Birthday trip

The first act of my thirties was lazily nostalgic: I lounged in my bed, leafing through the amazing book that Louise had bought me for my birthday. Sporting my new Superman underpants, I headed downstairs, to find a sea of balloons that Kate had inflated for me. Just look at them! Look!

Ha! Brilliant! I checked out the UK Hip Hop exhibition at Urbis. It is absolutely criminal that Urbis is closing in favour of a football museum. The exhibition brought up of some great aspects of my youth – nostalgia again - like the Wee Papa Girl Rappers Monie Love, and MC Det talking about jungle. I’m angry to see Urbis going.

“Hello Dark Bat, this is Sly Fox.”
“Hello Sly Fox, this is Dark Bat. Are you at the hire car?”
“Yes, I am.”
“I’m around the corner.”

We drove to Liverpool, eating Katsouris sandwiches. Laura bought me Wayne’s World for my birthday. Zang! We played Three Strikes on local radio all the way there. “Pretend to be my colleague,” she said at the warehouse. How exciting! Roleplay games! I think we convinced them.

The exhibition in the Tate was fantastic. Rothko’s Seagram Murals have blown me away every time I’ve seen them. They fill me will a sense of doom. They scare me. I love them. I also enjoyed the part of the DLA Piper Series: This is Sculpture that was curated by Wayne Hemmingway; I explored a room full of sculptures full of disco lights, a flashing dancefloor, a mirrorball, whilst wearing headphones playing upfront disco classics. With all of the naked marble statues, it felt like I was in some kind of 80s porno club. Allen Jones’ Chair really added to that vibe. It was like something out of Vice City. Amazing!



After the exhibition, we used the walkie-talkies to find each other in the car park. Laura is fucking brilliant!