I'm not sure whether it was because I broke my rule and told someone, thus opening the door to rolling disasters, but it didn't quite go according to plan.
I was kinda hoping that since I'd gone with the Peanut Gallery that I'd be able to linger and enjoy my own private lecture, but no, I was frogmarched around the exhibition with nary a glance left or right.
The worst bit was the sandwiches Potemkin incident. Basically, I was tired and stressed so I asked for lunch in the park before slogging through the heat to the next destination. Not an entirely unreasonable request, I thought. Unfortunately there is nowhere that just sells pre-packaged sandwiches or the like in Canberra so I had to go back into the cafe, which is nigh impossible to get to (a curse on all brutalist architects) and I had to queue up for nearly an hour to be served, but they did have sandwich boxes for sale. Did they have any ready made? Not on your nelly - another half hour wait.
So as we had to go back up to the entrance to go out again I decided, as we were now very pressed for time (the bus was departing at 4pm and we still had one more gallery to go), to pick up our luggage as well. So there I was on the escalator with a suitcase, a backpack, a bag full of catalogues and two cardboard sandwich boxes. In one movement, the handle ripped off one and the bottom fell out of the other, bouncing rolls, apples and orange juice down the escalator and I had no hands free to catch them. Instead of turning round doing a cricket catch, Peant Gallery, who always walks on three blocks ahead while I struggle to bring up the rear with the gear, just turned around screamed at me. So I just did the Lucile Ball "WHAAAAAH!" in the middle of the gallery, because I was hot, tired, hungry, humiliated, out of pocket and being screamed at. Here's hoping all the spectators thought it was performance art.
And did I mention my camera was stolen? Or the wedding reception going on outside my room at the hotel?
So once again I did everything wrong, and I'm not entirely sure how I went so wrong. Oh well.
It seemed like a good idea at the time. The bus ride that he chose (I would have gone down by plane, carbon footprint be damned) wasn't too bad, but it was long and boring and I was desperate for a pee, but that's neither here nor there. The hotel he chose was very nice (I was paying, of course) but there was a wedding reception there and it was such a small, quaint hotel that one could not help but feel the odd ones out.
Never mind. I wisely let him do his own thing while I walked up to to see the old parliament house gardens, which were crammed with wedding parties (so again I had to beat a retreat, damn effing breeders, think they own the world, mutter, grumble) and the lovely rose gardens were all burnt away in the hot, dusty winds (it really was hot). I was desperate for a drink but they only do sit down cafes in Canberra, the buggers, but I had time to kill, on Saturday at least. At least there was a cafe next to the rose gardens. They don't really do cafes, either, in Canberra.
Then I needed to spend a penny, or $2 as it happens as I had to pay to get into old parliament house to use theirs, and since I was there, I decided to have another lookisee (especially as we never, ever had the required school excursion to those hallowed halls, as they were then). So I took myself around. I really like it, as most rooms are as they were when abandoned in 1988 so it's like a museuem of old office furniture and stationery. It reminds me of old offices I've worked in, so it's kinda nostalgic. I saw the former prime ministerial lav, and you don't get more Cannnbra than that. Also enjoyed the press gallery - that was neat. My gosh, it was an old rabbit warren, but, again, reminding me of old Govt buildings I used to work in. Bought myself a souvenier Dismissal cup from the gift shop and took a piccie of those stairs (I bought a new camera). Real history, there (and I don't often say tjhat about Oz stuff).
Then I trudged back in the dust and heat, showered (wondering just how frosted the frosted window in the bathroom was, given that the wedding reception was going on right outside) and dressed for dinner. I'm glad I booked as they were turning away folks from the restaurant, though it never got full. Perhaps they were shortstaffed with the wedding. It wasn't quite the posh nosh I was hoping for, but I enjoyed my duck pate, breast of chicken on sweet potato mash and white chocolate and pecan tart - when it finally arrived. Hey, I've been living on fruit and water, I get to indulge once in a while. As the moon set over the flag atop parliament house, my first day was domne. Oh yeah, I weirdly had Hallmark on the telly (as it seemed one Foxtel channel per hotel room) so I watched Rebus, which is usually what I do anyway in lieu of watching a dvd and I couldnae be arsed to bring down my portable dvd player again, though I should have.
