After much preparative work in the survival bunker and weeks of extra shopping for non perishables and other basic essentials such as water, food, medical kits, fire lighters, flash lights, wood and extra clothes, sadly this morning as I lay nestling in my self made container I listened to the crackly voice on my human powered radio informing me and presumably the rest of the nation that the date for the end of the world had most likely been given out incorrectly and in actual fact might now be happening next week.
Reluctantly at around lunch time GMT I clambered back up to ground level to discover that not much had changed in the 48 hours I’d spent confined in a 4×4 square metal box (which, interestingly can withstand weapons of mass destruction and most natural disasters according to the sales person who took my bank details over the phone).
Two days down a bunker seemed to have had a dramatic effect on the advertisements in the bus shelters.
But in the galleries it was business as usual, Sickboy & Word To Mother appeared to be suffering from smoke induced paranoia and the gallery looked like the inside of a bloodshot eyeball.
Eve Of Destruction was on a similar ‘bunker’ trip as me in their tunnel which was slightly reminiscent of London during the Blitz but much cosier with art on the walls and no screaming children or Vera Lynn songs, no spivs trying to sell seamed stockings which doubled up as mash potato sieves and no air raid sirens.
Brick Lane, on a positive note, hung some frames with crosses and the word ‘FINISHED’ in them, cheery.
Next week it is then…