Things to do in South West London when you're single

The day made little sense to me. I left the gym early because I felt very faint, then went home and made sure I had a full breakfast. Ever tried scrambled tofu? It's a good vegan alternative to scrambled eggs. Scramble it up with some herbs and pepper and put it on that bagel! I think it's a damn worthy alternative, even if it may seem a little strange.

And I hit my bed after breakfast. I felt utterly muddled. No sleep, though: just a strange drift through an hour, and a lot of moaning and groaning. It was Sunday, and I knew what I wanted to do, but I couldn't work out a way to do it. I wished desperately for things to be different, as if lying there and conjuring vivid images could actually bring my dreams into reality.

Nothing made much sense when I got up again. I stumbled around the flat wondering why I was feeling so out of it.

I did some things, but then I realised that I wasn't doing enough. The day was threatening to pass me by. I needed a plan, but no plan seemed suitable. There was no point in watching a film, as nothing was making any sense. There was no possibility of reading, for exactly the same reason. And nobody was picking up their phone. A good job, mind, as I didn't really know what I was going to say, or why I was phoning them.

I remembered my plan from a couple of weeks ago: there was an exhibition I needed to visit, and it wasn't too far away.

I put some stuff in my bag and headed off. I then decided that I should eat lunch, so I stopped heading off and put my bag down. I ate lunch, then headed off again, to jump on the District Line and head for South Kensington...

- - - - -

The Serpentine gallery is a lovely little building in Hyde Park. The only problem with it is that it's free, which means you risk getting trapped in a gallery with a load of bored children who are only there because their parents are being selfish. Fortunately, even though I saw some kids leaving and entering the building, I couldn't actually find them in the gallery. Maybe I was just imagining it all.

I made a note in my little black book: "Dreams and imagination invading reality." Once again. But experiencing such an invasion is always fun...

The exhibition was by Hreinn Fridfinnsson, an Icelandic artist. And all I'd seen of his work before going there was a cardboard box with a pink interior.


This particular box was giving one of the attendants something to do, because people kept walking into it. It's called "Floorpiece". To alert other visitors that the box was there, and a part of the show, I stood and stared at it for a while. "Allocate your sentiment, and stick it in a box."

There are quite a few reviews of the exhibition out there, although the artist doesn't seem to have made it into Wikipedia yet... A shame, as I want to know more about his little avant-garde group, SÚM, that was mentioned at the entrance to the exhibition. All I know is what I read there: that the group was started in Reykjavik in 1965.

Whatever, Frindfinnsson's work was very thought-provoking and engaging indeed, and the exhibition was very enjoyable. You'd see the label for one of the pieces, and then ask yourself where the devil the actual piece was. Like "Beauty Marks". You read the description and discover that it's made of velvet. But you have to hunt around to find it. Eventually, you might notice a "beauty spot" at the bottom of the pillar, on the other side to the description. There's no way you would have spotted that if it hadn't been for the label. Later in the exhibition, you come across the sign again: "Beauty Marks". But where's the beauty spot this time? I never found it. Was it just a hoax? Maybe beauty spots aren't actually beautiful anyway. Maybe mole-free faces are more appealing.

So there was an element of symmetry to the exhibition. Before coming across the second "Beauty Marks", I came across the second "Pair": a shoe in front of a mirror. It was on the opposite side of the gallery to the first "Pair". Coming across the second pair really did trip me out slightly. Mirrors, when arranged correctly, can really unnerve people, as you know: "los espejos y la cópula son abominables, porque multiplican el número de los hombres."

These weren't the only mirrors, though: "Jar" and "Jars" also used mirrors to create virtual works. The attendant who was watching over the room containing these pieces was thoroughly enjoying himself. Having seen how two glass jars had been positioned to create a column of glass jars that stretched into the infinity of a virtual universe, the attendant was crouching there, trying to find a way to get his hand inside that other world too.

The jars didn't interest me as much as the inside-out house. According to the accompanying text, "The house harbors the whole world except itself". Here was a house, the inside of which was on the outside. So the whole world was, in a way, inside the house. The idea still has me smiling.

- - - - -

The art I saw certainly took me somewhere else. I was in a total daze for the rest of the day. Nodding off on the tube home, I found myself again questioning the whole concept of reality and chronology. I looked out of the window and thought back to the times when I'd seen the same route. Three times. And each time, I had no real idea what I was doing or where I was going. I couldn't even have told you for sure if the route even existed, to be honest. I was so tired that I didn't know if I existed either. Everything seemed so unreal.

I got home and nothing made sense. In the end, I left the flat once more and went for a long walk up the hill and around The Common. My feet hurt, and I was happy that I was finally feeling something other than confusion. I scrubbed, polished and soothed my feet and went to bed, and wondered what had happened that weekend.

I will go back to see that exhibition again, though. It was very very good.