To recover we went into the Dissatisfied Women in Western Art room and tried to imagine what they were all saying. Alas, Augustus Leopold Egg's distasteful fallen woman series punctured our ironic distance so effectively and completely that it was enough for the day. Tate Britain. Sometimes it's a wonderland full of upturned jets, whispering chandeliers and insane sculpture mazes. Others it's like being bopped repeatedly on the nose with a rolled up copy of Country Life by an elderly art master who is still cross that they let girls into public schools.
We also did Oxford Street Christmas (smallbeasts introduced me to the concept many moons ago and it has stuck ever since) where Selfridges was dispiriting and Debenhams dull, but we did finally track down Christmas hiding upstairs in John Lewis. As usual, the thing I really wanted (a really simple brass chrome pyramidical Christmas Tree, like a sculptural reduction of Christmas) was actually a shop fitting. Never mind. I know what Christmas looks like now, and that's all I need to make it happen.
Friday question (if you've stuck with me thus far) - what will your Christmas look like?