Even on God's day, the Tube was packed. Everyone out to enjoy a rare sunny day in summer.
My friend told me that the Prince of Badness recently called on his atelier for costume fittings. My friend didn't even ask him, on my behalf, for a ticket so that I could attend what is perhaps one of the best live gigs on the planet. The bastard.
I don't have a Prince album but the man is a musical genius and his live shows are without equal. He's an excellent bluesman but that didn't stop him from experimenting with other genres resulting in a very eclectic discography.
So for 21 days, The Artist formerly known as The Artist but now back as Prince, will be garbed in frocks modified by my friend to account for the fact that His Purple Highness has no boobies.
Anyways, my friend also divulged that Prince told him that his (grand)mother is from Ilocos. This makes him a quarter Flip. But Prince is known to spread myths about his ethnicity just for the heck of it so this adobo connection may be non-existent. Besides, his musical achievements make him a citizen of the world so such ethnic associations are pointless. It takes a genius like him to write an overtly sexual song about a woman's genitalia (Little Red Corvette) and still get it overplayed in mainstream media. That's charisma for you. If he knocked on my door today selling a copy of the Watchtower, not only would I buy 10 copies, I'd also convert to his religion. If only other Jehovah's Witnesses were as cool as him.
Aaanyways, I took a ritual walk along the South Bank before heading back home to Oxbarrio.
The South Bank can get really crowded on sunny days and the food overpriced but there are some narrow alleyways where one can have a quiet Sunday brunch...
It's no mystery why I'm fat. Look at the size of that pizza next to the Sunday Times magazine.
I had afterbrunch coffee at the Tate Modern. The vertiginous view from the terrace cafe overlooking the Thames and St. Paul's Cathedral I find oddly therapeutic.
There were two major exhibitions, both left me depressed. The first one was about metropolises. Apparently 50% of the human population now live in cities, mostly crowded. And then there's Salvador Dali. He was either a very good quantum physicist or an LSD junkie. I always have existentialist crises after viewing any of his works. Today, the Tate had a couple of dozen. I should sue his estate for undue mental stress.
So I went back to the quay to mingle with the masses. Look, 6 boobies....
You have to thank Red Ken for regenerating the South Bank. Successful world cities, such as London, Stockholm, and Paris, have staunchly socialist mayors. (Wait merong bang successful world city not run by a socialist?)
I've tackled this water puzzle last winter when the water was very cold. The goal is to enter the main square which is then divided into smaller quadrants by walls of water which go on and off. It takes timing and correct decisions to move from one quadrant to the next without getting soaked. With the mercury soaring to 30C, I don't think today's participants minded getting wet. Some were already in bathing suits!
I walked into some random hall and latin jazz was playing. How's that for an excellent freebie?
More street sculptures. This was a bit psychotic but very compulsive.