Didn't we have a luverly time?

For some reason which I can't quite fathom, this blog-keeping malarkey was so much easier when I didn't have to work for a living. But, seeing as I do, less will have to be more. And I'm sure it is. Less that is. Less said the better. Who said that? Les.

I have torn myself away from the Eurovision Song Contest to do this. Actually, that's not quite as a generous gesture as it may appear. But I can still hear Tel's baileys-oiled tones in the background, so I think I'll pull through. Scary stuff.




Yeah - I went to Margate. It was great. Here's a picture - nice ha? Then there was Broadstairs (nothing like Broadmoor which I had got stuck in my head) and nothing like wide steps which would have been more appropriate. Anyway, Broadstairs is classy. It's like I imagine an English seaside town should be - but without the disappointing tat which I always forget until I get there. At Broadstairs even the knickerbocker glories wear sensible pants.










My art course continues apace. That Tintoretto was handy with a paintbrush and make no mistake.

Standing up in the National Gallery for two plus hours at the end of the working day is a bit of a challenge, but it's a question of mind over matter. I don't mind so it doesn't matter.












The Wine Fair at Excel blew me away. More wine than time to drink it. People were spitting great gobfuls of wine in every direction, it was a skill just to avoid the flying globules of gargled vino as they swooshed all over the shop. Personally I prefer to swallow. Spitting just seems ungrateful and ungraceful. Unfortunately this leads to wobbly leg syndrome and a tendency to leave before the end of the party due to one of my heads coming one.




More art - this time Crivelli - I like this guy! He doesn't go over the edges when he colours in.

I was fortunate enough to be taken to the Oslo Court restaurant in St Johns Wood for lunch. This has to be the campest dining experience in London. It's the waiter with the dessert trolley that took the wafer. When I said I wanted the cheesecake he retorted, "Yes, I think I already know what you want darling." Damn sauce. Actually, the sauce was quite nice.

Next week - Norway! I'm going to stay in a wooden hut up a mountain next to a lake.
Will there be a lonely goatherd?

And is Heidi's grandfather misunderstood for good reason? This, I intend to find out. Yeah, OK, wrong country. But let's just put that down to artistic licence. Which I intend to get, just incase you're thinking of sending round one of those detector vans. I'll go to the Post Office on Monday and fill in a form and get it rubber-stamped. You see if I don't.

Come back soon.