Blue Skies

Top Gun had an excellent birthday. We went up to London for brunch at The Table, where we were served by a rather lovely French waitress who got a bit snooty with me for questioning her competency. I blamed it on my being a picky Virgo which made her laugh and she then cocked up one of the orders which left her looking a little sheepish.

Next stop was the Red Star Over Russia exhibition at Tate Modern. Despite the degeneration into propaganda and tyranny, there is something beguiling about the modernist forms and tones of early twentieth century soviet art. It is still imitated on a regular basis.

London looked lovely in the winter sunshine, although the wind could be ferocious in places; even the pigeons struggled against the strong headwind and hung rather comically in mid air before giving up and peeling back to ground.

We took a walk over the millennium bridge and had a couple of beers in a backstreet pub called Shaws Booksellers which, as its name implies, used to be a bookshop. I love drinking in the afternoon. It wasn’t what you’d call A Sesh but it was alcoholic enough to leave you mellow in an otherwise dry month. I particularly enjoyed my glass of Talisker whisky.

Top Gun then struck out on his own before meeting friends in the evening for more beer and food. The rest of us came home and put our feet up after a busy day.

Couple of extras, including one of the birthday boy himself.