beautiful inside my head forever

When I was in London recently with my dearest friend, we visited the Pop Life exhibition at the Tate Modern. Andy Warhol, Jeff Koons, Takashi Murakami, a couple of others and Damien Hirst.

Now feel free to call me a cultural philistine, but I just don't get Mr Hirst. Dead cow, sculpted bust from his own blood - yada yada yada whatever ('tho he did once do something quite pretty with butterfly wings if I recall?).

We were cruising round his part of the exhibition, side-stepping the dead stuffed horse in the middle of the room and being generally rather dismissive of his work in general, when we came upon something a little different ... and my friend fell in love.

(this was the only picture I could find of it online - you get the general idea.)

The rest of the trip was spent walking round London jokingly saying 'I'm looking for a sort of gold cabinet, with lots of little shelves, filled with diamonds - would you perhaps have anything like that?'

But alas we didn't find one.

It's my friend's birthday this month, and when I was racking my brains as to what give the friend who's always so incredibly generous, who gave me a ticket to London for god's sake, I could only think of one thing.

The original work is called Memories of Moments with You. Very apt in this case.

(Keep an eye on etsy for an upcoming range of miniture Damien Hirst rip-offs. My next challenge is to formaldehyde a goldfish ... Take that Mr Hirst.)

Oh and, number 42.