I went to the opera last night.
To keep things short basically my plans fell through at the last minute, so stranded in Covent Garden I was going to just go home when I thought I might as well get a stand-by ticket to see something.
I was wearing black leggings, a black and gold jersey top tied up at the waist and a huge oversized black leather jacket. My hair- which is currently in a short bob- was actually looking sleek for once. I was wearing red lipstick.
Frankly I looked great. Even if I am too short to complete the look.
Everyone else was in their Country Casuals from John Lewis, you know, up from the home counties for a night at the Op-rah. Middle aged clutching programs.
It was great.
I'd tidied the flat in the morning, then I'd had to go home to get my phone which I'd left at my parents' house on Monday. After that I loitered around the Tate Modern. I'm living a tourist life.
Tragic Ana Mendieta's hideous unbirth, untitled (blood and feathers # 2) like watching an embryonic chick without a shell - only in classical mythology would the rape of Leda result in Helen of Troy (so beautiful) hatching painlessly from an egg. In reality I think it would be something like this.
But in the next room we have two of Magdelena Abakanowicz's Akabans- monumental, erotic, hilarious distortion of the great phallic monumental sculpture (Akaban Orange!).
So I'm living the life of a tourist. But today I had work. Am tired out; it's too hot even though it's night. Drinking cheap rose. Thinking I might go to bed. KD is coming over tomorrow; I have to make him a birthday cake.