Filling my holiday

I am getting more and more excited about that fact that I am on holiday (Costa del Vauxhall, here we come) from 22nd December until 14th January. To that end I have spent this morning in a marathon Time Out session, finding things to do and places to go to keep me out of trouble. In no particular order...

Seeing is believing, on at the Bargehouse at the Oxo Tower. An exhibition which sounds like an about-time reminder of the shocking poverty that some people still live in - I'm relieved to see it as most of the time such living conditions are all but edited out of news and current affairs. On till 31st December, daily 11am-4pm.

The art of Lee Miller, at the V&A museum. If there was ever a multi-talented woman, she's it - model, photographer, journalist. Someone to admire and, in my ongoing quest for female icons, a brilliant counter to the current spice girls fever that's taken over london. Also on at the V&A is an exhibition of the 'golden age' of couture - a chance to bone up on the kind of look I'm going to need for K's birthday party in February. Both shows end on Jan 6th.

Dennis Severs' house in Spitalfields, which is rather like a permanent Punchdrunk production in a house. It's not open much, usually, but between now and 4th Jan, if you book you can go on 27th and 28th between 12 and 4pm, or Jan 2-4 between 6 and 9pm. Sounds magical.

The painting of modern life at the Hayward, until 30th Dec. I find the Hayward an odd gallery - fabulous space but often frustratingly used, and hopeless crowd control. But I do want to see this exhibition before it closes so I'd better get on with it.

War Horse, in rep at the National Theatre until Jan 12th. So many people have now told me that this show is brilliant, against all the odds, that I really must go.

The Potted Potter at the Trafalgar Studios. OK, so I got as far as book 3 and then struggled so Harry Potter has become another gap in my cultural knowledge, along with Star Wars and the Lord of the Rings. This show is just what I need. On till 5th Jan. May need to nick a kid so that I look less odd going...

Culture, innit

On Thursday I pretended to be a lady of leisure, and met my lovely friend K for a late, boozy lunch at the Rex Whistler restaurant at Tate Britain. After a gentle meander around the Millais exhibition, I went down to the cafe and we were ushered into the beautiful room of the restaurant - murals all round, great food, and a very, very good way of wiling away the best part of an afternoon talking about boys (turns out we fancy the same ones, and emotional fuckwits generally. great...). I love hanging around with K. We followed it up with some shopping at the bizarre Army and Navy on Victoria St, whose only saving grace is the cafe at the top, which is good for hiding in. Still, shopping when a bit pissed is never that smart, and I now have a rather expensive jacket that B and J both agreed was 'overpriced and too many buttons'. hey ho. I'll just have to return it and buy something else...

The plan was to continue into the evening but for various reasons that didn't happen. So instead I headed off for more culture - this time a beautiful concert at St John's Smith Square (wicked) - carols and a bunch of Christmas music which was brilliant. All performed by Chantage, apparently the BBC Choir of the Year 2006, but to be honest even typing that makes me feel about 50. As my date put it - 'carol singing - karaoke for the middle classes'. Still, I sung my heart out, melted at the organ playing, and went home happy, and thinking I could get used to doing nothing very much with my time.

Remembering Jim at Conway Hall

Last night I went to my dear friend's father's memorial service. What an amazing man. There was an incredible turnout - as far as I could tell, most of London's psychiatrists, psychoanalysts and lawyers were all there to remember a man who had fought for human rights and justice all the way through his life. Although as S and I said to each other, it's kind of weird as we primarily saw him as our friend's father and, when we were little, a useful taxi service. G was beautiful and amazing as usual, and she and her brothers made us all laugh with their memories of their father.

The service was held at Conway Hall in Red Lion Square, which I've never been to before. It's a fabulous art deco hall, built in the 20s, with the ambition of being a place where "men and women of advanced thought could meet and enjoy the amenities of social discourse, with facilities for writing, rest and refreshment." So like the RSA then, but with a distinctly more radical heritage. What I loved most is that it's also the place that Jim and K got married, with K wearing green velvet, of course.

Conway Hall occassionally hosts some pretty interesting-looking discussions. Keep an eye out.

