No, not the Abba LP, you wallies. My brother came to visit, arriving by train yesterday from The Frozen North.
In celebration we rather foolishly stayed up till the next day boozing, which meant that we wasted half of today nursing hangovers. Six poached eggs later we made it onto a 43 bus heading off for the Tate Modern. I hoped that I'd be able to come back with tales of pensioners and small children trapped in 'Shibboleth' - alas, no. After this jolly jaunt we walked all the way to bloody Centrepoint due to a lack of transport options and waited approximately 3 weeks for a 134.
The Tate got the old cogs whirring and I had a good laugh with liitle brother thinking up installations we would present to the public. Top prize to him for 'Eppilept' - an ordinary gallery, until the lights go out, random strobes begin along with a pulsing sound and jets of cold water aimed at the viewer.
At this point you may or may not be wondering "why the plural in the title?" - since you're not, I'll tell you anyway. Stuart Indietracks is popping round this weekend, so that makes two. Full house eh?
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