On one side of the road it’s Marie and I in a window dancing with heads on. Opposite us for this whole season – the boobs.
As we dance and play we gather small pockets of folk. They give us a wave or a smile. Christ knows, they probably need the thing that this installation brings. Lots of us are starved of joy. Boob lady just stands there. She doesn’t attract the same numbers we do, plus the average age is higher. Her fans are dedicated though. They stand for a long time observing her. I finally crossed the street today after weeks, to find out what she represents – this huge proud figure staring at us from across the road. She represents a £1000 metal book about fashion, it seems. Something to leave visible on the glass table at home, next to the little white lines, hoping the guests don’t finger it too much.
We were going to do Joybomb next week until the announcement. Fuckit. Now we aren’t, although amazingly we are still being paid by the artist, which makes Christmas possible financially but takes away from an aspect of the fun. Perhaps I’ll somehow sneak into the window on Christmas Eve anyway. If there’s no costume I’ll just take my clothes off and stand in the window. It works for boob lady – she sells books for a grand each. I could leave a bunch of links to my blog and an izettle set to 500 quid. Surely I’d make a few grand before I was arrested! After all I saw the guy who sings off key Christmas songs into a traffic cone making over a tenner in a couple of minutes at Bond Street Station.
I’ll stay at home, though, I guess. It feels like there’ll be a lot of staying at home going on in London this season. Happy New Tier, London. This one goes up to 4. I wonder if they’ve all gone and bought up the loo-paper again, or if they’ve finally chilled out about that one.
These last minute changes are getting hard to countenance. It’s hard enough to take Bojo seriously. He really fucked up in terms of public trust when he ignored Cummings’s infection-bonanza trip to Yorkshire. The business with Priti and the bullying tastes sour to me as well, and of course the advantages and backhanders given out to cronies makes me feel like we live in the third world. The business of governance must be extremely hard. But they are constantly behaving like they think they’re untouchable. I’m never going to like a government that keeps banging nail after nail into the live arts though, I guess.
Even something where two humans in a support bubble try to cheer up the depressed Londoners before Christmas – even that will have to be cancelled. Boob lady will stand alone, towering over her empty street until we are allowed by the idiot in chief to return to the window.
Stay safe you glorious maniacs. I’m looking forward to a day off tomorrow, I tell you that. I’m pooped.