Capt SpaceBat

Amazing day out yesterday, my wife and I went to the Francis Bacon exhibition at Tate Britain. Spread across 10 rooms, the exhibition catalogues the life works of the celebrated artist.  I was doing pretty well, admiring from near (with my jeweller’s loupe) and from afar as possible, until we got to room 8 “Memorial”, dedicated to George Dyer.  The impact was like being hit simultaneously across both the head and chest from all sides with a series of baseball bats.  I needed to sit down. So I did.

Refreshed and slightly recovered, I continued my Odyssey through the oeuvre, quite transformed.

The effect on my Weltanshauung was quite a transfiguration, causing me to make the following:

Resolutions for 2009:

• Get published,
• Get exhibited,
• Get rich(er) &/or better, and
• Get out of the United Kingdom before the Olympics.

More on each of these over the course of the next week or so … I did note with interest that in his final works, Bacon seemed to have escaped from the cupboard he had been imprisoned in by his childhood Nanny. Free at last.

The exhibition ends soon - more details available at http://www.tate.org.uk/britain/exhibitions/francisbacon/

Rolo Tomassi

Due to my obsessive-compulsove desire to enter all competitions that come my way (quite a number of those may be found online!) I had also managed to win tickets to see Rolo Tomassi (as well as a copy of their latest CD, “Hysteria”) at The Borderline (no, not that sort of club, alas!)  After a fab meal at Pizza Express in Greek Street (and deciding that is might be possible to live on their semi freddo reale) we staggered up to Orange Yard, next to Danny La Rue’s old club (an old haunt over many manifestations - again, more for another day) only to find that we were possibly a generation too late.  We were amidst what seemed to be a casting call for “I’m a teenage psychopath from Coronation Street, get me out of here!” David Platt emo-wannabes … All very nice, bright, well-mannered and polite, but a little too much for my jaded palette.

Greater age and wisdom prevailing, we decided to head south through our secret underground escape tunnel back to Morden and catch up with some friends for a “Christmas drink.”  Being teetotal, there is a limit to the amount of conversation with the emotionally unstable and drunk that can be endured - but hey! that’s the Christmas spirit - and so we beat a retreat after a short time to the relative safety of the BatCave.

With only Christmas, New Year, an MRI scan and an interview to see if I can be usefully re-entered into the work market (see holes, digging of) to look forward to over the next week, apart from a few things listed above, things seemed bleak.  Until …

… I spotted that The Tiger Lillies and Justin Bond were performing “Sinderella” at the Queen Elizabeth Hall.  Tickets were immediately booked and my spirits lifted once more.

Await tomorrow’s report of the depravity with bated breath and hot sticky palms!