Spring forward, fall back

The clocks went forward this morning, so it is officially - erm - British summertime, though the idea of summer still seems an incredibly long way off at this point. Lets be content to call it spring shall we? Though the weather can't seem to make up its mind about that either. Anyway, point is, it only feels like a few weeks ago that the clocks went back! This year is just zapping by in a blur of Ceramics Galleries work, without me really having the time to pay attention.

A springy picture to bring a smile to your face - daffodils are probably my favourite flowers, seen blooming brightly and happily away here in our lovely Sargadelos vase...

The last few weeks we have been piling stress on to the madness by moving judderingly yet unerringly forward with the business of getting a mortgage and buying a flat. Yikes. This is something that we have been talking about and nudging our way towards for a couple of years now - ever since K's parents kindly offered to give us the money we needed for a deposit, which was the only conceivable way we would ever be able to afford to do this - but our finances were in such a state that we needed to spend quite a long time sorting them out. It was hearing the phrase "to be brutally honest..." coming out of the mouth of the mortgage advisor some friends had put us in contact with.

Anyway, the long and short of it is, thanks to K's inheritance from his grandfather, we have just this week paid off the huge loan that we took out to pay off all our debts in one fell swoop - which actually means that for the first time in about 10 years, we are debt free. I know I should be whooping for joy about this, but I guess it hasn't really sunk in properly yet, probably because it is just a stepping stone on the way to being in more debt than either of us have possibly imagined... The sudden incentive to get things sorted out is because we have seen a flat in our block that some neighbours are selling and have decided to just go for it. We're going to try to buy it from them privately, so once we get the mortgage application in - hopefully in the next couple of weeks - we'll be at the delicate negotiating stage. So it might not work out, but we're going to try to do whatever we can to ensure it will!! Exciting - but also frankly terrifying.

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At the same time, I have been nominated for a promotion at work. Which I was very chuffed about - until the full reality of the bureaucratic process that this entails struck me. I have to go through something ominous-sounding called the Curatorial Review Board, which means putting together copies of all my publications (actually rather a lot - mostly done in my own time!) for consideration by the Board - this I have to do by Wednesday; a "portfolio", which I have a bit more time to think about (end April); and then an interview in front of a panel of 4, including an external assessor (end May). I know colleagues who have been through this process, and it is not much fun apparently. You pretty much have to sell yourself, which I am not much good at. Plus there isn't space in my brain to think about all this at the moment. But I am hoping a bit of relief comes in April from the full-on workload - most of my ceramics displays will have been installed by then - and I can start to gear myself up for it. I bloody well deserve a promotion after all!!

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A nice thing that's happened - I got a place on that Summer School in Tunisia that I applied for, so I will be going there for 10 days in mid-May. I knew that part of it was giving presentations, but I understood that these were on topics that you already knew something about or were in the process of researching. As it turns out, I have been selected to present on the "minor arts" - a phrase I absolutely hate, since it implies the primacy of painting as the most important art form - plus I don't really know what it means. Basically, it looks like I have to talk knowledgeably about the objects on display in museums I have never been to. We are supposed to do preparation for this - they have sent me some references to articles - but this is time and work I have not anticipated doing! The others on the course all seem to be academics in research institutions, who may have time on their hands to read articles - but some of us have crazy busy working lives! Still, I am very much looking forward to the trip - I think it's going to be amazing! I have to start making travel plans soon...

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Another nice thing that's happened - my sister has finally found herself a permanent job in North Uist!! This is not an easy thing to achieve, because the jobs are few and far between to being with, and mostly seasonal. But she has persevered, and just this week landed a job at the Hebridean Smokehouse - hurrah! She worked there over their crazy pre-Christmas period and said it was a bit of a nightmare, and it's busy at the moment because of the pre-Easter orders, but hopefully things will settle down soon. She was really worried that if she didn't find something soon, she wouldn't be able to stay up there. So this gives her some stability and a regular income, and because it is just mornings it means she can get on with her own editing and writing in the afternoons. Phew.

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And finally...

