Lying in the sun on my bed wearing sunglasses and a big floppy sun hat.
Meeting Jo at the Tate.
My cousins and Damien at the BBQ.
Archives for posts with tag: Tate
Kissing Sean in the basement of the Tate at the Tate late.
Our first sleepover.
Voice notes from Rosie about outrageous pottery decisions.
Lunch with Rosie and Jim.
Showing them my favourite bits of the Tate.
Walking home, finding new streets.
Free use of a Tate card. Hello multiple exhibitions.
My (male) doppleganger.
The breakthrough dance show Jo took me to for my birthday. Such amazing dances.
When his socks matched the floor of the Tate. And the woman next to us laughed too.
Getting hyped up on coffee and going to see the fatberg. And the cat memes that helped to get women the vote.
Discount Suit Company. Cocktails and chats.
A local coffee with Jo. That turned into lunch too.
An afternoon of Tate pottery and too much cake with Sarah. Where she talked total sense and made me realise a few things. I don’t need to trivialise my sadness.
An evening with the housemates. Minus the rubbish one. Matt cooked us a roast. And it was just nice.
Spending the day with Naomi, chatting about all things feminist, life and work.
The Rachael Whiteread exhibition at Tate Britain. And talking it through with Naomi as we walked round. I never do that.
A few hours with Jonny in the evening but not drinking. Then going to bed at 10.
All the art. None of the money. Thanks borrowed Tate Card.
Cortado. Delicious, delicious cortado.
An evening with Matt, menstruating, eating ice cream and watching a weird film. Then having some good discussions with Mike.
A fun date. Really fun.
Seeing my tattoo without the cling film. I keep touching it.
Looking at art. Seeing celebrities. Just not sure which ones.
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.
Mum and dad.
The Alexander Calder exhibition at the Tate. So so amazing. I could have looked at those sculptures all day.
A night in with Corinne, Vietnamese food, beer and comfy clothes.
Three little things 