Jude - I think I overloaded on art today. The perfect antidote? IACGMOOH!

Feed me Seymour

I had this book on Victorian art titled Hard Times which turned out to be totally relevant to the essay I am writing. So I thought I had better renew and, of course, it had been recalled by somebody else. What are the chances of that happening? Ten billion books in the blithering biblioteque and they want the one I've got. This meant I had to scoot into Bloomsbury to return said book, and then re-request it. Ha!

While I was there, I popped into Senate House library and climbed the stairs to the musty 6th floor. It's claustrophobia city in this place - the shelves are coming at me - the walls are closing in! I was searching (rather unsuccessfully it has to be said) for some books I had looked up the night before, when a little man with a mop of wispy hair appeared. He put down the mop and asked me if I needed any help. I said yes, to which he muttered 'Bugger!' under his breath. He was a little strange, but remarkably helpful, and within minutes I was sitting at a desk in the shadow of a teetering tower of dusty tomes on Victorian art. I had only intended to be there for a few minutes, but an hour and a half later I was staggering down Malet Street under the weight of a dozen hefty volumes. Had a browse in Waterstones in the happy knowledge that I had a healthy clutch of book tokens nestling in my pocket, but resisted the urge to splurge on this occasion. Back home in time to walk Lady Jude and start working my way through pages of text.

This evening's entertainment was The Little Shop of Horrors at my favourite theatrical venue, The Menier Chocolate Factory off Borough High Street. We met David and Grahame and had dinner at Giuseppe's Ristorante (http://www.giuseppe-ristorante.co.uk/index.html) which I highly recommend. Great food, gorgeous wine and really relaxed service. We even had a singer performing rat-pack standards - which sounds awful but it was perfect. Giuseppe bid us good evening as we shuffled off to the Chocolate Factory.

The show was excellent. We sat in the front row, so pretty good view too. Mike McShane voiced the plant (Audrey II) and Paul Keating and Sheridan Smith took the main leads. During the interval I heard a familiar voice behind me, and looked round to espy Paul O'Grady. No Cilla though. Anyway, if you want a laugh, go and see this. Once it opens (it's still in preview) I think tickets will be hot.

Taste

Boy I felt tired this morning. But that doesn't prevent Jude from demanding her constitutional. Aw gee. After getting the shopping out the way, and seeing off our overnight guests, I got back to my books.

The day just zips past. Before I know what the time is, it's getting dark again. Kept going until 8pm then called it a day.

Finally got round to watching I'm A Celebrity... Bizarre people behaving poorly.

Can you have wafer-thin ham?

Oh why the dull thudding in my cranium? Ah yes, I remember. A brisk walk with Jude, including highly energetic running, hurdling and scampering (and that was just me) was all I needed to sort me out. Then it was off to the supermarket to buy ingredients for tonight's vegetarian feast, the preparation of which just about took up the rest of the day. Curried courgette soup, butternut squashes stuffed with blue cheese, toasted walnuts and thyme, and a blackberry clafoutis.

John and Nora arrived in time for aperitifs, and the rest is history. Food kind of worked fine and all left the table with bulging bellies...and the highly likely prospect of a hangover.

A three legged dog walks into a bar in the Wild West...

...goes up to the bar and says to the barman: "I'm looking for the man who shot my paw."

I had to take Jude to the vet in Greenwich to have her stitches removed, but the vet said it wasn't cooked yet so we were sent away with more bandages and antibiotics. Poor Jude. She hates wearing a bandage. But if she doesn't stop licking the wound she'll end up having to wear one of those conical lampshade affairs, and that will be a sorry sight.

So the rest of the day was spent sorting out odds and sods with a little bit of studying thrown in for good measure. Later on I settled down to watch Woody Allen's Husbands and Wives - a film I haven't watched for ages. I had forgotten how fantastic this film is - one of my favourites. What I shouldn't have done, of course, was to consume a bottle of red whilst absorbed in the film. For some reason, the combination of an intellectually stimulating movie and red wine caused me to take up my 'book' and start re-reading and re-editing it, which I was still doing well past my bedtime.

No more Oliver! (do you see what I've done there?)