When we walk out of the front door of our block of flats on to Brixton Hill, we can see straight down into central London and have a clear view of the Gherkin, one of the most iconic buildings on the London skyline. A few months back, we noticed a new skyscraper had reared itself above the Brixton skyline... Officially known as the Strata Tower, this has already become known as "the Razor", because after "the Gherkin" all landmark buildings in London have to have a nickname. It's a new tower-block in Elephant and Castle, and sounds like an amazing building - with three huge wind turbines at its peak that give it its distinctive appearance, and will generate energy to power the building. You can read all about it here.

"The Razor" under construction, courtesy of zupermaus

Problem is, every time we see it, we can't help but think of the Tower of Mordor, and that a huge eye is going to appear above those wind turbines, and blink...

Weddings and restaurants

'Angel Face' beakers by contemporary potter Anja Lubach

From the Royal Academy (see previous post), we decamped to tea in The Gallery café at Fortnum and Mason, a joint treat for my parents for my father's birthday at the start of March, and Mothers' Day last weekend. We used to go there for tea with my grandmother when my sister and I were little and she came 'up to town', and when I suggested it, little did I know that a proper Fortnum's afternoon tea in the St James's Restaurant costs more than £30 a head!! So we didn't go there... But abiding memories of bumping into the actress Lorraine Chase in the ladies loos, and my toddler sister saying something which made her laugh - though whatever it was she said is now lost in the mists of time...

We caught them up on my cousin Henry's wedding yesterday - a slightly surreal affair, since it was incredibly High Church, which didn't seem at all in keeping with their personalities, which tend towards the Gothic... Henry's taste in music basically equals Iron Maiden, not Fauré's Canticle for Jean Racine, which was one of the musical interludes sung by the church's very own choir; and Rhiannon's bridesmaids were extensively tattooed, all of which made the proceedings a little disconnected from the surroundings. Which were beautiful - the high Victorian glamour of All Saints church off Regent Street, followed by the spectacular views across London from the top floor restaurant of the St George's Hotel...

They looked happy and it was obviously the wedding that they wanted, which is the main thing. We did some very superficial catching up with my uncle and aunt - my uncle being my father's first cousin - and had quite interesting conversations over dinner with the other family extras with whom we were seated: assorted godparents and parental cousins, one of whom turned out to be a former Tory MP, another the chap who invented Lincolnshire Poacher, one of K's favourite cheeses! Amusing to see him so star-struck when he learned this, and suddenly incapable of making conversation about cheese! Lincolnshire Poacher is one of our staples at our now-traditional Sunday night cheese board - and inspired by last night, K stocked up at Fortnum's this afternoon!

As for wedding present - we bought Henry and Rhiannon a bowl in the style of the beakers illustrated at the top of this post, a handmade piece by ceramic artist Anja Lubach, from her 'Angel Face' series. I find them beautiful but also slightly disturbing - I am hoping their gothic style appeals to the newlyweds! We bought it at Contemporary Ceramics in Somerset House - a small gallery which exhibits the work of many contemporary potters, a really nice place to browse, and not overly expensive if you want to buy a unique present for someone.

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We both indulged in a little bit of beef during dinner last night - naughtily as, don't forget, K has given up meat for Lent, which perforce means I have too. I have to admit that I have had fish a few times, though K has been very good about sticking to his principles (apart from a couple of occasions when he actually forgot he'd given up meat!). I was amazed he didn't give himself a little holiday when we went to Moro last weekend with Nigel and Ginny - a really fabulous experience that we certainly hope to repeat after Easter, but also after we have saved up since it was not cheap!

For those that do not know, it's a restaurant in the attractive parade of shops and restaurants at Exmouth Market - which I think has largely grown up due to the Moro owners' patronage of the area - run by a husband and wife team of chefs (Sam and Sam Clark) who combine Spanish and North African cooking and well-sourced ingredients. We have all their cookbooks, and regularly use their recipes, which I find to be reliable and delicious. But in all these years - despite frequent good intentions - we have never actually been to eat there. Mainly because until very recently, we have not been in a financial position to do so.

But what an experience! The first thing that assailed us was the amazing smell coming from the open kitchen at the back of the restaurant - which was a constant delight, changing and wafting over us throughout the two and a bit hours we were there. The menu was short and simple, and you just knew that everything on it would be fantastic. Nigel and Ginny both had amazing looking meat dishes - in fact, I did have a nibble of Ginny's lamb which was gorgeous! - while I had an absolutely huge plate of grilled bream, and K had the vegetable mezze, which actually looked pretty gorgeous too.

