Bits and Bob Bob Ricards

In between the day trips and the mini-breaks and the cocktails and the list-writing I've had a number of small but delightful moments of observation and aesthetic appreciation lately. My Peckham punk granny with her Batman-esque eye shadow delicately devouring her sandwich above being just one of them...

On Saturday just gone LB and I went to the Craft Central studios in Clerkenwell for an open studio. The plan was to look for Christmas presents. The plan wasn't to walk away with little somethings for ourselves. I did appreciate this alternative 'angel' though... What Antony Gormley would make of it though I have no idea.

Thursday last week I met up with Tor and a couple of other lovely Aussies for a drink at Bob Bob Ricard, place of the Press for Champagne button. I love the button. I can't afford to press the button. But I have it in mind to take the parents for a meal next May. They won't be able to help themselves... In amongst the chatter and the pelmeni and the house pink, Tor and I were shamelessly obvious in our ogling of the table across the way. Why hello, Ralph Fiennes. 

The Christmas lights are up, the ice rinks are frozen and winter is decidedly here. This blurry, not-my-best shot is of the lights and atmospheric loveliness of the Natural History Museum, taken en route to the Victoria & Albert Museum. It's cultural sacrilege to visit an institution just for its gift shop (see: Christmas shopping) so while we were there I dragged LB through the succinct but rather affective Light from the Middle East: New Photography exhibition. Well worth a more considered visit. I'll go back... 

A small insight into the wonderfully odd things my job throws up. This is artist Simon Raven mid-performance. Beneath the foil and the sparkler, he's wearing a werewolf mask. I love that I get to see and meet and do the things I do. The film we made about his residency is here.

A day trip to Bristol for a research funding briefing. These lego-like houses were the only shot of colour all day. Literally and otherwise. No visit to Nelson St this time.

Another work glimpse. A letter - on a doily no less - offering thanks for an opportunity we ran to send a young artist to the Liverpool Biennial. It also came with balloons.

I walked past this tree this morning and it is now grey and naked and shivering. Several weeks ago it was resplendent in autumnal colours. This autumn has actually been quite spectacular for colours and sunsets and even the odd occasional blue sky. But all that is gone now - the wind and rain has moved in, has whipped the trees of their modesty and is here to stay. More's the pity.

Already nearly a month ago now - and longer still since we first booked the tickets way back in April. Several Sundays ago we went to the Apollo to see Sarah "champion" Millican. That woman is bloody funny. More weekends should end in laughter - not least because it masks the Monday dread.

A "pinch me I live in London" moment - though you could have pinched me and I wouldn't have felt it I was that frigging cold. But here was a fleeting glimpse towards Tower Bridge, with London Bridge awash in blues and purples and the pedestrian Millenium Bridge from Tate to St Paul's slippery underfoot and wind-whipped. I think we went to Chinatown for dumplings from here.

Anyway - just a collection of odd moments and pauses in this hectic thing called life in London. A gesture, if you will,  in support of my philosophy looking with wonder and aesthetic purpose. If you don't stop and really look, this brilliant, brutal, frustrating city will kick your arse and make you mean. And no one should be mean - especially at Christmas.