susie_flo | Just because you wear a uniform, a smelly uniform...

This evening, courtesy of my friend Madeline, I went to a talk at the National Gallery, by Picasso's granddaughter.  It was about his love/hate relationship with the old masters but with a pleasing sprinkling of personal anecdotes. There were also several Picasso bods there (art slebs!) including Pablo's daughter who was sitting a few seats down from me.

What was NOT remotely pleasing was the rude and officious behaviour of the security guards on the door...

I've been invited to this memorial lecture for three years running, and the usual deal is that you mill around in the Sainsbury Wing drinking splish before presenting your ticket on the way into the lecture theatre. So having arranged to meet Madeline inside, I was surprised to be faced with two over-the-top security guards at the door.   (What IS it with the uniform effect?)

My exchange went something like this...

Me:   Hi, um... can I come in?
Guard:   why do you want to come in?
Me:   I'm here for the event
Guard: (raising a sceptical eyebrow) And what event would that be?
Me:   The talk...
Guard:   Have you got a ticket?
Me:   Yes, but my friend has them, I was supposed to meet her inside
Guard:   Well then you can't come in.
Me:   But she's already in there...
Guard:   Then she'll have to come out again won't she

And then they watched me standing outside in the rain for 15 minutes, failing to get through to Madeline and leaving voice mails.

Until finally - hoorah!   Madeline came like a knight in armour and unleashed her special brand of scary fury on both security guards.   It was total "Respect mah authoritah!"   A pair of naughty schoolboys being scolded into submission.   Tee hee. (I stood by gleefully going "yeah! What she said!) Uncouth as I am, it was all I could do not to mime wanking at them as I breezed past...