On Saturday, I was on my way to the Tate Britain in London, and I saw a girl in the same subway carriage as I was in. What's so special about that, thou askest me? Bear with me a while and you'll find out. I left the subway and walked to the Tate Gallery, and was there ten minutes before opening time at the side entrance. Now, more people were gathering and waiting for it to open. To my surprise (although not really, for she looked arty), the same girl came to wait at the door as well. She looked kinda like Jenny with short hair, only less fragile, less petite, and not as pretty. Inside, as I was going to the bathroom, she left it and so I walked past her there.
Within the Tate, I saw a couple of wonderful paintings by Dante Gabriel Rossetti, one of my favourite artists. I also discovered John William Waterhouse there. A great painter. Did mythology and poetry depictions mostly. Like this Lady of Shalott by Tennyson (on whose grave I was standing last wednesday):
In the afternoon, after meeting up with Sir Ford for lunch (he bought me lunch at My Old Dutch, which consisted of giant blocks of cheese, cheese balls, a ham/cheesethingie, raw ham, pickled herring and lettuce. Sir Ford had the meaty bits), I went to the Wallace Collection, which was splendidly decadently decorated. They have the famous girl-on-a-swing Fragonard painting, and lovely children faces by Jean Baptiste Greuze, amongst other marvels.
At night, The Royal Albert Hall called me with Prom #39. Mostly Mozart, and Jeanine Jansen, the famous Dutch first violinist. The BBC aired the thing too. It was highly enjoyable. I had to wake up a woman next to me though, for she was snoring. She was really quiet after that. When I left the building I was rummaging through my backpack for my rainbow umbrella, for it was raining. When I looked up, it was straight at this same girl of the morning. She stood some way of conversing with someone. We smiled at the coincidence.
Maybe one day I'll see her in the Artworld. If I ever get in. It is small, after all.