une femme d’un certain âge

I’ve had my birthday, which despite an unpromising start turned out to be a wonderful day. It began with an essential  trip to the Passport Office at Victoria, the reason for which is a story for another day. The collective panic in the place does not create a good birthday vibe I can tell you, especially when you have a hangover (what exactly was in those cocktails Flavella?), both of which contributed to the ennui of another forty something birthday.

A large coffee later and reunited with Mr Rush Hour, we managed to get tickets to see the David Hockney exhibition. It was as bracing as a walk in the countryside which I suppose is the intended effect. The immersion in pink, yellow, green and purple was just so energising and by the time we got to the film, complete with tap dancers, jazz and a jolly Hockney with his mug of tea and flat cap, I was brimming with happiness. It’s an important exhibition – we both agreed it was our latter day equivalent of the effect rooms of Monet water lillies must have had at the Orangerie in the 1920’s.

After eating omelettes Arnold Bennet (the perfect hangover food) at Shepherd Market we collected a dishevelled Eve and Leah from school. It was warm and sunny and they were overjoyed both Mummy and Daddy were doing the school run, all of which extended the good mood created by Hockney. Then it was back to school to watch a special screening of The Gruffalo. They made these posters during half term and I know they’d want me to show them to you

Advertisements
This entry was posted in art, celebrations, galleries & museums. Bookmark the permalink.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s