Mother Punk.

My sister, my mum and I always try to go to the Hayward Gallery, on the Southbank, once during the summer. I’m not really sure why we go in the summer rather than at any time of year – it does, unsurprisingly, exist all year round – but it’s a sort of tradition, I imagine derived from one summer holiday activity years ago, and the Williams family does love a good tradition, so we do. It’s a really cool art gallery and I would totally recommend going; all the best exhibitions I have ever seen have been here and it’s always very inspiring and thought provoking.
We never check what’s on; we always just jump on the tube, skip across The Millennium Bridge, waltz up and take a look. Past exhibitions have looked at dreams, home and the moon. There’s normally something free, and we all know that’s always a bonus.

But this year, when September greeted us shockingly early, we hadn’t completed our tradition. The Hayward gallery remained unvisited. Well we couldn’t have that!!
As soon as we realised that the summer had whizzed by on trains across Europe and open top buses in New York and runs on English beaches and jet skis in Portugal, we dashed to the Hayward Gallery. The exhibition was on punk, which was really pretty cool.

My mum used to be a bit of a punk, back in the day, so she was thrilled. It was a bit of a trip down memory lane for her, and I really loved it.

 

 

 

 

People were so much cooler then, so much more enthusiastic, so much more ready to give it a go and fuck being ‘cool’. And because of that they were really very cool.

 

 

Side note: I felt I fitted in, in my crop jumper with leather collar, red lips, and leather jacket. Maybe a bit of a fraud, especially when standing next to some of the old punks, who had long greying hair and earrings, but still working it, I liked to think. The guys nudging fifty were still cooler than me though. I’m working on it.

 
When we’d finished looking at every old poster and self-produced newspaper and record, it was nearly six o’clock. Cocktail hour! We headed off to gorgeous Mexican bar and restaurant Las Iguanas. The bartender mixed our drinks to perfection. They were seriouslyyy good. We watched the bar fill up from our seat by the window, and watched the buzz of Southbank go by, and watched The Thames dance past.