But I think what amazed us all the most was the service - completely unostentatious, just quietly and confidently excellent. Somehow they knew who had ordered what, despite it being somebody different bringing the food from the person who had taken our order. There is probably a crude trick to doing this, but my, it's impressive and makes you feel you're in the presence of great restaurateurs!

Despite the fabulousness of Moro, we have found that it is easy to be vegetarian - if you cook your meals yourself. On the few occasions we have eaten lunch or dinner out over the last five weeks, our experience has been that interesting vegetarian options cannot regularly be found on menus. Vegetarian options yes, but options that you might actually want to and enjoy eating - not so much. Surprisingly, since I thought vegetarianism would have been pretty mainstream by now.

Though I haven't exactly missed eating meat, I have found myself craving sausages and mash a couple of times. And K's idea of a meat-free meal generally involves plenty of cheese, so it has not been an altogether healthy few weeks!

Van Gogh's Letters

Letter 902 from Vincent to Theo van Gogh - the last letter he ever wrote his brother

Just in from seeing the current Van Gogh exhibition at the Royal Academy with my parents. Though I usually steer well clear of anything that smacks of Impressionism at the Royal Academy - since the crowds at those shows are legendary - my mother likes to get in touch with her Dutch roots when anything Netherlandish comes on, and I wanted to see the exhibition since reading a review of the latest edited volume of Van Gogh's letters in the LRB. (My father lasted about 20 minutes in the exhibition - which was, admittedly and expectedly, absolutely packed - and K went to see the Paul Sandby show of 18th-century watercolours, 'Picturing Britain', instead!)

Van Gogh was an inveterate letter-writer - after an exhausting day of painting, he would sit down and write screeds of correspondence, most often to his brother Theo, to whom he wrote nearly 1000 letters. These would describe in detail the paintings he was in the process of making, regularly including sketches or studies, with indications of how he intended to colour them... His philosophy of painting and the gradual deterioration of his mental state plays out in the pages of these letters, and the exhibition nicely brought together the finished oils themselves with pen and ink sketches or studies - which were often beautiful in their own right, occasionally more so than the paintings - with the letters, sympathetically mounted so you could see both sides, and with selected quotations from the letters on the labels, serving to elucidate the art.

It was nicely done, though huge. And as usual at the RA (I find) very little wider context. So no explanation, for example, of why Van Gogh suddenly switches from Dutch to French in his correspondence with his brother. And not arranged particularly chronologically - except for the last room, which contains the landscapes he painted when he was in the mental asylum in Auvers-sur-Oise, in the last months of his life. You're just expected to know the key events and moments of Van Gogh's career, which I don't - perhaps the result of not having come to any of the RA's previous Impressionist exhibitions.

My overriding impression was of the tragedy of Van Gogh's life. He had such a close relationship with his brother - they died within a year of each other. Theo was not only his main source of finance, but his main advocate and guide in the development of his artistic career - keeping him informed of developments in Paris, as Van Gogh taught himself to paint in the area round The Hague. Van Gogh was obviously hyper-sensitised to colour and his surroundings, I presume a consequence of his mental illness - something I had not really noticed before, perhaps from never having seen so many of his art works together in one place. Amazingly, in the last 70 days of his life, he painted more than 70 canvases. He was obviously working at such a frenzied peak of activity that ultimately it was too much for him to sustain, and he shot himself.

But it was the love and closeness that the two brothers had for each other that really came through for me - and perhaps mainly because I had read the LRB review, since there was not too much about this in the text panels. All the letters have been fully edited, translated and published - a small investment of £325, or you can view everything online in facsimile (for free!) here.

Bafta Sundays

For the last three Sunday mornings, we have gone to the cinema. Our marvellous local arthouse cinema, The Ritzy, has been showing all the films nominated for the BAFTA award for best 'Film Not in the English Language', and we have been making the most of our membership to catch up on the films we didn't see the first time around. It has also been a really lovely way to relax, which we're trying to get better about doing at the weekend. The Ritzy now has this clever system where you print at home a barcode which contains your booking confirmation, so no more queueing to pick up tickets - you just need to get there in time to buy a coffee from the bar, have your barcode zapped and away you go. Marvellous.

