Despite the fact that we’re all doomed somehow I ended up dancing in a window with a silly head on – once again – for art. For profit. For fun. For joy. For all these things.
It was another varied day in Al-Town. In the morning I undercut Addison Lee and couriered a chair across town from eBay. Then I drove to Brian’s venue which is slowly getting bashed into shape for his Doctor Who show. I loaded the car with (the last of the) Victorian plates, left it there full, wandered around the corner, stuck a bear head on and started dancing.
It’s slow on the streets where I’m dancing. No surprises there. Everybody has had to chain themselves to their houses like werewolves at full moon. Another reason for me to take the car in to work and avoid the tube, despite punishing congestion charges. No contact.
Once I’m dancing I’m behind glass, not in contact with anybody else. That’s safer for everybody concerned really. When I’m dancing I should be shut up like a rabid animal. They tell me it’s part of the concept, keeping me safely behind that thick sheet of glass, but I reckon word has got out about my windmill moves. It’s never been proven that I killed everybody in that club with my ridiculously enthusiastic flailing…
At lunch I went next door with Caroline. She runs the venue I’m in, and one down the road. Temporary tenancy of two buildings on one street – a huge amount of space. An arts venue.
Right now I am a precious work of art, in my silly head, prancing like a tit. The other building carries an equally precious work of art. It’s by Jimmy Cauty of the KLF. I like it enough to comment on it. I like it enough to covet it.
Caroline and I look at the rooms and we think about functionality. She’s got the place for a year. It used to be Vidal Sassoon. Now we weirdos have moved in and who knows what will come at the hands of her extensive stable of benign whackjobs. I’m certainly getting my thinking cap on as there’s a whole lot of room in there for things.
I only get half an hour for lunch. I chose my own timings too. Bastard. I’m a demanding boss. But work is fun again so it’s ok.
I rush back from next door and put my Lego Man head on. It’s back to the heavyweight. Dancing as light falls and darkness grows.
At 8pm I emerge slightly crosseyed into the empty street, trying to remember how to look at the world without gauze and reflections. I walk back to Brian’s work, and let myself in to get the car full of plates.
I packed the car in haste. Plates were mostly just stacked every which way with no padding. As I’m driving home I try to call Lou on speaker phone but discover that the plates are making a sound like a small ocean at the slightest bump. Thankfully the roads are empty enough for me to stagger home at ten miles per hour. I only heard about half of the conversation, and I didn’t see one pothole in time so it might be Greek-Wedding in there. Nobody honked me. I left them in the car. I’ll find out what state they’re in tomorrow. I’m knackered today.
I brought a mug up to my flat though. Caroline gave it to me after I told her I was an actual fan of Jimmy Cauty. He’s her mate. It says “LIVE WORK DIE”. He made it, so I guess if I was a jerk I could get him to write something on it and then put it on a display case and bore all my guests. It’s a mug though. It feels like it wants to be used. I’ll likely just have tea in it and smile – and get all my bragging done in one go by writing about it here. I’ve got so many weird mugs already. It’ll be right at home.