(Incidentally - before I continue if you spot any random puntuation marks or copyright symbols in my text, please ignore them. I write my posts in Word, before copying and pasting them into Blogger. For some reason Blogger has stopped recognising punctuation transferred across and gets confused. Very annoying, but it raises less suspicion when blogging at work if I spend two hours writing a post in a Word document, as opposed to the Blogger compose window. The bloggers amongst you will understand what I mean.)
I spent Saturday with my Dad and my stepmom, doing the tourist "thang" around central London. Despite Live8 taking place just under half a mile away in Hyde Park, the city was eerily quiet - more so than during a quiet week day, which was actually brilliant for dragging parents around.
We had a nice lunch at a small cafe in Piccadilly and then we walked down South Bank, next to the Thames, to the Tate Modern to see the Frida Kahlo exhibition. Dad messed it up and went through the exhibition the wrong-way-round. I met him half way through and he actually said to me, "Her painting style seems to get worse as she got older."
Anyway - I learned a couple of things. I learned that Frida Kahlo had an affair with Leon Trotsky while he was staying as a guest at the home of her and her husband. How fabulous. I wonder if he was hot?
The other thing I learned, or rather I realised, is that regardless of whether you live a life of pain, whether you enjoy your life (as, for one reason or another, Frida generally didn't seem to) you can live a life which has a profoundly positive effect on other people – making you realise that you’re never alone in how you feel and / or you can understand and empathise with someone elses pain without the need for words. I'd always thought that it was kind of narcissistic of Kahlo to feature herself so prominently in her paintings, but what I now understand is that in her case she felt that it it was essential in order to create an emotional connection with the theme she was conveying.
Oh – another thing my Dad said to me (with absolute seriousness), "She was very good at drawing fruit and vegetables, wasn't she?"
Saturday night / Sunday morning were spent gaying it with my friends at clubs in Vauxhall. Action, which occurs once every fortnight, was followed by Beyond, a weekly after-hours club night, just around the corner at the Coliseum. As usual I had a great time with my friends. There was not much drinking, a little bit of boy-kissing at Action, a couple of compliments from guys significantly bigger than me on what a good body I have (bring this one on as much as you like) and a tired trudging through my front door at midday on Sunday.
I remembered this morning that my friend Kelly (a girl) demanded that I take her through the sex maze at Action. While I was, at first, hesitant about performing such an action at Action, I eventually relented, on the proviso that the only thing she grabbed was my hand. Later on in the evening she joked that she thought she might be pregnant. I am undecided whether to tell her that it might actually be wise to buy a pregnancy test.
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