The most effective exhibit was Event Horizon a series of body casts of the artist placed largely on rooftops around the South Bank and, indeed on the other side of the river. Agent Triple P would have found a more interesting body to cast he thinks; someone like Scarlet Johansson perhaps..
Most of the art was, as to be expected, rather pretentious but we liked the blocky people of Allotment II which were a series of concrete blocks modelled on the actual dimensions of 300 Swedish people from Malmo (I wonder if Swedish A from the Marriot hotel was one of them?). Great confusion was caused by our guide who referred constantly to Malmo being in Switzerland. All was explained when we disovered he was a Canadian.
Most of the time we were trying to get used to B's rather severe haircut. We preferred her longer hair but this one does give much better access to her neck.
Following the exhibition, we walked past the old Shell building, where a sinister Gormley lurked on the roof, to the newly renovated Festival Hall where we were, yet again, impressed by the subtle to the point of invisible re-modelling.
Our dinner destination was the new Skylon Restaurant a cavernous expanse that runs almost the full width of the Hall and has a fabulous view of the river when the blinds aren't down. We had a rare sunny evening and the heat generated from the late evening sun was enormous until they lowered electronically controlled blinds (which of course meant there was no view of the river anymore). Never mind, it meant that B removed her jacket although given the garish nature of her frock perhaps it would have been better if she had not. To be fair this rather wide-angled picture was taken with my phone's camera and rather foreshortens the poor girl.
The decor was dterminedly fifties and the restaurant was packed. Even though a large proportion had been taken by my hosts there was still huge dining area.We had Cornish white crab meat, baby tomato and coriander salad and avocado mousse followed by tournedos (over-done as usual) with spinach Lyonnaise, baby carrots and Madeira sauce. Accompanying this we had, we have to say, the best Muscadet we have ever experienced. Now perhaps that is not saying much but it was a particularly good example and improved our mood somewhat given that B was being so resolutely undemonstrative. Fortunately, the service was terrible with not nearly enough staff to cover the tables and it got so late that B and Agent Triple P made their excuses and left at about 10.00 pm. We scooted along to the Marriot, where B was conveniently staying, and disappered up to her rather floral room overlooking the Houses of Parliament for a bottle of Pol Roger (which B had conveniently had put on ice earlier in the evening). Out of sight of her clients B relaxed considerably and we managed to dispose of the ghastly frock (and, indeed everything else).
