...That's how it seemed to me as I went on a late night trawl through the Current Hogarth exhibition at the Tate Britain. Some friends were performing as part of a series of special nightime gallery openings. To say that it was a strange affair is an understatement... kind of like being trapped in a bad movie... when you get to the vaguely unconvincing hallucinogenic scene that makes you cringe with embarrassment because the art director, cast and crew have got it so, so wrong. Imagine if you will the very staid and stuffy interior of this 'great British Museum'... it's walls dripping with 16th, 17th and 18th century British art juxtaposed with silly middle class art students and the odd brace of 'with it' parents and OAP's running around spilling their wine and controlled abandon in the direction of anyone who was looking... to a soundtrack of Fuck Off "... If you don't want to fuck me baby well baby fuck off." by The Electric Chairs... you get the picture. Actually I had a really good time and my friends looked fantastic in their powdered wigs and 17th century night dresses. We ended the evening in the dressing room where I fought to shield my eyes from a flurry of underwear, tits and smudged makeup... lubricated by alcohol and sweat.
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