Jeremy Dennis is Jeremy Day (cleanskies) wrote,
Jeremy Dennis is Jeremy Day

flowers, the all-new neon-lit dome and our journey east

I'm not going to All Tomorrows Parties this christmas as my beard is not bushy enough, so we decided to blow £££s on a ticket to Monkey Journey to the West instead. I also hadn't seen this year's Turner Prize yet, and it came to my mind that if you looked at the Tate Britain on the map, and the Dome, they'd be connected by a fat blue line, on which one could perch a little Thames Clipper. So it was a day of arts and boats. This year's Turner Prize is restrained and thrifty, all dulls and greys. The supposedly controversial one was some mannequins and dirty crockery (insert obligatory joke about my living room). Bah. I quite liked Goshka Macuga's surrealist photo collages, and Runa Islam's mechanical film was standout -- but it's hardly fireworks. Nothing as good as what's on at Modern Art Oxford at the moment, even. I ran into jasonelvis, headed for the queue for the Bacon, looking chipper. Another day for that.

We stopped off at another Millennium pier for tea at the Tate Modern, and lounged on the beds for a bit, listening to rain and watching mash-ups of old science fiction films on the big screen. It was late in the day, and all the good books were gone -- just some cultural studies book called Dead Cities, something in Russian, and a single dog-eared copy of Vurt. I wanted to read the crocodile scene from The Drowned World, but maybe for that I'll need to take my own copy. The place had that urban park feel all the best installations there get; little girls sat on bottom bunks playing Nintendo, toddlers bombing around, families taking in the sights, attendants scraping the tourists off the sculptures.

Then to the dome, which has been given a high capitalism make-over of bright lights, chain cafes, and huge, flickering advertisments. Monkey's in a massive tent out back on what used to be the Sculpture park, I think, all hung in black, with big red lights, gold bits and Jaimie Hewlett artwork everywhere. We got suckered into the restaurant and our tablemates, two friendly ladies with the easy manner of practiced travellers (we've been trying to find someplace we could get to see it, she said, and we happened to be coming to the UK) plied us with the wine they didn't like ("rather horrible") and the squid they didn't want ("we never touch seafood"), before regaling us with tales of eating whale by accident and similar traveller's misadventures. The show was, well... as good as you'd expect, really. Maybe a bit more so. I'm really hoping that it's given birth to a whole new genre, and we can expect to see Thom Yorke's Inu Yasha, and ...Muse, maybe, taking on Ranma 1/2.(Brendan McCarthy's) Rogan Gosh for the arthouse circuit! High speed martial arts wire-fu comedy opera! It's the genre we've all been waiting for! Also, and most remarkably; the characters all had the movement of cartoons.

Getting back home was less entertaining. Suffice it to say that we should have taken the boat. For which, I shall blame Boris Johnson. It's his city, after all.

... and also, this week's strip, which is a soft one about my love, and flowers, so avoid if you're feeling sensitive to sweet stuff.

Happy Monday - detail
Happy Monday - detail
Pretty soppy I'm afraid, sorry.

ETA - Amazon have just sent me an email alerting me to the presence of cut-price magnetic scented photo frames, available in a variety of scents and colours. Is it so wrong that I find myself wondering what sort of comic viewing experience might be enhanced by the overpowering smell of artificial grape apple orange blueberry raspberry banana?

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