26 May - Sad Stages
Against my better judgment, I had to leave the comfortable hub I’d made in the living room (duvets piled on the floor in front of TV and lamp essential for reading novels/magazines in grey light due to grey sky due to constant, incessant, interminable raining) and went to Trafalgar Sq to meet a friend and his small daughter who wanted to see Africa Day festivities.
All I can say is that this is the second time I find myself at this event and like last time it was dysmal to watch people trying hard to convey cheerfulness and happiness on a stage when all around is umbrellas and biting cold making for a sorry audience. Poor Kanda Bongo Man! Poor Miriam Makeba last time. Poor people manning stalls trying to sell stuff to wet and shivering passers by and too few to make any profits. I know Ken meant well but he should have picked a day in July or something with more probabilities of a ray of sunshine. Or they should move it.. to Africa and ferry a couple of thousand Londoners to it. Then again Boris may cancel it so that will be it. E, who’s not even 4 years old yet, enjoyed it and made me stand by the stage for the entire KBB show which I found addictive on account of extremely good booty shaking for a woman that looked like my fat grandmother (if I had one). She wore leopard print hotpants! She had a big belly. Way to go. E’s father was keeping warm and finishing cake and cappuccino at the café of the National Gallery annex and generally having a breather from the energy depleting task of looking after a live wire little girlie.
Earlier I had managed to arrive an hour ahead of time by accident and so went into the National Portrait Gallery which was heaving with other people with nought to do on a rainy day. I found it unbearable. I realize I can only handle special exhibitions because they only take up a few rooms at a time. The prospect of the whole gallery was overwhelming so I gave up and read the paper. I found it odd also to be entirely on my own and not in a shop which I enjoy as a solo expedition. Very odd. I haven’t been alone much at all for years now. I should miss it but I like to have a handy body to stroke/pet/kiss/cuddle/lean on etc. Very odd.
All I can say is that this is the second time I find myself at this event and like last time it was dysmal to watch people trying hard to convey cheerfulness and happiness on a stage when all around is umbrellas and biting cold making for a sorry audience. Poor Kanda Bongo Man! Poor Miriam Makeba last time. Poor people manning stalls trying to sell stuff to wet and shivering passers by and too few to make any profits. I know Ken meant well but he should have picked a day in July or something with more probabilities of a ray of sunshine. Or they should move it.. to Africa and ferry a couple of thousand Londoners to it. Then again Boris may cancel it so that will be it. E, who’s not even 4 years old yet, enjoyed it and made me stand by the stage for the entire KBB show which I found addictive on account of extremely good booty shaking for a woman that looked like my fat grandmother (if I had one). She wore leopard print hotpants! She had a big belly. Way to go. E’s father was keeping warm and finishing cake and cappuccino at the café of the National Gallery annex and generally having a breather from the energy depleting task of looking after a live wire little girlie.
Earlier I had managed to arrive an hour ahead of time by accident and so went into the National Portrait Gallery which was heaving with other people with nought to do on a rainy day. I found it unbearable. I realize I can only handle special exhibitions because they only take up a few rooms at a time. The prospect of the whole gallery was overwhelming so I gave up and read the paper. I found it odd also to be entirely on my own and not in a shop which I enjoy as a solo expedition. Very odd. I haven’t been alone much at all for years now. I should miss it but I like to have a handy body to stroke/pet/kiss/cuddle/lean on etc. Very odd.
posted by Lisa Taylor @ 7:24 AM
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