Connections

In London, maxing out my time, as I do.

I'd been uncertain about the Picasso prints exhibition at the British Museum but finally decided I would go there on my way to my mum's and our plans for this evening.

But first, I got up early to measure the new paths, the new patio, and the slabs and pavers used for each, put all that data into an online calculator, and work out how many tubs of grout I needed to buy. It's a heavy and expensive amount.

On the bus to London, I phoned the local supplier and asked if they could match the much cheaper B&Q price. They couldn't, but they could come close, so I ordered from them: I'd rather support a local trader. I let the landscaper know the delivery date so he can sort out when he'll do the grouting, I rebooked the electrician who's told me he can't make our agreed date, I drafted a careful email in French, I booked some places to stay for a forthcoming adventure, I was astonished how little time it took to reach London.

Picasso... well I know you have to separate the artist from the art, but with most of the prints in this exhibition that wasn't possible: his misogyny, his voyeurism and his stereotyping of women - also, if you know anything about his biography and the dates of his relationships with women, his duplicity - is right there in front of your eyes.

I felt increasingly sick but I did actually look very carefully at a bowl of fruit (a relief among the naked women with huge tits), made by repeatedly cutting a lino block between prints. He was a skilled printmaker, I have things to learn and I loved that one, but mostly I couldn't see the work for the man and felt repelled. I left and went instead to 'The Islamic World' rooms to look at some Afghan rugs in which stylised tanks and guns have replaced the traditional flower and building motifs. Picasso, Afghan rug-makers, all of us... our experiences and our worldview seep into and out of everything we create.

But that wasn't even the point of my trip to London. I came to take my mum out, with my two children, to celebrate her birthday at a concert by the extraordinary, ebullient, talented cellist, Abel Selaocoe, booked months ago. He played Four Spirits, a composition of his whose fourth part celebrates community and belonging. As part of that he got the whole Queen Elizabeth Hall audience singing along with him and the Aurora Orchestra.

We were sitting right at the front and I loved hearing the music coming from different parts of the stage and blending in my head, rather than being blended before it got there, as happens where I usually sit, much further back.

Then the Aurora Orchestra played the whole of Beethoven's 7th symphony from memory. That's an astounding feat.

A completely unexpected bonus of being liberated from music stands and printed music was that the musicians walked into the audience for their encore so we were sitting in the middle of an orchestra.

A completely exhilarating evening.

24 hours later I discovered that SpotsOfTime was at the afternoon performance and took the picture I wished I'd been quick enough to take. That's the second time in five weeks that I've not quite met her in this part of London.