Sunday it was up bright and early for a modest breakfast (I was getting the pursed lips thus felt compelled not to go the whole hog like I usually do, whimper, and I should have, considering how I wasn't getting fed for the rest of the day). It was a lovely morning though. The PG struck out by himself and I followed in a taxi with the baggage. To be honest, the best time I had was sitting by myself on the concrete bridge reading my Oxford Guide to Arthur while watching birds fly past and the big silver ball just hang in the pale blue sky.
Then it got crowded and despite me having been there for ages, some bastards came and stood in front of me. There's nothing you can do as they're so full of themselves glares, huffs and rebukes bounce off them (and besides, I had to dump the bags and go pee again, gawd, I'm getting old).
Then it was into the mosh pit that was the Degas exhibition. I never really enjoy art in such conditions, but I made the best of it. One pic that wasn't as good as the others, but I liked, looked like some pre-raphaelite chicks had wandered in from another painting. I really loved the dancers with the bright turquoise tutus and the party sketch that had the chinese lanterns. I liked the photographs. Too bad the NGA isn't a grownup gallery or they coould have re-created the 19thC rooms from the photos to give more of a feel.
And if I was worried about having Tears for Fears pop into my head when I saw the Little Dancer, I need not have bothered because before that there was an entire room of large ladies contorting themselves over bathtubs and suddenly Sir Mixalot popped into my head and stayed there:
I like big butts and I can not lie
You other brothers can't deny
That when a girl walks in with an itty bitty waist
And a round thing in your face
You get sprung, wanna pull out your tough
'Cause you notice that butt was stuffed
Deep in the jeans she's wearing
I'm hooked and I can't stop staring
Oh baby, I wanna get with you
And take your picture
My homeboys tried to warn me
But that butt you got makes me so horny
You say you wanna get in my Benz?
Oh dear. So then there was the little dancer in the next room, but it was all too late. It wasn't the one from the Royal Academy, which I prefer. It might be an earlier casting because the stockings are more wrinkled and the face narrower and far more sarky. I like that one better, but one shall not thumb one's nose at the chance to view two in a life time, especially as it was on the list of stuff to see (mainly because it was in that Tears for Fears video but the bulk of my art exposure is from pretentious British art students doing music videos as I was never taught it at school. Cooking and sewing, yes, but art? Never - and this was in the 1980s, not the 1880s).
My fave Degas though was the woman doing the laundry one. Looked just like the lounge room, with all the shirts hung up,only I need more back lighting (actually, any sort of lighting would do).
Then I was dragged up to see the Misty Moderns exhibition, which I loved. Ballet of wind and rain is one of my new favourite pictures.
Then I trooped around the Australian collection, which is much better than the AGNSW collection, and it had all the classics (of the Australian art scene). Of course, I had to run through the modern section until I got to the nice soothing representational art section. I do so love a landscape or genre painting. Call me old fashioned, I don't care. The older Colonial stuff was funny, as European artists struggled to come to terms with the Oz landscape, and every second painting riffed on Constable (life before copyright laws, eh?).
Then there was the sandwiches Potemkin incident and so I sat/sulked by myself in the sculpture garden, listening to the carillion ping away until it finally finished, then slogged it to the National Portrait gallery. Flogged around again, but as most of the stuff was boroowed from the National Portrait gallery in London, I'd already seen the prize bits, including the wonderful Reynolds job of Banks (hello old mate, still as handsome as ever, I see). Other stuff was cool, the nick cave pic I'd already seen, a drop dead gorgeous b/w photo of Errol, a snap of the Lindsays being the Lindsays (so not the sort of snap you'd want to upload to Facebook when drunk) and that photo of Sherbet.
Then it was a taxi back to the skanky bus terminal and a long bus ride back to Sydney on a too hot bus but at least there was no traffic and we got there just as the sun was setting. Home to a thin gruel of soup, a hot house and dessicated plants - joy.
Had Monday off, luckily, but spent it doing loads and loads of washing, all day in fact. It wasn't too bad. After sweating and huffing about 120 litres of greywater down the back steps in the blazing sun I thought there had to be an easier way, so I attached the hose to the washing machine hose, ran it down the back steps and into the buckets that I lined up next to my posh Italian sunbed. So I still had to hang out the clothes and run the buckets around the garden, but at least between cycles I could recline at my leisure and read the papers in the dappled shade by nodding hibiscus, sipping mineral water, while the hose emptied into the buckets at my feet. Heh.
