When I was living in London, my three flatmates and I fell into that bad habit familiar to most metropolis-dwellers of "not taking advantage of all the city has to offer." The weekends would come and go, filled with takeaway curries, Blockbuster rentals, and not much else. We usually blamed our lack of cultural activity on our tight budgets, ignoring the fact that all of the museums are free. Plus, there was the tremendous distance, for we were "south of the river" (Clapham, to be exact), and taking the 5-minute overland train to Victoria was simply too taxing (to be fair, I thnk most would agree that navigating Victoria Station really is quite draining).
One weekend, though, we were determined
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One weekend, though, we were determined to be good little culture vultures. The National Portrait Gallery had a new Beaton exhibit, and we decided that lovely photos of society women and old stars were just the thing. As we journeyed into the city center, we all wondered why we didn't do this sort of thing more often and vowed to see at least one new exhibit, sight, or show each week. All of our resolve was soon dashed out of us, however, when we arrived at the museum and learned that, since the Beaton photos were a temporary exhibit, admission was not free but rather a steep £8. We immediately agreed that this was outrageous and instead, in true skint fashion, went into the souvenir shop, picked up the corresponding book to the exhibit, and looked through that for a good 10 minutes, ignoring the disgusted looks from the cashier.
After leaving the gallery, we walked to Leicester Square, where we happened to pass the lovely Haagen Dazs Cafe. Two of my flatmates, Shan and Mel, had actually not been there before, so Helen and I decided it was really necessary that we go in for their sakes. We agreed to split a sundae, since we were all uncomfortably aware that the price of one sundae was very close to that of the exhibit we had just said that we couldn't afford. This seemed to make up for the fact that we had passed up art for brownies and hot fudge sauce. And our table did have a view over the square, so we could tell ourselves that we had gone out and experienced London.
Luckily for me, I was actually able to catch the Beaton exhibit several months later when both the exhibit and I were in Edinburgh, and for a fraction of the London admission price. Thus, all lingering traces of guilt were removed from my conscience.
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