Tired and at the bar. William Kentridge opens tonight but I am over it. I don’t particularly have a problem with the guy but the work just doesn’t do anything for me. And I am too tired. I see art people. But the art people find me.

I am about to leave the bar when the Kentridge spillovers arrive. Fairly nice crowd. At least the Kentridge wine seems to have been really good as everyone seems to be comfortably trashed. A well known curator slurs a request of some kind and I move away. I here a crash and turn. Said curator had fallen asleep on her bar stool and is now horizontal on the neatly tiled floor. I stair, check her pulse and realise that she is still alive and just having a nap. We lift her and head for the couch. Put her to sleep and five minutes later she is back in the bar fully revitalised. Art people.

Painter Jake Aikman tells me how bad my work was on the Big Wednesday show. I am indifferent about the piece but give him a good slap in the face… a gesture of endearment. He gets really angry and wants to get physical. I say I’ll take him.