I didn't know it was happening until the last minute. Tracy invited me along (Tracy is about as rock n roll as it gets in this area) so I went.
we met in the pub that was once called the Chepstow but has now been completely ruined and renamed after a sofa.
Paintings by poets are a dangerous thing. After all (one thinks) if they were good artists we would be invited to hear poems by an artist; Daubing has more value than verse. As it was we were invited to 'picture poems, bop art paintings, Collages, jazz paintry, Prints and drawings' All on show in Pembridge Road W11.
It was fun and it was totally unpretentious. Michael was charming and disarming and his work struck a chord acting as a focal point for a birthday party. I went in two minds and came home in one.
Afterwards we grabbed a pint at the Cock and Bottle; the last proper pub in Notting Hill.
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