Foiled

So... our treat to ourselves after a midday frenzied shopping in Waitrose - my father's favorite supermarket, which had the extraordinary effect of making Shop 'n Moan into a desirable experience - well, nearly - we escaped to Whitechapel to see an exhibition about '70s feminism at the Women's Library. Maybe we ought to have listened, first, to my mother's Voice of Doom announcement that apparently London Metropolitan University - to which the WL is attached - has apparently gone bankrupt - it certainly looked a glum and grey place - even less desirable than the River Dorms. For the doors were firmly shut and barred, with no indication (whether on line or on the spot) that this would be the case.

So we went damply back to the Whitechapel Art Gallery which had an excellent exhibition by Sophie Calle - totally worth going all the way for that alone. And so - the inevitable consequence - at dinner, my father wanted to know how to define "multi-media," and what I meant by "conceptual art." As if trying to cook vegetable moussaka from scratch within an hour and a half hadn't been challenge enough.