A great day - I do seem to consistently have really good Fridays. I met a fellow-student at Tate Modern for the David Smith exhibition. While I was waiting for her to arrive, I queued for a ticket for the slide, and managed to get two tickets for the 5th floor slide for 11.30am - result.
The David Smith exhibition was good, especially the smaller sculptures. I began to lose interest in the really big, overblown stuff towards the end, but maybe it just need an outside setting. Anyway, for a sculpture philistine such as myself, this was a really exciting show and I would definitely re-visit it. 7/10.

So, what about the slide! If you haven't already seen it, this is a picture of the slide from the 5th floor. You just put your feet inside a canvas sack which you sit on, cross your arms over your chest and keep you head raised and off you go. Wow - what a rush. You bomb down this tube like a rat in a drainpipe, whizzing round the corners with such speed and force you can't think what's happening. It is total loss of control. When you pop out of the end, you can't help yourself from grinning and laughing - and this happens to everybody - I know, I've watched! Then the adrenaline kicks in and your heartbeat soars and your hands start to shake. But you feel great - really happy - ecstatic even. I want another go now! Everybody should do this. But is it art? Who gives a fuck - it's absolutely brilliant.

I took the tube up to Goodge Street and spent the afternoon running over my presentation in my head. Six o'clock came around all too quickly, and there I stood before the class, slides ready, handouts distributed, and just me presenting my paper on the film adaptations of Dickens and how they have shaped our collective view of the Victorians. My heart was going for the second time in one day, but it all went off really well. Everybody said nice things about it and so I felt very satisfied and most deserving of a pint afterwards.

Velasquez and the invasion of the blue-rinse brigade

I had booked myself a ticket for the Velasquez exhibition at the National Gallery - only £6 with student concession - and here's a tip - they didn't ask for any student ID! Anyway, timed ticket so I get there for 10.30am, thinking that would be a good time - you know - weekday morning and all that. Well what do you know. Walking into the exhibition gallery was like stepping into an oversubscribed daycentre for the over-seventies. Totally white, middleclass crusties all over the shop, all testily punching the buttons on their MP3 gallery guides, headphones at various weird angles, back-to-front and upside-down, and all blaring at full volume creating a background rattle-and-hum which I found most distracting. As the geriatrics pushed and shoved their way around, often walking backwards to admire a picture without looking behind them, or using their walking frames in the manner of a bull-bar to clear the way ahead, I attempted to view the pictures without getting battered and bruised. And they have to announce every thought they have to each other in a loud voice. For example, in front of a portrait of Philip IV of Spain:

"I say Marge, I don't like the look of that chap much do you? He looks a bit like Bruce Forsyth doesn't he!"
"Looks like who dear?"
"You know, that Bruce Forsyth fellow off of the television. Silly chap. Song and dance man. Tries to be funny. Come Dancing and all that silliness. Big chin."
"Oh. I don't think I know him. Which side is he on?"

or...

"Look at this youngster riding his fat little horse. He looks like he's having a lovely time doesn't he? [No response] He looks like he's having fun doesn't he Fanny?"
"Oh, yes."
"I love riding. I always rode as a child. Of course my grandsons all ride. They go to a private riding school just outside of Brussels you know, it's dreadfully run-down, all full of puddles and wot-not, but they have an awfully fun time. Have you ever ridden Fanny?"

Velasquez - you can't really get much better than this - although I have to admit I prefer his unadulterated early painting of genre scenes to all the portraits produced at the Spanish court. 8/10. I also popped along to the Cezanne exhibition which is equally enjoyable.

I sat in a very damp Trafalgar Square and ate lunch. The pigeons are back in force I see - another success story for...nope, not going there. I wandered along in the drizzle to Bloomsbury and Birkbeck and settled down for an afternoon of studying before the evening seminar.

The first half was all about astral bodies - visual technologies and the atronomical imagination c.1900, followed by spaceflight and simulation and reality in the exploration of space. This possibly explains why I needed to go for a beer afterwards in the very reasonably priced union bar.

So yeah...stuff mainly.

