Theres nowt more iconic of the fine city of London than the Sir Giles Gilbert Scott-designed K6 red telephone boxes still in use throughout many parts of the metropolis (though its days are surely numbered - thanks Steve Jobs)...quite often stinking of tramp's piss and decorated by the discipline & watersports touting cards of Eastern European hookers. I came across these two beauties on my travels this morning, mysteriously pretty in pink and a kitsch departure from the usual red they were last week...was it a post-ironic art statement or just the Westminster council tax monies in full effect? (So thats why my rents gone up).
These two pinkies reminded me of this great installation (below) I saw down in Folkestone last summer as part of the town's Triennial art festival. The inscription on the box's window by the mysterious 'Kevin, aged 9' (presumably the sensitive, misfit offspring of some council flat chav teenage parents so endemic in English seaside towns these days) is utterly hilarious in its ironic and sensitive appreciation of the intrinsic value of art which will more than likely have the crap beaten out of it on a Friday night. Rule Britannia...and god bless the welfare state.
