THREAD: gallery party | second verse, worse than the first...
A hideously pretentious gallery party in London ( again)
[ It was a little odd, Cambridge would mentally concede that, yes. He knows he has been here before - albeit to pass his painfully critical eye over an entirely different pretentious collection of art - but he only knows this a distant matter of fact. He just knows, but knowing was not the same as remembering. The winding way the gallery was laid out to lead the critic through the cleanly organised line of paintings was entirely new and unknown - despite the fact that it had not changed since he first came here five long years ago. There wasn't even a vague sense of deja vu - there was nothing. If it wasn't for the invite in his hand he isn't sure he'd even remember the name of the damn place. He supposes that at least that means Durham is very good at his job, although he'd rather not have had to find that out until it came to his retirement. ]
[ He had arrived in good time - a decent hour and a half after the party started so as to appear fashionable but still five minutes before he had agreed to meet Durham. Cambridge had decided earlier that day that it would be a good idea to explore the gallery - to reacquaint himself with the environs - before Durham arrived; at the very least he would be able to equip himself with some halfway decent opinions on the art. Now, he contemplated the merits of the latest artistic offering from David Hirst with a glass of Chablis, fully of the mind that it was all terrible bollocks anyway and he would just have to make up something enlightening if Durham asked his opinion... ]