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'To lose a passport was the least of one's worries. To lose a notebook was a catastrophe.' B. Chatwin
It's Sunday and there's a bland plan. I only know I'm eager to see something inspiring and not lieing in bed. I try to get to The Light Show at The Hayward Gallery to find out it's sold out for the day. I have no willingness to dive into the Sunday Tate business, so I pay a short visit to The Photographers' Gallery instead. It is a cozy and welcoming space that often hosts the highly conceptual work of upcoming photographers, that I wonder whether they are playing around the illusion of the photographic medium, or with the hopeless illusion of making sense. The photographs on display are nevertheless dry and beautiful. I'd like to see something more powerful and moving but that's a lot to expect on a gloomy Sunday afternoon. I enter the reassuring environment of a London Sunday type cafe. There is a fakely familiar and uninspiring atmosphere, permeated with the sounds of laptops tapping. A very few people are talking to each other, yet sharing the same tables. At least they are serving large warm cups of Fair Trade Colombian coffee. I take a deep breath and a sip of exotic...I feel restless once again.