Degree Show
26 June

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One of the reasons I felt able to travel to Llandudno in the middle of the week to attend an opera performance was the fact the I had already booked the Friday as holiday to travel down to London to be in good time for Ross's Degree Show.

His undergraduate years are now over. In fact, he is now a graduand awaiting his results in order to become a graduate.

I travelled down early and took in a few CD shops before hussling over to UCL. I called in at Information Systems to drop back a couple of keys and to hand over a security card. I also had a good chat with a few souls. I made a point of seeing Rachel to pass on the good news that, in comparison with Merseyside, our work at UCL stood up and that I was busy introducing our good practice there rather than returning to say that everything was so much better up North. She responded with her usual generosity of spirit by telling me that she'd been sure that would happen anyway. Hmmm. It's something I don't miss.

I then met up with Chris and a couple of the other librarians for a pre-exhibition drink. Sitting there chatting, I realised how much I missed that level of conversation and badinage. I don't think my current colleagues (nice folks that they are) will ever reach those levels of erudition and acuity of intellect.

Then Chris and I were down to St Martins, meet up with Ross and t'other Chris and into the mêlée.

We can cut this bit short. I did a trawl of the building. I liked some of the work - some paintings by Gemma Hollington, a mobile by Rory Dobner, some work with wood and paper and other work using resin and hair by Kit Burnet, sculpture using thin translucent material which looked like a frozen rain storm by Toyoko Kato, paintings of crowds by Oona Hassim. But the vast majority left me cold. In fact, the vast majority of the work left me thinking what these people had been doing for three years and, if they were showing their best, then what was their worst like?

I got angry as well. There were some wonderful studio spaces higher up the building that Ross has simply been unable to get to because the lifts have not been working and he can't walk up ten flights of stairs. I know his work would have been different had it not been produced in the dark and cramp of the basement. The college also could not get his name spelt right on the price list.

Very few people sold anything. My Rossi did.

Only other high point was that we were both interviewed by someone making a documentary about relationships and so we may end up on a late night Channel Four programme at some point.

We tumbled into bed at about 11pm. Normally by this time Ross would be dead to the world but the adrenaline was still coursing through him. So we had to find some way of filling in the time til 1am.

Following day we met Ross's parents and had a look round the exhibition with them and then had lunch in the crypt of St Martins in the Fields. We took ourselves off round Covent Garden in the afternoon. Ross bought some pagan music and some literature about sexuality. I bought a book about chakras.

We took ourselves home, ate and it was only about 8pm and there was nothing on television so we went to bed and improvised with Ross's video camera. Well I can tell you now that you'll never see the results on a late night Channel Four programme.

Sunday was quieter. It mostly seemed to pass round by Canary Warf with browsing and mooching and lunching.

Train.

Home.

Bed