Rayday

Sprang from bed in a more focused way, sending Sophie information first off, then heading off to the Brighton Museum and Art Gallery with the cunning idea of writing about the Jeff Keen exhibition for my notebook site, as I have seen the exhibition three times now. Keen is a true Brighton original, and spurned the London set to make his own playfully avant-garde 8mm films and prolific cartoon like work here in sunny Brighton. He worked in the gardens and parks department too I think. I watched two interviews with him, and he seemed a really nice chap. Adrian Turner mentioned that he was taught by him, and he wore a cloak. There's not enough cloak wearing.

Saw a dozen or so teenagers on a gallery visit. They steamed through the place taking photos in a frenzy, but without pausing to actually look at anything. Perhaps they pored over their photographs afterwards, but I doubt it. Had to fight back a wave of fogeyism. In twenty or thirty years time I will buy a time machine ride, materialise in the gallery on 15th January 2013, and vigorously shake a stick at them.  

Leaving the gallery became enraged with a cashpoint advertisement by HMRC. Those running dogs of capitalism still owe me a refund for last year's tax over payment too.

Lorraine working from home this afternoon, nice to sit upstairs on our mezzanine level on side by side desks doing things. Lorraine doing important work things, me editing my short story about transexuals while eating far too many of the Lebkuchen mum had given me to take home. Was phoned up by amigos in Tavistock Square and I will need to zip up there before the end of the week to collect a new brief, which is all to the good.

Cooked chicken and savoury rice tonight. Rather nice. 

Below, one of Jeff Keen's comic-like collages. Atomic Rayday from 1961.