Oh I don't know where the days go. Looking back it's all a bit of a blur. I remember waking up and thinking I had a cold, then spending the (what would have otherwise been quite splendid) early morning walk with Jude cursing the bloke who sat next to me on the tube home the previous evening, who sneezed continuously without the slightest attempt to cover his nose and mouth. Grrrr and yeuch, which is kind of a grrrreuch.

Studied all morning, then set off for Birkbeck library in the afternoon. I found more books than I could lift, and attempted to read some of them. Later, I met a fellow-colleague in the RADA bar (happy hour beers at £1 a pop - can't grumble at that) and we discussed the presentation on Friday, as we are both presenting papers at the same seminar and want to avoid repeating each other, which would be embarrassing quite frankly.

Goldfinger

Busy old day today. I was off like a shot to Senate House library this morning where, in a corner of the sixth floor I became engrossed in the shelves of dusty and musty old books on Victorian paintings. Time flew by, and I had to dash back to Birkbeck where I took out more books than I could carry, resulting in my walking like Quasimodo. I ordered articles galore then hurried home in the rain.

More research during the afternoon - hey, it takes a bit of time and effort all this academic stuff - then a quick jaunt over the farm with Jude.

I met H for dinner at Gabriel's Wharf before seeing The Alchemist at The Olivier. Although it took a little while, and a fair bit of concentration to get into the swing of what was going on, once I did I loved it. Great performances and very funny. At nearly three hours in length (including interval) you get your money's worth. Only ten squids so it's well worth it. I recommend.

I do like Mondays

One of the best parts of this not-working-for-a-living business is the newly discovered joy of Monday mornings. That wonderful, slow dawning realisation upon awakening that I don't have to rush off to work, and I don't have to concern myself with anybody's responsibilities except my own. It's a very nice feeling, and doesn't seem to be losing it's ability to lift my spirits.

But it's Monday all the same, and there's shopping to be done. Now some of the things about being around in the daytime are not so pleasurable. The queue in the post office for one. And the fact that I always end up standing behind somebody in the queue who clearly isn't spending their pension on any form of sanitation. After ten minutes today I gave up. Some old codger at the front of the line (of old codgers) trying to get to grips with chip and pin - it was pitiful and I could bear it no longer. In the supermarket, bored pensioners wander around aimlessly with their trolleys containing nothing except for the occasional tin of spam or some baked beans. Wherever I went I swear I was being followed by an overweight guy, pushing his mother in a wheelchair with the trolley in front. They both reeked of piss and I nearly vomited over the cakes and fancies. I bought too many heavy things, forgetting I would have to carry it (see how green I am that I refuse to take the car to the supermarket and I use and re-use my own carrier bags) home. By the time I put it all down, I found I was blessed with the ability to drag my knuckles along the floor from a standing position. Now I know how the Mitchell brothers feel.

While I got on with researching articles and books for my essay on changing tastes in Victorian art, our fine plumber arrived with his toolkit bulging. Out with the old power-shower (so powerful it had the ability to electrocute you with a 'bang' so loud the windows rattled) and in with the new Mira shower. Thank gawd for that. Donations gratefully received.

I spent so long researching databases for relevant articles on the Internet, my brain turned to cauliflower cheese and my eyeballs fell out, which was inconvenient.

All of a twist

I finally finished writing my presentation - hurrah! I rehearsed it a couple of times and realised it was far too long, so I cut out some of duller sections. H had to listen to it, and he made a few suggestions, which included cutting it down further. It seems to last about 20 minutes now, which will have to do.

That's about it really. I guess it was a lazy Sunday but there seemed to be plenty to do. Oh yes, I know, I planted 100 bulbs in the garden! That took a bit of doing. Should be colourful in the spring.

We watched Transamerica which I didn't enjoy as much as I thought I would. Enjoyable, even though a little disappointing.

Wimmin's issues

So where do I find myself today? The Women's Library in Whitechapel that's where. And what would I be doing in the Women's Library in Whitechapel? Well, I did have to ask myself the same question as I sat amongst an audience of...how can I put this...women with strong feminist principles (and there's nothing wrong with that per se) listening to a lecture on the prevalence of venereal diseases, and especially syphilis, amongst the various classes of Victorian London. The subjects went on to include sex and sexuality, before a romp home on the back of the media 's obsession with Jack the Ripper. All good stuff. I came home with a headache and took Jude out to walk it off.


