So I've just been at the new City Gallery opening, their sculpture show, their as my friend put it Bizzaro-Prospect show.
We arrived during the speeches. Oh dear gods, I wish we'd missed them. Paula Savage, the Destroyer, whose cold dead hand has ruined that building, is a bad public speaker at the best of times. These were not the best of times. She gushed. Oh, did she gush. It was hilarious: 'This building ... I love it ... I love it ... I love it ... I just love it ... And I love you too ... Everyone of you ... And let me tell you about my sons ... And my new job ...' Seriously, she spent some time talking about her sons and her new job and, of course, how much she loves everything.
And look how she's left that place.
Ye gods, I wish I'd missed that speech. The start a sentence and then mumble into incoherence. The rambling. The inanity. The gushing.
And then the goddamn Registrar came up to me trying to talk about the argument we'd had over the Fomison library in the previous show, when she'd been summoned as soon as I started looking at the books. When she'd bossily and officiously not let me use the books, no no they're not for reference, told me they're just there for admiring, and other such bullshit. I don't know what the fuck she was going on about tonight, but it made no fucking sense to me.
But then I am insane. Every time I go to see my shrink, she brings up her power to institutionalise me under the Mental Health Act. What's up with that?
When I think back to the time I spent in that building as a child, the many hours, when it was a library, it's a bit rank, what's happened to it.
The least they could do is put on some good shows.
What a load of shit.
(As you may have gathered, I've been a cunt tonight. I do enjoy it so. Up yours.)