This morning's film was Coco Avant Chanel, which was beautifully made and enjoyable - and my goodness Audrey Tautou looks so much like Chanel! - but I still found it a bit disappointing. Of course the film's title is very clear about the fact that it is not about how she built up her haute couture empire, yet at the same time it tried to be a little bit about that, and I found that was actually what I wanted to know more about - not about her relationships with the men who helped her get to a position of being able to set up her business, since at the very least it seemed - from the film - that she didn't want to depend on men. So I found that rather unresolved and unsatisfying.

Last Sunday we sojourned in the colourful fantasy world of Pedro Almodóvar, watching Abrazos Rotos (Broken Embraces) - as K put it, basically the same film he always makes, about lost or unrequited love and obsessions, but my god he's good at it! So that was the usual delight - and so brightly coloured and patterned that your eyes feel like they have something wrong with them when you come out of the cinema, especially since it was daylight! But it very much made me want to jump on the first plane to Madrid...

And the week before, it was Das Weisse Band (The White Ribbon), the Michael Haneke film which was strangely exactly like The Castle, which we went to see at the BFI a few months ago - his film of an unfinished literary fragment of Proust, which just stops abruptly at the place Proust's fragment stops, so in your mind the characters are forever locked in their Proustian world of cyclical absurdities... The White Ribbon is probably the film that I rated the most out of these three, though it was sinister and disturbing, more so for the way it begins with a tranquil picture of a German village before the First World War and through accidents, murders and heightened suspicion among an enclosed community gradually rolls back all the ways in which adults abuse children... Haneke has apparently called it a film about the root cause of all terrorist acts.

The Ritzy's favourite for the Bafta was Let The Right One In, the beautiful Swedish vampire film which we also loved, but in the end the winner was Un Prophète, deservedly so I think as that really was in another league from the other nominations. It missed out on an Oscar - unsurprisingly I suppose, as those nominations seem to be more about securing television ratings for the awards ceremony than rewarding good film making... (though I am glad Avatar didn't win Best Picture). The foreign language award went to an Argentinian film I have never heard of (El Secreto de Sus Ojos) - but I hope it's released in the UK soon.

The whole idea of a foreign language category is so ridiculous anyway. These are just excellent films - better usually than most of the English-language films - and shouldn't be judged according to a different standard. Or rather, why should the English-language films be favoured, when often they seem to be scraping the barrel to get a list together, especially now they've made it longer.

It's like 'world music'. We like to put into boxes and ghettoes anything we don't (sometimes literally) understand.

Anyway - I've been enjoying Sunday morning cinema. Not sure what I'll do without it next weekend...

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We also went to see Banksy's film this week, Exit Through the Gift Shop. K and Cornelius both loved it - K was in stitches most of the time - but I have to admit, I was utterly bemused for most of it... It purported to be a documentary about a documentarist making a film about street art, but it was and it wasn't that. Like Banksy's own street art - or his recent 'interventions' at Bristol Museum (which I really wish I had had the chance to see) - it looks like one thing from a distance, and then you realise it is something else entirely. Thing is, I am still not sure I've worked it out...

Trois jours en Paris

Phew. February. Glad that's (nearly) over. We've all been working like crazy people preparing to install the Ceramics Study Galleries (26,000 objects in visible storage!!), which finally actually begins on Monday. I didn't think I'd be saying this but I might be just about ready. I'm the first to install - weird to think that one of the Middle Eastern pots I put in on Monday will be the first object in those new dense displays, where the intention is they will remain for several decades. So the most important thing to ponder over this weekend is which object it should be...

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The highlight of the last few weeks, however, was our long weekend in Paris last weekend - for our (14th!!) anniversary. We booked Eurostar tickets months ago when there was a half price offer, and both took Friday off work, got a breakfast-time train, and sailed off through the French countryside... Trains really are the only way to travel - especially if they are fast and efficient like the few European high speed lines I've travelled on. Our train left on the dot. Alas, we ran into a security alert on the way back, which meant a horrendous queue to check in, and the train leaving an hour later than scheduled - but it could have been worse: I have just seen that the passengers who left on the train before ours (also delayed) had to endure the additional nightmare of their train breaking down in the tunnel outside Ashford and then sitting in the dark for two hours until another train turned up to rescue them! Apparently our train bypassed theirs! I had no idea - poor people...

