Timing is everything in blogging and life generally.

Who.knows how this blog would have gone had I written it six hours ago.

Trick question. I know exactly how it would have gone. Ranty, is the one word answer.

Life got in the way and the intended blog did not get written. Lucky for you the bobbers also got in the way.

They got my raw and furious rant caused by my second visit to the Beryl Cook Exhibition.

I apologised that they got my arty rant unexpurgated. Anne Bobber commented that they had just got an early version of the blog with more expletives.

My second visit to the exhibition was to see the supporting exhibition. Videos, books, newspaper cuttings and private family memorabilia. I was committed to watching all the videos and arrived at opening time because to do that it would be sensible to grab a seat on the solitary sofa.

My ranty pants were enraged by the misogynist questions and attitudes expressed by male television journalists, to a successful woman artist in the 70’s 80’s and early 90’s.  Had I been in the comfort of my own house I would have shouted at the T.V. As it happened In a public space I saved all my grumpiness for when I met the Bobbers and later my Tennis Club friends. On a non ranty note I marvelled at the developments of T.V and broadcast engineering in the last 30 years. Subtitling specifically.

One glorious subtitle blooper that I missed but am almost tempted to sit through the whole hour long broadcast for ran like this.

Beryl and a gay biker friend are off on an adventure on/in a motorbike and sidecar to buy some seafood snacks on the Barbican.  The stall has sold out of Winkles.

The subtitle straddles two sentences and should read

‘ No winkles. Really? Are you kiddingYou wouldn’t ever get that on Old Compton Street’

I realise the wit is lost because I cannot provide an image with the subtitle properly positioned as it would be in 2026.

Old Compton Street used to be the most gay street in London. A heady fug of aftershave and rampant testosterone filled the street with a spirit like no other. Everyone was welcome.

I realise now that it is the lesser known paintings that hold my interest. I am booked to go again next week. This may not be the last you have heard of Beryl.