A day with Bob

Up to London today, meeting Bob in Trafalgar Square. Met up and had a quick coffee and a roll in a Prêt. We discussed exhibitions to see, as is our wont. The cafe was noisy and he reeled off a list of options, including a fascinatingly postmodern one called 'Debussy and Freud'. I mentioned this seemed very interesting but it turned out this was actually Lucian Freud, which we went to see. But not before having a single pint in the Salisbury. 

Thence into the exhibition. Enjoyable without being life changing. Freud's penchant for repulsive looking flesh tones always makes me feel weird, despite their obvious skill. On only one occasion did Bob point at a painting with his finger hovering three or four millimetres over the priceless surface, a habit that makes me, and assorted staff nervous. Thought provoking stuff.

Then we mooched off to Ye Olde Cheshire Cheese a long time haunt. Today we were able to get a seat in the little bar, where a Welsh guy began chatting to us. Then an infuriating Yank strode up to our table brandishing a camera and saying 'can you try to look British' before snapping us. Bob and the Welsh bloke mysteriously fine with this. From there to the Seven Stars, where I misremembered the pub, and went up stairs looking for the upstairs bar. There are only toilets and found myself in someone's living room. Awkward. Walked from back to Fleet Street where we had a drink in the THe Old Bell before heading off for a curry in the subterranean curry house nearby. A football match was playing on a big screen. The curry pricey but not too bad. Fond farewells with Bob, and then a fairly painless journey home. Happy to be there though, and see Lorraine.

Below legal wigs in the window of The Seven Stars pub -- a hangout of lawyers, beaks, crims, etc.