Paris is just so beautiful. There really is just no place like it. It was an extra special treat for K who - unbelievably - had not been there for about 10 years. Not since we used to go and visit my aunt and uncle and cousins, who were living and working there for a few years, at Christmas times. Happy memories of their wonderful, typically Parisienne house in Le Vesinet; the night it snowed and fell so heavily that it woke K up... I have had the fortune to go to Paris a few times since then, on courier trips or research visits, so as always it was a treat to go, but it was extra to see it through K's excitement.

We stayed near the Palais Royal and just walked everywhere. That's what you have to do in Paris - it's an important part of soaking up the atmosphere and the architecture. Flaneant, indeed - though sadly we couldn't put our hands on that wonderful book by Edmund White (The Flâneur: A Stroll through the Paradoxes of Paris) which is obviously one of the books currently lodged in K's parents' attic...

I had stayed in this area before, near the Galérie Véro-Dodat (built 1826), and had noticed a lovely looking restaurant which only seemed to be open at lunchtimes, when I was working, so we headed straight there after dumping our bag at the hotel, and jumped straight into a wonderful French food experience. Not only that but completely unexpectedly the ceiling was covered in anaglyptic (embossed) wallpaper in the Alhambra style, which must have been up there since the late 19th century! I was very chuffed at such a fortuitous find.

Anaglyptic wallpaper was popular in the late 19th century, especially among those who wanted to create rich interiors decorated in the revivalist styles that were en vogue at that time - the decoration of the Alhambra being one of the most widespread of these international historicist styles.

The Galérie Véro-Dodat (named for the two men who built it, in 1826). It's one of the few surviving commercial passages in Paris - one of the best preserved too, I think, since it seems to have all the original shop fronts and many of their signs. The tables you can see about halfway down are outside the restaurant where we had lunch.

From there we wandered around the Marais, meandering along to the Place des Vosges, taking in the various gorgeous 16th-century hôtels and modern boutiques along the way. Dinner in the atmospheric Coude à Coude on Rue St Honoré where they squeeze you in "elbow to elbow". For the rest of the weekend, we went medieval - though K was a little surprised (I think) to discover he is no longer a 'proper' medievalist: nearly 4 hours in the Musée de Cluny, and he was disappointed that there wasn't more 16th-century stuff! He still managed to take about 10,000 photographs though.

One of the amazing windows at Sainte Chappelle. It is a relatively small space and was absolutely packed with tour parties, which completely removed any sense of awe or tranquility at being in the space. Every now and again some laconic guard would ssssssshhh!!!! everyone, until the chatter inevitably started up again. It was a little bit like being in the Sistine Chapel - not an experience I enjoyed very much the last time I went.

We did the main churches of medieval Paris - Sainte Chappelle, with its truly stunning stained glass windows, though the apse was behind some rather unattractive hoardings while they do a big restoration project on the glass and lead fittings; Notre Dame, where they were conducting a mass confirmation service for all the parishes in Paris (it seemed), so it was crowded and full of buzz and activity; St Germain des Pres, which has rather suffered from over heavy restoration and repainting in the 19th century; and Saint Denis, the royal pantheon - where K was happy to discover more 16th-century tomb sculpture than is reasonable in a church. But it was the site and excuse for another fine culinary experience - at the extremely elegant Mets du Roy, facing on to the square in front of the basilica. Expensive but amazing beef fillet.

I have always thought that going away for a long weekend like that in the middle of a busy work period would be exhausting - but, on the contrary, it was invigorating and relaxing, because there was so much to see and think about, that I spent very little time at all thinking or worrying about work. So more city breaks - that's the resolution. Especially to cities we can get to on the train. We're thinking Bruges next.

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In Paris we also took a holiday from K's enforced giving up of meat for Lent - only partly because France is, I think, officially the worst place in the world to be a vegetarian. Since getting back, though, he has been strictly enforcing this new regime. Even fish is off the menu. Practically, from a shopping and cooking point of view, it is easiest if we do this together - but I told him I couldn't guarantee that I wouldn't eat meat at lunch times. But so far I haven't and I am not missing it. Though I did join some colleagues for dinner at China City after the SOAS Islamic art research seminar yesterday evening, and I could not resist the prawns...