We watched The Libertine - it's the story of John Wilmot (played by Johnny Depp), a.k.a. the Earl of Rochester, a 17th century poet who famously drank and debauched his way to an early grave, only to earn posthumous critical acclaim for his life's work. It was syphilis all over again - as if I hadn't had enough VD for one day. Anyway, it's strange how things go - I wouldn't have known why Wilmot wears a silver 'nose' had I not learned that very morning that a symptom of syphilis is the collapse of the nose itself. So there you go - not a fashion accessory at all! Anyway, completely fantastic film - Depp as brilliant as ever. I recommend. And so to bed.

Off to a conference at the National Portrait Gallery today. Yes indeed - Simeon Solomon: Desire, Masculinity and Victorian Art no less. Here's a picture of Simeon. He was a latecomer to the Pre-Raphaelite Brotherhood and made quite a name for himself in the 1860s. Then in 1873 it all went a bit tits up, when he was arrested letting it all hang out in a public lav. As the joke goes, he was never to show in public again.

There were six 'papers' presented - some more interesting than others - but all very impressive. We went for lunch in the Salisbury pub on St Martin's Lane - seemed fitting being all Victoriana decor. I also checked out the Pet Shop Boys exhibition - which is small but beautifully formed.

Came home to walk hop-along-Harriet and reflect on the sexual politics of Jewish representation in Victorian England. Where's the gin...

Solomon Grundy

I nipped up to St John's Wood to see 'Love Revealed' - the Simeon Solomon exhibition at the Ben Uri gallery. I was the only person in there - bliss. Beautiful painting and drawings accompanied by other Pre-Raphelite greats such as Rossetti, Millais and Burne-Jones. Well worth visiting - 8/10.

Straight home and back to work on attempting to photograph scenes from the 'Oliver Twist' films by rigging up my camera on a tripod infront of the telly - totally Heath Robinson but in the end it worked. I now have a full set of images with which to illustrate my presentation. Ta-dah! Quite pleased with myself. The only problem is, at the moment my presentation lasts about an hour...and it's meant to be 20 minutes. Time for an edit.

Is anybody reading this? And if so, why exactly?

No fillings today mum

Today my dentist peered at my molars and told me not to come back for a year. Not sure if that's a endorsement of the healthy state of me gnashers, or an indictment of the NHS. Nevertheless, they're bound to send me an appointment reminder card in a week's time - they always do.

So, time to get serious and write my presentation. How the time doth fly when one is absorbed in this sort of thing. Before I could say Wee Willie Winkie it was getting dark outside and Jude was chomping at the bit. Not that bit.

John came round in the evening to make us wireless, but unfortunately a vital piece of the wizard gadgetry thingummy-doodah was missing from the back of our wotsit, so that didn't work. My laptop is now wireless though, which is a boon.

Never before has a boy asked for more

Jude had improved so much we managed to get as far as the farm this morning, so she could at least rub noses with her chums, and explain her recent absence from team activities. Then I set off to the Slide Library in Gordon Square to rummage around for images for my presentation. There are literally thousands of slides, all catalogued inside little wooden drawers. Obtaining images from the actual films proved to be a bit of a challenge. I came home and attempted to photograph the TV screen with the paused image, but that didn't work terribly well. Anybody got any suggestions?

I had to coax Jude onto the Docklands Light Railway and get her to the vet in Greenwich to have her dressing changed. Getting the old one off was a delicate process. She's now got subcutaneous emphysema in her leg, which means there's air under the skin and it crackles like tissue paper when you touch it. The antibiotics should sort that out, but the injection made her cry out so loud and for so long even the vet looked apologetic. When we emerged from the surgery, a bulldog awaiting his turn looked terrified having heard Jude's screams. You don't want to know how much this is costing me - if the insurance doesn't cough up I may be working again sooner than planned.

Yesterday was horrid day, 'cause Raymond kicked my shin

Nothing much to say. Jude kept me awake all night with her sad little whimpering everytime she woke up to find her leg hurting. I carried her downstairs and we managed a hobble around the park. Then I went shopping, and what the hell, they've only gone and been and moved everything around, which meant I lost my bearings and had to go round about three times.

