Funnily enough I saw a perfect ageing '70s throwback skinhead in Bethnal Green this morning - maybe there's a reserve somewhere where old youth cults go to live & occasionally let them out on special occasions...oh sorry, what's that you say? It's called Camden Market?
The more decrepit (& geeky) of you might also notice that the phone number I used is the old Swap Shop number - brings up scary visions of sex with the ghost of Noel Edmonds past - enjoy your breakfast!
(Article by Michael Holden)
Although the calibre of their contents may fluctuate, galleries remain a reliable source of strangers' conversations. Like people leaving the cinema, people staring at art like to discuss what they've seen. Sometimes, though, the more intriguing dialogues come from events unrelated to the pictures.
Man 1 (returning) "You see that graffiti?"
Man 2 "In here?"
Man 1 "No. In the toilet. I couldn't believe it. It's like going back in time."
Man 2 "How do you mean?"
Man 1 (spelling it out with his finger) "It says, 'NF', like the two letters, together. And then, 'Gay sex.' And then there's a phone number."
Man 2 "A mobile?"
Man 1 "Maybe, I dunno. What do you care?"
Man 2 "Well, it tells you how old it is, to a degree."
Man 1 "Either way, it was still like something you'd see in the 70s. Sort of thing people would write when you were growing up."
Man 2 "I guess those things are sort of timeless."
Man 1 "Nationalism and homosexuality?"
Man 2 "Are the NF still going?"
Man 1 "Well, they are in here."
Man 2 "Maybe it's art. Like an installation. We could ring the number."
Man 1 "What, you think Charles Saatchi's on the other end, going, 'Well done, you've spotted the art.'?"
Man 2 "What's the worst that could happen?"
Man 1 "Plenty."
Man 2 "Just say you've got the wrong number."
Man 1 (moving on) "No."
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