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I have not posted the calendar image for this month, since it is one you have seen before - something that might become a common occurrence, since the pictures we have selected for the calendar are some of the iconic images of last year, many of which I have already shared here. This month the image is the Natural History Museum in the heavy snow of last February - something which seemed magically rare when I wrote about it at the time, but which has been repeated this year, almost ad infinitum. When it first snowed, early on in the New Year, people were off work and schools were closed and fun and toboganning was had in the streets... But after weeks of the big chill, even the school kids didn't seem to care much for snowball fights any more.

It has been absolutely freezing, though in London in the last couple of days it has started to get milder. Cycling through Battersea Park on the way to work yesterday morning, I was suddenly assaulted by an amazing scent, and then I noticed a huge carpet of crocuses, all about to burst into bloom. How wonderful if spring was actually on the way!

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I finished reading the 900-page-long book - Neal Stephenson's Quicksilver, the first trilogy-in-one of his Baroque Cycle. It's a fictionalised and partly fantastical historical novel about Europe during the 17th century, woven around Natural Philosophy and the Royal Society (appropriate in its 350th year), the rise and fall of kings, money, commerce, pirates, Puritans, brilliantly and amusingly written... I had nothing better to read so I carried straight on to the next volume, The Confusion - 800 pages this time. There is another one after that too. These may be the only books I read all year! But I'm completely sucked in. Highly recommended reading.

Touting for Jesus

Brixton is renowned - at least among its residents - for the vibrancy of all the various evangelical religious denominations which call it home. These figures are so much a part of the rich tapestry that is life in Brixton, that you hardly even notice them. Sometimes, though, the particularly determined among them do something that makes them stand out. The 'KFC preacher', for example, who used to have a permanent station on 'KFC plaza' - the paved esplanade at the corner of Brixton Hill / Effra Road / Coldharbour Lane which occasionally serves as a mini town square - until he decided that there were richer pickings at the tube station and bought a megaphone.

At the weekends, when the weather is warmer, 'KFC plaza' is often the venue for Christian performance - like those Chinese Christian groups who sing haunting songs and do martial arts-like dancing, though personally our favourite has always been 'Jazz for Jesus'. The Nation of Islam guy usually hangs out on the other side of the road, dapperly handing out his copies of The Final Call - though one day K witnessed the memorable scene of an enormous Nation of Islam guy engaged in virulent debate with a tiny black guy wearing a white habit with a big red cross on it, as if the Crusades had touched down in 21st-century Inner London. Over the years we've also overheard some profound theological discussions taking place between the bouncers outside The Fridge - one of Brixton's many nightclubs.

At the same time, Brixton is a party town - perhaps partying and preaching always go together. Whenever there is a popular gig on at The Academy, Brixton fills up with concert-goers - most usually gangs of teens wearing the fashion uniform du jour, and who all look far too young to be out late without parental supervision. Sometimes you see them travelling down to Brixton on the tube, with their carefully ripped jeans. Trying to leave the station is sometimes a struggle - you have to shuffle along behind a packed train-load of youngsters who have never ventured so far south of the river, and then you get assaulted by ticket touts, who crowd around the pavement at the top of the stairs, shouting "Buy or Sell! Buy or Sell!" very loudly and annoyingly.

Tonight these two groups converged. The concert in question is by a band hitherto unknown to me, called Lostprophets. As I emerged from the tube station to the usual aural assault from the ticket touts ("Buy or Sell! Lostprophets! Buy or Sell!"), another voice could be heard shouting - "Anyone need Jesus??"

A novel approach I thought.

Saturdays in the British Library

This has been our habit for a goodly while now, but since the start of the year, it has become a regular routine. There is something very relaxing about spending a quiet day in the library - when you're academics like us, and what you love doing is your research, yet have such hectic, crazy jobs that largely involve meeting other people's deadlines so that research gets pushed to the sidelines, ie your own time. It gives us the chance to spend a companionable day together, and we get on with work we need or want to do.


The British Library is an amazing building - the largest public building erected in the UK during the 20th century, apparently. K calls it 'the ziggurat of learning', and there is something awe-inspiring about approaching the building across that wide open plaza - which sits atop six storeys of book stacks - with the neo-Gothic spires of St Pancras station encrusting its horizon. It's so well-designed to frame the view of that historic building, and be sympathetic to its environment yet architecturally assertive at the same time.

