London is Friezing

David Shrigley's 'Ostrich', 2009

Last night I was taken to the preview of Frieze Art Fair. A Frieze virgin, I was advised not to look at the art, but at the people. How is one to view the art anyway in such a frenzied atmosphere? Hundreds of posh, face-lifted women and colourfully dressed men fluttered around the huge tent currently set up in Regent's Park, delicately holding champagne flutes and barely noticing anything but their fellow party-goers. Listening to dealers from Berlin try to sell an extremely high heeled woman a horrible plastic lightbox (something about "the intensity of the light is very in this year") or spotting a man dressed oh so casually as a hooker-booted snail (complete with a butterfly tiara) made the evening totally worth it.

Of all the fab and not so fab art that I did manage to catch a glimpse of, the stand out for me was Galleri Nicolai Wallner's booth devoted to artist David Shrigley. Complete with his famous taxidermied animals and clever drawings, his self-awareness and love for mocking the pretentiousness of the people and galleries that support him was refreshing and much appreciated at this particular schmoozefest.

Sunday nights

Sunday nights usually involve a glass of red wine and some good tv reruns (currently addicted to Gilmore Girls). You're usually too exhausted from the night before, or too stressed about the week to come to do anything productive. So when my friends took me to The Haggerston this past Sunday, I fell in love. It is an incredibly relaxed, friendly pub in Dalston with great beer and surprisingly good-looking people. Best of all, Sunday nights a jazz band sets up at the front of the pub and plays a fantastic gig til about midnight. Jazz and a pint on a Sunday night - what could be better?

Tuesday afternoons

Following some business in Vauxhall this morning, I found myself with an entire afternoon with nothing to do (minus all the things I am avoiding doing...) So I wandered over to Pimlico, and into the Tate Britain, who just this August launched an exhibit on British Romantics. Nothing like a gray London afternoon to visit Constable, Turner and Blake. Also on display are Fiona Banner's decommissioned fighter planes, placed in fascinating juxtaposition to the Tate's classical grand hall.

I ran out of energy to see the Turner Prize winners, and wandered along the river into my favourite little park, The Victoria Tower Gardens, just behind the parliament buildings. The park offers gorgeous views down the Thames, and always seems to block out the busy noise of the capital.

Walking past Big Ben, then past Inigo Jones' wonderful Whitehall Palace, I found myself in Trafalgar Square, officially having taken a proper tourist route. Feeling back in my home territory (anything past Westminster bridge always feels foreign to me) I went to my old stomping grounds, Somerset House. I worked there while studying at UCL and the place brings back such happy memories, I couldn't resist. I rang a friend at the Courtauld and we met on the terrace overlooking the river.

What a perfect afternoon it turned out to be.