Mullets; Gay's The Word; paintings

Amused by this Q&A published on BBC News Online on Sunday with Duran Duran bassist John Taylor. I do indeed remember JT seeming to be the fave Durannie among my contemporaries at school, though perversely I decided I fancied keyboard player Nick Rhodes. Not really sure why; perhaps it was the thicker layer of makeup. Anyway, looking at the recent shot of Taylor and Le Bon in concert, T hasn’t worn too badly, and probably all the better for losing the mullet (though as this article notes, Duran's mullets weren't among the more extreme around in the 1980s).

Previous post forgot to mention our evening visiting Ray in a new mooring spot – he has been moored up at Hurley for a couple of weeks acting as a bit of additional security for his employer Laurence while he is on holiday. Doesn’t seem to involve actually patrolling the grounds, more acting as a phone point of contact. His chosen mooring was, slightly bizarrely, opposite the Harleyford estate and the Showboat, a floating restaurant where I dimly remember it was once mooted that Ray might bunk down below decks while waiting for his official accommodation (such as it ever was) to be prepared. If I remember rightly he objected to this idea and ended up getting to stay in an empty house that was being renovated for his employer, before moving into the somewhat dilapidated mobile home where he (and latterly I) subsequently spent 3-4 years. Ruth and I took food with us and cooked dinner, though Ruth’s contribution turned out to be sitting on the rear deck with Ray and calling out for more wine.

Only noticed this piece of sculpture at Walton Hall for the first time this week, though presumably it was there before. Couldn’t see a label but ‘Multi-Breasted Green Pinhead’ would seem an appropriate name.

Had one of my occasional solo trips to London on Saturday, to do things that I think might bore other people. After warming up over breakfast I meandered down Marchmont Street and clocked that that’s where ‘Gay’s The Word’ is. I did pop in later in the day on my way back to Euston, and purchased a copy of Lillian Faderman’s Surpassing the Love of Men, plus an attractive rainbow bookmark. The shop is a bewitching mix of theoretical texts, interesting historical and sociological stuff, novels and additionally, for the chaps, pure porn.

I noticed later that the shop appears discreetly as G.T.W. on bank statements. Ruth has until recently had bank transfers to my account labelled as ‘R MILLARD THAI LADYBOYS’, which I’ve finally managed to persuade her might not look great next time I have to show bank statements to the mortgage broker. She has now changed it to the positively low-key R MILLARD HOT PANTS. We’ll get there eventually.

Went for an extended mooch around the National Portrait Gallery, which I always enjoy (despite the inevitable plethora of Olympic-themed portraits that have appeared) and managed to catch the last weekend of the 2012 BP Portrait Award exhibits. Liked Aleah Chapin's winning portrait and also the second prize winner, Ignacio Estudillo's huge dimly-lit painting of his grandfather. Went on from there to visit the bookshop of the Royal Opera House, on a bit of a whim: Darcey Bussell's new glossy book was liberally spattered around but they also have an interesting collection of ballet and opera DVDs, a rather less extensive collection of books and a substantial collection of key fobs, tea towels, pashminas etc etc. From there I wandered back up through Bloomsbury via G.T.W. and the appealingly chaotic Judd Books, before catching the train back to MK, where I cleaned the kitchen.

Spent Sunday morning attempting to do some exam revision, though not sure how much good this is going to do me.