Going to the Tate. Watching the construction guys descend from the roof. The beautiful new galleries. Stepping into the cubes. Being alone in the room with the lights. Writing with a coffee. The views from the top floor. The wonky sculptures. The bubbling tubes. Lying in the cage. The beautiful concrete staircases.

Drawing birds and listening to guilty feminists.

Jonny, beers in the pub, a brilliant tart, jam tarts that burnt our mouths, cigarettes, GBBO in bed and gay chat. A brilliant Wednesday night. 

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