A Whisper of Love. A Whisper of Hate.

We went to the big Ian Fleming retrospective at the Imperial War Museum. I know for a fact that the vast majority of you, the reading public, probably wouldn’t be the least bit interested in spending an afternoon ogling—no, salivating over—a complete set of first edition Bond novels in perfect dust jackets along with (are you sitting down?) many of the original manuscripts and many other sundry literary items, but I was in heaven. There was some movie memorabilia that was kinda fun but the bulk of the exhibit focused on Fleming's literary output. How did he ever get away with calling a character Pussy Galore? In 1959?! Pussy Galore was a lesbian who worked for Goldfinger. She was converted to heterosexuality by James Bond’s superior lovemaking skills. They don’t write ‘em like that anymore! The exhibit was so good that I might ditch Mrs. Wife tomorrow and see it a second time. That wouldn’t be too crazy, right?

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After the low-art of Bond we went high-end at the Courtald Galleries. It was an unexpected surprise. Who would have suspected that such a small, unassuming gallery would house such a spectacular collection of Impressionist work? They have a Cézanne exhibit which was okay, but their permanent collection is a real smack in the kisser. It includes Manet’s most famous work, A Bar at the Folies-Bergère



along with van Gogh’s Self Portrait with Bandaged Ear. Also, a big room full o’ Rubens, if you like that sort of thing.