Cancer 180

Part One

It is a special day today. I am in London. I woke up this morning as though prepared to do battle, as there is nothing more frightening than the thought of going to London (ok, I know it is nothing like battle – I just wanted to make a point). What do I fear? Public transport, as apparently you have to share with other, unknown people, who all wear headphones which go kerching kerching and are really annoying. These people sit near you, eat smelly nonfoods, and wear strange clothes. When walking in London everybody runs into you, which  isn’t good when you have tubes coming out of your chest and a big shithole in your belly. I have my walking stick, with lead weights for bashing and a sharpened point for stabbing.

We have arrived fairly safely in the middle of London, and I am still alive. I had the brainy idea of getting a taxi, which meant avoiding the crush on the tube. The chap wouldn’t let me drive, so I was not in control, but at least we weren’t sharing with the public. As we are too early for the gallery (Courtaulds, From Goya to Impressionism) we are in a cafe. Fortunately there are no other customers.

Part Two

We have been round the exhibition and it was excellent. I know little about art – I am not only ignorant but also colourblind – but there were some very good and well known paintings. While it included Manet, Monet, van Gogh, Courbet, and so on, the star was of course Cezanne, just about my favourite painter, along with Vereshchagin (I love everything Russian). 

Part Three

Shockingly, we have made it home. I used trains twice, went into a busy gallery, used two taxis, walked around a bit of London, ate London food, and survived! I only used my stick on one piece of baggage. I wonder if it is like childbirth, eventually you forget the worst of it and become prepared to do it again?