Attempted Guggenheim I

We went to England for my cousin’s wedding, which was great, though exhausting. I worked out that transit time alone, as in the actual time spent on buses, cars and planes, was around fifteen hours, and that doesn’t include time spent waiting for said transport (two hours on the tarmac, Easyjet? Really? It’s no wonder everyone hates you. Not as much as Ryanair, but still, that’s like saying that swine flu is less bad than mad cow disease. True, but not comforting). 

Anyway, the less said about that debacle the better. 

We got back to Bilbao (two hours late, Easyjet. Don’t think I’ve forgotten), and I felt that I needed a little culture to make up for the shocking morning we’d had, so we went to the Guggenheim before we headed home. 

We were suitably impressed by the building. It was a bright, sunny morning, and the light reflecting off the tiles was blinding. We sat in the cafe underneath the museum, had a restorative coffee, and appreciated Frank Ghery’s brilliance. 

Then, all enthusiasm, we set off to see the art. Hooray! The Guggenheim! World famous art! Culture! What a nice building! It’s huge! It’s so clever!

Where’s the entrance? We’ll just have a walk around and look for it, it must me somewhere here... where on earth it is? Hahaha, maybe it’s a post modern museum and there isn’t actually an entrance, reflecting society’s inability to truly understand the inner meaning of anything. Hahaha. 

Oh, look, rubbish bins and a dank alley. Hahaha, is this one of the exhibits? Haha. 

Okay, where is the fucking entrance? Hate Guggenheim. Hate stupid sun, why is it so bright? Hate freaky spider statue, that’s not art, that’s a nightmare.

Hate people. Hate Easyjet. Hate Bilb... Oh, here’s the entrance. Aren’t we silly, we walked right past it and all the way around again, hahaha. We’ll just go in and...

Museum closed. Of course it is, it’s Monday afternoon, why on earth would it be open? Hate Spain. Hate everyt...

Oh, look. Here’s some art. 

Oh, and a nice doggy (who is sceptical about the artistic merit of Jeff Koons’ installation. Philistine).

Pacified by giant dog garden. Go home. Sleep. Dream of kicking a personification of Easyjet in the face. Ahhhh.