Worked studiously on prep for my presentation during the afternoon and evening. I am becoming obsessive about film images of Victorian London. Didn't see that coming.

Dog days

And it was all going so well. Beautiful morning, lovely walk with Jude who met lots of her doggy friends, then her rottweiller mate got a little over-excited and somehow Jude ended up with a gash in her front leg. Claret all over the shop. Greyhounds have hardly any fleshy bits on their legs, and the skin appears to be stretched over sinew and bone. I managed to get her home, then we put a blue flashing light atop the Fiesta and set off for the emergency vet in Burnt Ash. She had to be taken in for stitches, and so we left her there.

Well this messed up my day. I was meant to be meeting my student chums at St John's Wood and visiting the Simeon Solomon exhibition at the Ben Uri Gallery. Cancelled that and watched Roman Polanski's version of Oliver Twist instead. Interesting. I got quite tearful at the end when Oliver went to the prison to visit Fagin - an episode omitted from the Lean and Reed versions. Tell me, is this boring you?

We collected the patient at 6pm and she was as dopey as a junkie, staggering around and swaying in the breeze. After a spot of supper, she was out for the count on the sofa, leaving little room for me to sit and watch Hidden which I had been looking forward to seeing for ages. Er...maybe I was tired, maybe I wasn't on the right wavelength, but it left me cold.

I have a dream

I woke up wondering where on earth I was. I soon figured out I was on the ridge in a sofabed in a room in a flat in Wimbledon (Village) and I'd got one of my heads. Water and tea were the order of the day, and it took from 8.30am until 11.30am to actually summon up the energy to head off home.

Rich gave me an unscheduled tour of Wimbledon and its environs, eventually turfing me out of his car in the middle of a road junction. I was soon on a train to Waterloo and back indoors in time for Jude's constitutional. The afternoon was spent cutting the grass, a little bit of study and Jude walking before the onslaught of the fireworks. I really can't see the point of individual fireworks banging, cracking and fizzing from 5pm until the early hours and the sound of the ambulance sirens which tend to acompany them, and Jude seems to share my sentiments on this matter. I left my terrified greyhound a-trembling on the sofa watching Strictly Come Dancing on the TV which I put on to distract her from the noise of the fireworks - but on second thoughts I'm not sure what was the worse experience.

So off for beers before the Barbican, which unfortunately turned out to be a solitary experience - get well soon K. I took my seat and listened to Martin Luther King's 'I have a dream' speech played in its entirety before Antony and the Johnsons took to the stage. Charles Atlas choreographed captivating video images of amazing looking androgynous models (who took it in turns to pose on a turntable at the side of the platform) and projected these onto a giant screen behind the performers; a perfect accompaniment to the dreamlike quality of the music - they reminded me of Andy Warhol's screen tests. What a concert - for 1½ hours I was mesmerised. A stonking 9/10!

Watch this to get a flavour:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=flQj-Q4csi0&mode=related&search=

I am NOT drinking any fucking Merlot!

What a great day! How on earth did I fit it all in - as the actor said to the bishop. It started early, with Jude's jaunt across frosty fields where llamas shivered as they contemplated their frozen beards. Then it was off to South Kensington for me, and the V&A museum where I met two of my new art student chums. They were both late - that's students for you. I think that my suggested time of meeting at 10.30am was considered to be some kind of superhuman challenge. We were there to visit the At Home in the Italian Renaissance exhibition. A whopping 8½ out of 10 for this one. Beautifully curated and full of fascinating artifacts. Talking of which, I bumped into my lecturer from a course I attended at City University last year, so we had a high-brow discussion. Anyway, if you get a chance do go and see this.

Back to Russell Square courtesy of the Piccadilly Line, and I sat and shivered in the square munching my lunch before spending the afternoon studying in the library. I am embarrassed to admit that when one of my fellow students crept up to say hello, she actually woke me up from quite a deep sleep! I don't think she noticed. I hope I wasn't snoring.

