Dear Londoners — it's 31 degrees, it's Art Basel, and it's nearly the end of the week: time for your new culture edition. In this edition, our editor, Hannah, will once again ask you to hold her drink (Campari and soda, if you're asking) as she critiques, informs and, of course, spills the gossip on everything from the supposed new saviours of London art, reassembled Roman frescoes and Lido festival.
Get ready for the heat with our Londoner summer discount. For just £4.95 a month for your first three months, you can read this story — and the rest of our members-only content. That's a nearly 50% saving, meaning you can treat yourself to one more spritz, guilt-free. Act fast though, it can't stay forever.
When I arrive in St James’ my phone is warning me it is ceasing functions in order to cool down. It is hot, the first properly hot day of summer; air static and febrile, paving slabs gulping down the sun. Who wants to look at an exhibition in this kind of weather, let alone one called, rather pompously, Once Upon a Time in London? Besides, a friend of mine had told me how much she had disliked the entire thing, how bombastic it was — a gallery with too much money, an owner with too much pedigree. But, somewhere in between walking down Bury Street and arriving in the air conditioned interior of Saatchi Yates gallery, something has happened. I look at the art and feel, against all odds, charmed.
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