We've taken to using the Manuscripts Reading Room. This is because K regularly looks at actual manuscripts, though I can make no such claim. Humanities I is the biggest reading room, which tends to get packed out with undergraduates. Serious readers use Rare Books & Music instead. Scholars ascend the conspicuously located staircase to the ivory tower that is Manuscripts, which is always pleasantly empty, dotted with academics engaged in the serious business of primary research. I call up printed books, which the librarians at the issuing counter are so uninterested in that they rarely even ask me which desk number I am sitting at when I go to collect them. That is after they have looked down their noses at me for only consulting printed works produced during the 20th or 21st centuries.

It's always pleasantly sociable too. The library is often packed on a Saturday - we're not the only saddoes that spend their weekends engaged in intellectual pursuits. Most of the other readers are regulars, and creatures of habit, who usually sit at the same desks or put their coats and bags away in the same lockers. We certainly do. And we're often bumping into people we know. We see Patricia there on such a regular basis that we often have lunch together.

And then at the end of a productive day, you file out feeling virtuous, and because it's only 5 o'clock, there's still a whole evening of relaxing ahead of you.

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After the library yesterday, we headed for Chinatown for an early dinner, and then to the theatre - the Donmar Warehouse for the last-night performance of Red, the new play by John Logan about Mark Rothko during the years he was working on the Seagram commission. You can read my post about last year's exhibition at Tate Modern, which reunited those paintings, here. The play was absolutely fantastic - I had forgotten it was the last night, but clearly knew that when I booked the tickets, and in retrospect it made sense of the almost violently passionate performances that the only two characters presented last night. Though perhaps that's how it's been every night. Alfred Molina kissed his hand to the stage when they went out after their second curtain call.

The Donmar is a fantastically intimate almost in-the-round space, which seats only 250 people and puts on amazing shows. We went to see Life is a Dream there with Gareth last year, which was also a revelation. The set for Red was Rothko's studio in the Bowery, and the designers had recreated the feeling of being in a real artist's studio, with every surface encrusted with dried (red) paint. The centrepiece was a gigantic 'easel' from which hung a series of really good replica Rothkos - I would love to know how they got that genuine oil painting feel. Each 'scene' was punctuated by a different painting - Rothko and his studio assistant (played by Alfred Molina and Eddie Redmayne, both excellent) would lower the canvas on its pulley system and carry it over to the back wall of the theatre where there was a stack of 'in progress' canvases, and bring out another one. As the play went on, and Rothko's mood became darker and more despairing - as he realised the ultimate irony, tragedy even, of hanging his paintings on the walls of a fashionable New York restaurant - more and more black took over the surface of those pulsating (the word used in the play) red canvases...

The play itself was a battle of words and wits between Rothko - as the synecdoche of the past-it generation of Abstract Expressionists - and his young assistant - a painter himself, of the Pop Art generation. It was about art and philosophy, seeing and thinking, but also about ageing and the human urge to hang on to a past that seems to be slipping away. They had sold out of all the scripts, but the next time we're at the National Theatre I plan to buy a copy in the bookshop and read it again, since the writing seemed to capture that intangible ability to talk about art, as well as the spiritual quality of those Seagram paintings.

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It was the second amazing thing we'd seen in as many nights. On Friday night we saw Un Prophète - the new Jacques Audiard film - at the Ritzy. It's been haunting both of us ever since. It's gritty and hard to watch sometimes, but slow-moving and meditative too, and newcomer Tahar Rahim, who is in almost every frame, is just fantastic.

I've been trying to relax in the evenings this week. I sent off the article on Almoravid religious architecture on Sunday night and have been feeling pretty exhausted as a result of not really having had a break the last two weekends straight. And since things are heating up with the Ceramics Galleries installation phase, I need to be on the ball. I've been waking myself up thinking about it quite a bit lately - usually about 2.30 in the morning, I wake up with music playing in my head, and work thoughts crowding in, and the only way to drown them out is to play myself back to sleep with something on the iPod. I've also gone and got a stinking cold, which hit me out of nowhere mid-week, so I have been feeling a bit under par. I still managed to get all my ceramics labels written and sent off on time though!