This evening's lecture was entitled 'Victorian Babylon' and we looked at Doré's etchings and considered how the darker, more sinister plates had come to shape our own mental images of what Victorian London was like in second half of the 19th Century. We also looked at some images by a Victorian artist who I find fascinating: Arthur Boyd Houghton. So, yeah. All good stuff.

Next stop, Wimbledon. I took a train from Waterloo and was soon esconced in the Alexandra Pub supping ale with Tim (who I thought was in Bristol - oh my) and Rich, freshly arrived from Zurich. Time flew, as time has a tendency to do under these circumstances, and as I was planning my dash to the station to catch a train, Tim suggested curry. I said, Tim Curry? We laughed until our socks popped. I threw caution to the wind, but a nice man brought it back. Next thing, the happy triumverate are merrily tucking into poppadoms and mango chutney in Ahmed's Tandoori. Good old Ahmed. He was so efficient the food arrived before we had decided what we were going to have. The bill arrived shortly afterwards, but no arrests were made.

Back to Tim's most comfortable flat in...er...I think I should say Wimbledon Village? We swilled merlot and talked bollocks until the wee small hours swelled to four which is when I yawned so hard the top of my head flipped back. Sofa beds are handy things under these circumstances.

The title? If you haven't seen Sideways then I suggest you do without further delay, and if you have, well, why not watch it again? G'won.

You do what?

I know I always seem to start off by going on about Jude, but today for good reason, as she kept me up with the squits all last night. Every few weeks Jude's stomach starts to gurgle like a leaky cystern about 10pm, and then we know we're in for a sleepless night. Oh well, what can you do? So when I got back from the 6.30am walk, I went back to bed with a cup of tea, finished reading 'An Unnatural Rose' by Iris Murdoch (hard work that one - but rewarding) and promptly nodded off. Next thing - 10am. Ah - this student life.

I popped some polyanthus in the garden, then sat on the doorstep in the sun and read some absolutely unintelligible and inscrutable articles which were the required reading for the evening lecture. Couldn't make head nor tale of it.

I spent some time in the library at Birkbeck and then trundled off to the lecture on Electronic and Digital Art. Today's picture is by Murray McKeich - a digital artist. Well, this lecture - I didn't have a clue - all memory theory and Freud - I might as well have been in the wrong room. Thankfully, I was not alone in my confusion, as I discovered afterwards over a couple of pints of very cheap Carlsberg in the salubrious surroundings of the SU Bar.

By the way, it seems that the 'Comments' thing is still playing up. I've re-set it again so that anybody should be able to leave a rude message. Go on - have a go!

November spawned a monster

November - I can't believe it. People are talking about Christmas. Let them talk. There won't be any presents coming from this direction - not unless somebody supplies me with some macrame pretty damn quick.

So, bit chilly this morning. Jude gave me one of her looks when I took down her coat from the peg. She wore it, but she wasn't happy about it. The sun was out, and I grabbed my bike and headed for the Regents Canal. I know, a barge would have been better. The great thing is, the start of the canal is only five minutes cycle away from home, and then I can cycle along the tow path all the way to Islington, then it's just a short journey to Russell Square - easy! Except it's one helluva long way along that canal, and there are some very low bridges and narrow sections of tow path to navigate - not something I would fancy on a icy morning!

Senate House Library is like a labyrinth, and not for the claustrophobic. I eventually found the books I needed and hurried back to the more airy spaces of Birkbeck Library. Four hours later I was back on the tow path, panniers bulging with books, which I spent the evening reading. It all happens dunnit?

Homeboy

I had intended to get myself along to the library, but when as the weather turned windy I felt less and less inclined to leave the comfort of home. Besides, I had stacks of things to be getting on with here - teetering piles of books and photocopied articles to read and a book of notes to write up. So I did, and felt all the better for it.

Later on, after taking Jude for her evening constitutional, I made a big pan of tomato soup (thanks to dad for his home-grown contribution) which was historic. Spent the evening sitting in the dark pretending to be out - trick or treating round our way is big business!

