Saturday was one of those brilliant days where I thank my lucky stars that I live in such an amazing city. It involved entertaining two six year old boys in a cutting edge art exhibition, then introducing them to the delights of crispy duck and pancakes. Then handing the custody of these energetic youngsters to my husband so I could do some shopping. There was also poo involved. This was not one of the highlights of the day. (More of that later).
We started the day at the new Martin Creed exhibition at the Hayward Gallery on the Southbank. I’d heard him talking on the radio and it sounded like there was enough to interest both adults and children. The exhibition is called ‘What is the Point of it?’ And we were left wondering this at more than one occasion. We entered into the gallery space to be met with a massive neon sign saying ‘Mothers’, rotating round the room. Anyone over the height of 6 ft 6 would run the risk of being hit round the head. This would hurt. A lot. What a way to go though?
There were more rooms which we surveyed at quite a pace. Until we got to the balloons. The boys loved the balloons. A large room had been filled with white balloons. The boys spent ages running (and crawling) about in this room, their hair standing on its edge with static. It was fun.
There were other things that briefly caught their interest: a car which would suddenly come to life, its doors and boot opening, horn sounding and radio blaring, a wall to run around. (They’re six, they’ll run round anything). And so to the final room…the main place where I thought ‘What is the point of it?’ We were met with a video of a woman being violently sick. Not nice to watch. Then a man vomiting in a similar manner. (Not quite as badly as the woman, it’s got to be said). And then…a video of a woman. She walks into the room, pulls down her pants and squats. Is she? OMG she is. There is a video of a woman doing a poo. She’s there for a while, stage fright obviously getting to her. And then you see it land on the floor. As you can imagine the boys were horrified and fascinated in equal measure. I hope this hasn’t scarred them for life. (They are fine, Fred didn’t even mention it today). It was genuinely shocking. Perhaps that was the point of it?
So balloons, sick and poo. Overall despite the final room, we did enjoy this exhibition. The balloons were fun.
Luckily our appetites weren’t affected too badly, as we were heading to Chinatown for lunch. The place was decked out for New Year celebrations, and there were plenty of dragons prowling around. In fact one came into the restaurant we were eating in. The boys tried some new foods and bubble tea. Neither were a fan of the tea; Fred’s friend spat it all over his hand. They did like the duck and pancakes though.
The boys then headed off with Michael for more culture at the National Gallery. I wandered over to Regent Street via Wholefoods (love that shop, I could spend hours in there frotting over expensive, but beautifully packaged jam). And then Tottenham Court Road where I went to Heals and swooned over the Tom Dixon lights. On sale, but still out of my budget. One day you will be mine, my pretty. *Evil laugh*.