Then I watched Maverick, in which poor Bart's couch surfing visit goes horribly wrong (never accept the alleged hospitality of flighty aristos, ever) then it was a 'what's in the fridge' stir fry and a Top Gear repeat and then I was online all night (and thank you those who posted the Merlin media. At last, some good stuff).
Now I'm back at work, and it sucks to be me again. Can't do anything right, even when I've done exactly what they asked for.
Nor can I get it right at home. Was just savagely blasted for not passing on a phone message, and fair enough, but in my defence they rang while I was still in the midst of labour intensive washing and I had water pissing everywhere and it was 'whatever, my laundry is flooding'. But my bad. I've bought a peace offering, which won't work, but my gosh the barista seemingly devoted his life's study to selecting the perfect blend and grind.
But never mind that. I had a wee sit in the park (I said sit) and read of my big book of Arthur and, combined with other stuff I saw, I'm still mulling over ideas.
Like how Uther is always so keen to send his boy first over the top, like some World War I parent, you know, those upper class classically read toffs who made those 'with your shield or on it' demands (as for the conscripted working classes, I cannot say, aside from a vague memory of expectations of duty, loyalty and a smashing adventure). Uther seems a lot like that, don't you think. For someone who went to such great lengths to begat an heir, he's remarkably Spartan as a parent, you know, tough measures to harden up the boy (so Uther knows that Arthur can be a bit of a softie? You'd not think he'd paid that much attention). Yup, Uther seems to me to be a perfect old school upper class parent from the age of Empire. I'm surprised he never packed Arthur off to boarding school (it could have been vaguely canon, too).
Merlin? Well, are we ever going to adress his mum being the town bike? I love one version of the legend that states Merlin's father was either demonic, a man in cahoots with a demon or a close relative. Heh. So now I can't view the lad's home town without hearing the Deliverance banjos. As if Merlin's mum doing the whole "he's a gay man now" thing wasn't bad enough.
But yes, interesting to see where they take Merlin because, by golly, he has a dark angry side, more so than Arthur (who is always getting stick for being arrogant, rude and vain, but honestly, it's not as if virtuous lil Merlin is free of the same flaws, is it?). Given how demonstrably insecure Arthur is, I do worry about him being able to stand up to Merlin, when all is said and done (especially when pulling rank and getting huffy don't work).
Okay, there was going to be more buut it's time for the 4.15ers (bastards, all). (But, basically, Merlin: the king of pushy bottoms? Discuss).
Oh, and someoone posted some Lewis icons from the new series (whicvh I might see this decade, gods willing). One pic, and I've no idea of the context, looked very LOM with both boys waving their badges as they doorstop somebody. It made me smile. Still makes me smile. Fear not Hathaway, you're not forgotten. If I could just have time to myself (that didn't involve buckets) I could finish at least one of those damn bloody fics.
Okay, cheered up, a friend just dropped over Being Human. I hope it lives up to the hype.
I also told a friend about the sandwiches in free fall and they've been cackling over it for a good six hours now (I think it's the image of that bright green granny smith apple bouncing down the escalator steps like that damn pram that gets 'em going everytime), so my misfortune has at least amused somebody. That's gonna be on the NGA Xmas tape for sure. And fie on them, and their not fit for purpose lunch boxes.
Misty moderns: Australian Tonalists 1915–1950
Colin Morgan (Merlin) - Variety Club Showbiz Awards 2008
Merlin/Arthur Echo (18+)
Jockum, I am. And Boogey Knights is my band
Mr Good Bard
Svenska Mässan - Göteborg, 7 - 8 mars 2009 (Mads)
Colin's and Bradley
Vidbite : 'Need' (Merlin)
The Muppet Show: Night and Day
Fanvid: i go with him
A novel take on pride
The right to bare arms
Delicious Dexter to bite into cannibalism
So, hellblazer06, your LiveJournal reveals...
You are... 0% unique and 5% herdlike (partly because you, like everyone else, enjoy slash). When it comes to friends you are popular. In terms of the way you relate to people, you are wary of trusting strangers. Your writing style (based on a recent public entry) is intellectual.
Your overall weirdness is: 31
(The average level of weirdness is: 29.
You are weirder than 67% of other LJers.)
Find out what your weirdness level is!