Bowling: leave it alone

Tonight I found myself at possibly the most bizarre work party I've ever been to. It was at the bowling alley just opposite the Institute of Education, aka the not-cool bowling venue of Bloomsbury, as opposed to this (god, I don't even LIKE bowling, how can I know about two places in such a small part of London??). One of those parties where it was completely impossible to work out who the hell everyone was, or why they were there - clearly something everyone was feeling, given the amount of looking-over-shoulders going on.

So I beat a swift exit with Mr Innovation Guru D, only to find ourselves holed up in the equally dire bar of Bonnington's hotel. I learnt two things there: one, that 'NU' stands for Newcastle in football terms (1 all in penalties, gripping, obviously); and two, more interestingly, that the dreadful bar we were in is in fact a historical site, being the place that Wilson's 'Bonnington group' dreamt up a series of catchphrases including 'the white heat of technology'.

I, however, will remember it most for being the place that I finally decided that I'm done with local govt. Time to draft the resignation letter, I think. And to celebrate that I'm drinking far too much wine tonight, and planning to fail to get up tomorrow to get to work on time. Hah. Feel very excited and free.

A tick on the to do list

Yesterday I finally made it to Kew (it's only taken me nearly three decades!). How magical to have such a beautiful space so close to Vauxhall - to my delight I found you can get there directly, when the trains aren't broken...

Anyway. Went ice-skating with B. It was lovely.

At the end of the 344 bus route...

Today I dedicated two hours of my time to the lovely 344 bus (is there *ever* a time when there aren't roadworks between here and Liverpool Street??). But it was worth it: I was hot on the trail of Hidden Art, a bit like Open House for artists, designers and creators. It has reconfirmed, thank god, that not all of London has yet become one big chainstore (not that I'm complaining too much about TopShop). Visited tonnes of tiny little shops around Hanbury and Cheshire Streets, pretending I was a pro shopper for all things interior-related.

I also made my way to Spitalfields market, which was rammed, as ever, where I salivated as quietly as I could over various lights, sideboards and mirrors. I think I will be returning come January when the flat gets made over. There's something in those shops that just makes me want everything. Potentially lethal, but so much more fun than IKEA.

My trail tailed off as I got distracted by Columbia Road flower market, where I spent a good hour simply unable to decide what flowers to buy from such an embarrassment of riches. Predictably I have come home empty handed, but full of ideas and places to return to in January.

It's been a good day: my wanderings were to the music of St Vincent, which is surely one of the best albums of the year (although the live performance S and I saw of her at the Electroacoustic Club really sucked, disappointingly); also, there's a crispness in the air which always gives me a curious mix of nostalgia, whimsy, and anticipation all rolled into one. I want it to be Christmas now.

Distractions

So sometimes a girl just doesn't want to go out. Tonight, despite every bone in my body telling me to go home, I attempted some fun at Skylon, which I am determined to get to one of these days. Turns out it wasn't going to be today, as S and I were barred from getting in thanks to some camera crew, no doubt filming the endless chic and delicious cocktails that I probably shouldn't have been drinking on a Tuesday night anyway.

So we had a drink to celebrate S's new and beautiful relationship in the main hall. Shame I forgot I'm a member of the Southbank Centre - although let's face it, their member's bar isn't a lot to write home about; that said, first call on tickets to Doris Lessing and JG Ballard makes it massively worth it...

Anyway. I found myself home earlier than necessarily planned and trying to ignore a certain amount of post-last-week-date radio silence. I've been distracting myself thinking about all the things I could be doing if I wasn't working so hard, courtesy of Kultureflash - surely the best site of the year, and much less commercial than Urban Junkies, which I was horrified to see advertised on the crappy TV, otherwise known as noise pollution, that blights every journey I take on the Heathrow Express.

I plan to do the lottery on Saturday so that I can quit all my jobs and become a full time Londoner.

Savoy there!

Now this is something that really can't be missed: the Savoy is about to have a huge facelift, and before shutting for 18 months it's holding an auction to flog some of the current interior. They're putting nearly 3000 little bits of swanky London history under the hammer - from beds to ashtrays to hatstands - between the 18th and 20th December. Never has there been a better excuse for taking a day off work. Viewings are on 16th and 17th December, and to get into that you need to buy a catalogue (£33). Call 020 7468 8200, or do everything you need to do online at Bonhams.