The living daylights

I was talkin to Chuck in his Genghis Khan suit
And his wizard's hat
He spoke of his movie and how he was makin'
A new sound track

And then we spoke of kids on the coast
And different types of organic soap
And the way suicides don't leave notes
Then we spoke of Lorraine
Always back to Lorraine

That was lodged in my head all day long today. It just played on a loop - not even a blast from Snow Patrol could keep it out. I feel better for having externalised it in this way. By the way, if you have attempted to leave a comment on this blog (telling me where I can stick it) and have failed due to the sheer effort of registering and what-not, that I am the bearer of glad tidings. I checked the setting and realised it had defaulted to the wrong thing. So now leaving a comment should be as easy as falling off a frog.

So, nice day it was - now I've gone all Yoda. Lots of things to do this morning my goodness me yes. Then I was off to the library, tearing around the place trying to track down books and articles for the next two weeks. I've found that working two weeks ahead of the lecture means that you do the the teeniest chance of finding the relevant books - any later and then the out-of-towners who visit the library once a week have snaffled the lot.

This evening saw the last part of our Research Skills course, and the director of the Art History school succeeded in scaring the living daylights out of us by describing what was expected of our research projects and dissertations. Crumbs. Work to do there is much.

His name was Leo

Leonardo da Vinci - Experience, Experiment and Design - today's exhibition - do pay attention class. The culture vultures met at South Kensington for coffee, before studying how Leonardo thought on paper at the V&A. It was all very interesting and enjoyable - but much smaller than I had anticipated - story of my life. Running ahead of schedule, we explored Photography and took a butcher's at the Raphael cartoons - not sure who was expecting Hero Turtles, and some intriguing fashions from the yesteryear.

Barrie chauffeured us with panache to Little Venice where we wandered around the canal and criss-crossed its bridges before a tour of NW8-6 (rich people and celeb-land) and lunch at the Clifton Arms. Two and a half chickens later, and a few of the barman's finest and I was heading back once more to E14 - I know my place. Hide and seek in the dark with Jude, then the Royle Family - laughter and tears.

M25

We zipped around the M25 in the motor and made it in one piece to Stoneleigh and a warm welcome from mes parents. After eating far too much, Jude was treated to a long walk in unfamiliar territory which she found incredibly exciting. After terrorising the local squirrel population, I picked up some polyanthus (or is it polyanthi?) from the nearby nursery and we were soon speeding back around the London orbital in the dark.

Knackered - why so?

House

I decided to take myself off to an exhibition, and in a fairly random manner I selected USA Today, the Saatchi show of Young American Artists at the Royal Academy. This was billed as a show to rival the impact of the Sensation exhibition back in the 90's, but it wasn't all that. Interesting though, and plenty big enough - but a lot of it left me feeling empty and uninvolved. 6/10 perhaps, if I'm feeling generous.

Afterwards I stretched out on the grass in Green Park and ate lunch. A bit of sunshine and the deckchairs come out - and a little man runs around trying to collect £1.50 off the unsuspecting tourists who are hapless enough to sit down upon them. How they protest - and there is much arm movement and general gesticulation. Bloody money-grubbing English. Londoners sit on the grass and look on. I watched the various attempts the ticket-man made to explain to non-English speaking tourists that in London you have to pay to sit down for two minutes, before inevitably they would get up and walk on.

Onwards to the library and a solid four hours of studinglyness. Feeling very swotty, I tottered off to my lecture entitled The Nation comes from the Nursery. We looked at mid-Victorian genre painting and went on to discuss the impact of patronage and then the relevance of Rachel Whiteread's sculpture, House. I remember this when it actually stood off the Mile End road and I used to pass it on the bus on the way to the barbers in Bethnal Green. I recall the artist on the local TV news on the day the sculpture was demolished, calmly attempting to explain to smug media hacks and misguided local residents that it was never intended to be permanent, and the destruction was symbolic of the nature of the work. Mmm.

Lust for life

This morning was a struggle. I had to return to my bed after walking Jude, but then I felt much better. After lunch I packed my bags and set off for the library. I found a quiet desk on the third floor and four hours went by so quickly I was almost late for this evening's lecture on painting and cinema.We discussed the way in which film alters the art object, and how the comparatively elitist nature of art has been disseminated through the popular medium of cinema. We watched clips from Le Mystere Picasso and Lust for Life with Kirk Douglas done up as Van Gogh. Afterwards the SU Bar beckoned and so the discussion continued as the beer flowed cheaply.

