Weird Weekend Part 2

Yes yes, these images make perfect sense, why wouldn't they? Steady on, explanation to follow.

Rather than simply get into a cab and go home, I decided to stay in Bethnal Green and accompany Tortured Artist and new Italian girlflesh, Bella Roma, to Jumpers in the Park's house (these code names are getting confusing) for an after big band drinkie winkie. JITP seems to have acquired herself some new boyflesh too. A man of great intensity who I will not describe in any way, other than to say, he has the sort of mother who will knit for him on request a long stemmed cigarette holder, complete with smouldering ciggie - 'nuff said. We manage to extricate ourselves from this mental torture and head back to TA's lofty garrick for some shuteye. I use the term shuteye loosely, as TA has built a shed on the roof next to were his flat resides, and stuck me in there to sleep. This 'shed' is made from random bits of mdf and planking he secured from various tips and creaks and groans like a bad horror movie at the slightest suggestion of a breeze. The fact that it pissed with rain and blew with cyclonic ferocity on Saturday night is neither here nor there.

Rousing ourselves with the noon, we headed off to Brick Lane and our official 'Day of Culture.' Cheshire St off Brick Lane is the ideal place to put together a large oppressive installation encapsulating the frailty of the human condition in the face of the relentless juggernaut of technical advancement/obsolescence. Instead we went to 'Simply Botiful' the new work from Swiss junk yard collector and artiste Christof Buchel. After crawling up, down and around this claustrophobic nightmare of immigrant sweatshops and the pokey holes they crawl into when their torturous days are done, we went for brekkie. Why the copies of 'Mien Kampf' translated into Arabic, anonymously arranged next to a pile of festering white goods? Why not? - Fuck off pleb, I'm an artist and I'm Swiss, your puny mind cannot begin to comprehend my genius, fuck off back to art-in-the-park.

Having trawled from Brick Lane to Shoreditch and taken in a number of new spaces and budding works of merit(TM) we ended up at Parasol Unit. This is the kind of super cool white cube that makes you feel stupid before you've even made it through the door (how was I to know you had to pull then push?) Momentary Momentum is a collection of animated drawings by terribly famous people, only one of whom I actually recognized. The rooms are divided into gloomy tombs, allowing you to sit reverentially as Images of Great Meaning(TM) pass jerkily before your very eyes. OK, it wasn't that wanky, but I was all cultured out by this stage and in desperate need of a larf and a pint. The David Shrigley was fun and the Kentridge brilliant and depressing as only Kentridge can be, but I could have done with a bit more humour myself. A couple of glasses of nice chianti later and I was fired with enthusiasm. I shall give it all up, cash in my chips with TA and start London's greatest gallery, we will feature TAs from around the world and arsy white cubes everywhere will wade through a mile of our faeces just to feature one of our works ( most probably our debut work - 'a mile of Faeces') Then I went home and passed out in front of 'Dancing on Ice.'

B