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

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grown-ups who wish to draw should make their own arrangements / a dirty weekend with Brighton

Not exactly the endurance test Nanowrimo promises to be, The big draw looks like it might be kind of interesting, especially the launch at the V&A. Too bad we'll be in Canada.

Typically, almost everything in Oxford is aimed at children, though some of the ideas are quite interesting:

MOMA is working on an education project in collaboration with the X-Change Gallery exhibition 'Taking A Line For A Walk', 17-28 Sept. Artists Hugh Pryor and Jeremy Wood use Global Positioning System (GPS) technology to make large scale pictorial journeys. During October they will be working with Yr 5 pupils at St Ebbe's school to scale-up drawings by walking them on the school playing field. There will be a display of the resulting art work at MOMA when the gallery re-opens on November 10th. You're invited to visit both exhibitions. Drawing activities for families every weekend at MOMA.

Trophy list from hen night in Brighton:

3 sea breezes (each)
5 hen nights (not including our own -- all less fun than ours with the possible exception of the one we ran into ouside the Pavilion, whose hen was wearing an electric blue wig, cartoon fishnets and a rubber micro-mini-skirt)
6 bottles of wine (collectively)
2 fireman's lifts (and near abductions -- following yelling "are you firemen?" at a group of likely-looking guys in the street)
4 very unhappy waiters (though it wasn't entirely our fault, poor, poor Lorenzo)
2 romantic evenings out utterly ruined (through proximity to noisy hen/stag dos)
1 wrecked relationship (Elle grabbed a blue haired guy to tell him my hair was often blue and after a trade of insults he fetched up dumping his girlfriend and chasing us into the club -- he disappeared later, hopefully to find her and apologise)
2 stag nights (one consisting entirely of estate agents + groom's Dad -- who kissed me, mind you he was getting on a bit, probably couldn't see what he was kissing)
6 cheap tickets for the club (£1 if dressed in school uniform!)
2 1/2 rounds of beer and alcopops (at Brighton prices! Woo!)
6 school ties (the rest weren't in uniform -- wimps!)
1 pair boxer shorts, removed voluntarily by estate agent stag (my sister can charm birds from trees, homework from kids, pants from men)
3 sets of plaits (the blonde ones seemed to have a very hypnotic effect on manly types)
3 incomprehensible conversations with Polish landlady of the Cinderella flophouse guesthouse
2 feathers from the standoffish lady with the electric blue feather boa (but nothing from Supergirl, boo hoo!)
27 kisses from strangers (each with a forfeit/condition/task attached)
2 pregnant party-goers (A. (4 months) stayed till the club closed, C. (7 months) left after the meal)
1 dancing fool on the floor -- floor covered with glass -- you can't break dance anyway -- silly, silly man
2 people brave enough to use the shower at the flophouse (yes, one of them was me)
2 disposable cameras full of evidence (though for the worst stuff I was too busy gaping to snap)
1 1/2 sleazy pick-ups at the end of the night (C. & R. both went off to the beach with boys, but C. dumped hers quite rapidly when promised food failed to materialise)
5 Different songs by Queen (mostly a good retro set, but Queen? not convinced it's danceable)
6 cooked breakfasts the following morning (everyone else having taken off already, except R. who was still missing with her pick-up! We finally got a txt back from her well after noon.)
and multitudinous little gold angels! All over everything!

All in all, a very strange night. I felt very much the tourist, is this how straight people feel when they go to gay clubs, I wonder? Yes, I *was* in uniform -- baggy black trousers, though, not a skirt. I couldn't find my old tie so I wore one of Damian's which was nicer anyway. Got in some good dancing, felt like applauding the DJ for the first time in a long time, a couple of dancing queens and a skinny indie kid to dance with, nice glasses. One of the dancing queens was even wearing a Man from UNCLE t-shirt.

Extrication from the hen party was slow and tricky, involving many excuses and considerable exaggeration of my hangover. Eventually released to the delights of shopping in Brighton (every time I go back it seems even better, or absence and my heart are doing their thing again) and the continued testing of my latest 110 camera. I found shoes for the wedding, a portable slide projector (called a Lucky Tiny!) and a lizard hook, among a few other things. Unfortunately I also found a tk maxx and once I'd been ruthlessly practical for a bit, I had no hands left for frivolous shopping, or anything much except catching a train and going home.

The train smelt of mildew.

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