Posters on the underground photographed while I waited for
the tube to Piccadilly Circus and from there a short walk, sunny in a chilled
way, to the Royal Academy, or as Brian Sewell calls it, the ‘grand old whore of
Piccadilly’. Indeed there is something unbridled about the place as if at any
moment it might lift its skirts and reveal polka-dot pantaloons. On this
occasion, it was bronze sculpture that had the place heaving.