Over and out

My last day at work and the Jubilee Line is up the swanee. The day's highlights included:

A delicious roast dinner (and pudding) in the café, a moving leaving speech (not by me I hasten to add), very generous gifts, and a few beers down the pub (an exceedingly busy pub - which was mysterious).

They think it's all over - it is now. Thank you and goodnight.

Right...better start thinking about this MA then...

Penultimate

Workday. What can I say? Several meetings and a lot of email deletings. I was given two very nice leaving presents and bag crammed full with bottles of Stella! I cycled home gingerly with two over-stuffed and very heavy panniers and extremely light steering.

Mint sauce

It must have been something I drank, but I was a little slow to get started today - although a my zombie-like status is not permitted to stand between Jude and her 6.30am walkies. Domestic duties included washing, general paperwork (how little money haven't I got?) and a whizz around Asda sniffing-out dented-tin bargains - Waitrose just a sepia-tinted memory now. At four I set off for Birkbeck Library and browsed amongst the art sections before walking in the rain to Senate House for a tour of that library. What an extraordinary place. One of the librarians had gone to the considerable trouble of putting together a small exhibition of some seriously interesting and rare art books - 19th Century first editions with engravings by such luminaries as William Blake. Afterwards we were taken up cramped stairways to the lofty library rooms with the largest collection of art books I've ever seen and lots of nooks and crannies with reading desks.

Library tour over, I marched back to Holborn and took the Central Line to Shepherd's Bush. A swift pint of O'Neills (lovely pub...not) and then to the Shepherd's Bush Empire for Lambchop. I had only ever stood on the main floor at this venue, so it was an experience to be elevated to the seated section - which is appropriate for this band believe me. When we took our seats there was a heck of a racket coming from the stage - all a bit experimental - and we hoped it was the support act - but no, just the opening passage before the arrival of Kurt and we were soon back on familiar territory. I think it is true to say that a Lambchop gig attracts a certain crowd which it would be improper to describe as trendy. There was much beard-stroking and enthusiastic applauding - also much toilet visiting which gives an indication of the 'certain-age' of your regular Lambchop fan. Karen's verdict: lush. I agree.

Cheers

It's a fair old trek to Northfields on the tube, but that's where we went for lunch. Great company, fantastic roast beef - superb - and a never-ending supply of wine. Hick. Quite a day - the journey home being slightly less memorable. Or was it? I forget.

Reviewing the situation

To Millbank, and Tate Britain. I met Mr Matthews upon the stair, and we sallied forth to view some fine paintings and drawings by that supreme court painter from Germany, Hans Holbein the Younger. Holbein lived in Britain for 12 years until carried off by the plague in 1543, and painted a few blinders in the meantime. A whacking great 8 out of 10 for this show.

Scoring slightly lower (ahem) there is the Turner Prize exhibition. Mark Titchner's playing about with belief systems, Rebecca Warren's come up with some unfired, lumpen clay scuptures, Tomma Abts' put out some fine, small abstracts (the highlight) and Phil Collins' bores you to death with his endless video installation of interviewer and interviewee. Don't make a detour to visit - 4/10.

We walked from Millbank to Waterloo, along the the south bank and past the thronging tourists packed beneath the Millennium wheel and darkening skies. Not much luck in finding a decent pub - we ended up in a dodgy Irish boozer, air heavy with smoke and stale beer. Back home to exercise Lady Grey-hound and then Oliver! All in the name of study - altogether - Oliver, Oliver, never before has a boy asked for more...

No sliding today

Is it really still this week. God, it's gone on a bit. Took off to Tate Modern to meet Di by the slides. I had queued up for a ticket - but even at mid-day, the first available whizz down from floor 5 was not until 4.30pm. We sat through Christian Marclay's video installation titled Video Quartet twice, it is so good. Then off for a tour of the Fischli & Weiss exhibition, which is good in parts. A 6/10.

I spent the rest of the afternoon in Birkbeck Library, swotting up for this evening's seminar on the Palace of Westminster. It kind of paid off, although I have been asked to summarise this evening's discussion at the beginning of next week's seminar - doh! Why me?