The Old Three Country Weekend

So I found out why I couldn't get a room in Basel. It was ArtBasel weekend. The world's biggest art fair. Basically like rocking up to Edinburgh in August and expecting to be able to get accommodation. Still not 100% sure what ArtBasel - or indeed an art fair - is; whether it's a South by Southwest or a Glastonbury. Or some kind of highbrow mutant of the two. Either way, I saw a lot of art.

It started in the morning with Parcours, a cheeky offshoot of the main ArtBasel project which put some of that there bonafide concept art in and around Munsterplatz, the historic core of the city.This was ace as it forced me into crannies and nooks into which I otherwise wouldn't have ventured. Had what I'm fairly sure is my first edible art experience chewing on art flavoured ice cream, which was, erm, flavoured.

Had an afternoon break from ArtBasel in order to see some art galleries, the pick of which was the Museum Tinguely with it's ubertrendy architecture and mechanised bobbins.

Evening was ArtBasel proper. Thought I'd smashed it in an hour and a half - you're not so big, biggest artfair in the world - only to find I was less than a third of the way through and had only seen those bits that were too big for the main hall.

Have you flown into Basel before? Turns out the airport's in France and is known as the Three Countries Euroairport.  When I couldn't find accommodation in Switzerland I snuck across the border into Germany and slept in Lorrach.  From the map it looked like it was just a Basel suburb but turns out it was a fairly substantial place in its own right - famous for Milka chocolate, apparently.    

In more UK based news, I saw Jenny Collier do some comedy. It was ace.

In even more local news I see that Elan Lounge is changing its name again. It'll be Backtrack from next week, never did get to go to Indigo, oh well, fairly sure it wasn't all that different from at least one of its five previous incarnations.

Dick Turpin and Other Essex Boys

Did a treasure hunt the other day it took in three Essex villages, which (unimpressively, as a local someone who likes an explore) I knew barely anything about.

It started in Thaxted, a village that I know mainly from driving through. Didn't know Holst lived there though. I feel like that's something I should know. Even more than  that, I definitely should have known that Dick Turpin came from Hempstead - that made me Wikipedia (is that a verb? It is now) - turns out he used to run with The Essex Gang. Guessing that they didn't have to worry too much about originality of gang names in those days - it's no Baseball Furies.

The adventure finished in Finchingfield. You've probably heard how pretty Finchingfield is. That's all anyone knows about it. Turns out the rumours are true. It oozes prettiness.

The treasure hunt itself is a bit of a weird one - doing it has made me approximately forty per cent more observant - but a mate had bought it off the internet. Now don't get me wrong, I am not belittling the treasure hunt itself - I had a thoroughly pleasant day - it's just that someone managed to get paid for doing something that was probably kinda fun. Wandering round making up clues is the kind of thing I'd do in my spare time, just because (or at least it would be if I wasn't so lazy). I tell you what Internet, if I'm feeling frivolous I might do you a treasure hunt. I won't even charge you.

Just been to the Barbican to see Sun Kil Moon. Not the kind of gig I normally frequent but that Kozelek fellow has a voice on him.

On a complete tangent, it was pointed out to me at the weekend that us Brits put in unnecessary Rs all over the show. And it turna out they were right. I say drawring rather than drawing. I've been trying out draw-wing in my head and it sounds all kinds of wrong. My reality feels a bit brittle.