Two Days in Lahndahn

In this exceptionally long post comprised of oh-so-fabulous imagery courtesy of the artist known as monky, a tale is woven of what I got up to over the last two days I spent in Lahndahn tahn. The alternative text should provide extraneous information.

Day One. At the bus stop on the way into town I spied the following object:

melange in grey and brown

I was unsure as to what it was; closer inspection narrowed the choices down to a) icing, b) tortilla, c) soggy card. I eventually decided on b.

Once I popped up at Charing Cross to meet Vegas for Wagamama and mucho conversing, I discovered that I was early. Shock. So I spent a short while staring at the flying rats and tourists milling around Trafalgar Square. I greatly enjoyed closing my eyes and listening to Oceania whilst spray from the fountains floated gently across my face.

As you can see from the following images an army of children were attempting to take the Square, systematically assaulting Nelsons Column in a horrific display of grubbyness. After a while adults joined their evil hordes too- I think because they had given up and given in.


and more...

and still they come...

satanic backpacks ahoy...

Clearly evil.

After escaping from the scene of such horror, I spent an excellent couple of hours with Mr. Vegas talking of our lives, loves and works. I had not seen said gentleman in over a year (shame on me), so it was super to see him and talk about the random shite that passes for our life these days.

I bid him adieu and moved on to see Twilight: Photography in the Magic Hour at the V&A. My favourite three artists were Chrystel Lebas, Bill Henson (thank you Pokey!) and Gregory Crewdson; I would dearly love to own a 40 x 95” print by Lebas, but I think it’s just a little out of my budget.

Covert photographs from inside the exhibition:

The reflections on the floor from the photo frames were more interesting than this artist's work

looking up...

ooohh... pretty...

pretty repeated

Heading topside I perused the trash and beauty in the shop (sadly I lack the £3.5k needed) and purchased the following fine piece of bling:


The scar accessorises well I feel.

The “jewels” wobble about on tiny springs as my body moves; it’s a terrible piece of merchandise but awesome at the same time. I don’t even wear rings (bad circulation, no inclination) but I figure I can wear it when i’m attempting to look “classy yet sexy”. Heh.

On that subject- I dropped £30 on books to feed my brain- three poetry and one porn “Sweet Life 2” (edited by the delicious Violet) containing hot hot hot “unconventional sexual practices” (so says an Amazon reviewer- i’m like- Hello-o-o-o Nurse!)

Day Two. Lahndahn to meet my Mother. After lunch at The National Dining Rooms (tasty yet unsatisfying- and £3.50 for two slices of approx. 8cmx10cmx1cm thick cake?) we progressed on to the Hayward Gallery and How To Improve The World for some contemporary hijinx.

hello Ed Ruscha

lava lamp-esque><br><br>
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okay. random

side of Queen Elizabeth Hall

front of the QEH><br><br>
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After the neon glory of the South Bank we bounced over the bridge back towards the National. We passed this particularly interesting piece of bridge furniture- I thought it was a giant flying rat discourager, but my Mother suggsted that it was a tagger/suicidal person discourager, and I am inclined to agree. It does look pleasingly medieval in it’s construction.


So, finally on to the much hallowed Velazquez exhibition. Well, I tend to power-walk through most exhibitions (although I lingered long at Twilight… maybe ‘cos of the pretty lighting) and due to the apparently “light” crowds I think we spent more time queing for the tickets than I did actually making my way through the rooms.

Don’t get me wrong, the work was gorgeous- I was not a particular fan of Senor V beforehand, but the quality of work was plain to see- however I could not put up with the inconsiderate people who stood in front of paintings to read the writing on the wall that was an exact copy of the stuff in the booklet they had in their hand. That they were also looking at. Whilst in their own bubble of non-comprehension courtesy of their stupid audioguide (never got one, never will).

Here are some fetching panoramic views of the glorious works on display:


just lovely


wait- what is that I spy?

I spent more time looking at people’s feet and taking covert photos. Some interesting sartorial decisions were on display:

the shoes AND the trousers?

Actually, these were rather nice. Ribbons and a swaying owner

Occasionally I did get a glimpse of some real beauty:

nice anatomically incorrect arse


To finish off, some gallery randomness…





Well, at least it wasn’t an entire post either singing the praises or damning to hell MW#1… i’m sure I will be doing one or the other soon enough (more likely the latter). Be thankful for small mercies. Plus I enjoyed taking the photos and spending time with my Mother. Sigh.

One Response to Two Days in Lahndahn

  1. Dave says:

    I like the feet ones of the gallery-goers especially but all in all I like your pictures well. muy bueno or something equally european