I finally forced myself hard enough, and attended the Vivienne Westwood exhibit with my freebie ticket. I'm sure glad I didn't pay for it. Mind you, it was actually rather interesting. Even if I had ever been young and slim enough to wear any of that amusing clobber, though,I can't imagine wanting to...except for a few items from the Sex, Seditionaries, Pirate and Witches days. I once worked with a bloke who had one of those Pirate print billowy-sleeved shirts, which I coveted. He later got cancer, lost his voice, and may well be dead, now. (...Sigh..) Sometimes seems I've seen an amazing amount of death and disabling illness amongst people I've known, but that's probably exaggerated by my morbid mind. I guess most people who are as ancient as I am have encountered a load o' tragedy.
I went to look at those artist-customised sheds in the garden, which weren't particularly interesting. In the graffiti-covered one, though, I found an expensive sketchbook, obviously left behind by one of the hordes of students who were crowding the place. There was no identification, and only a few lame sketches. I figured I'd take it, as somebody surely would, so why not me? I feel mildly guilty now, though. I did a couple of lame sketches myself, lurked in the cast courts,and went home.