1
Receive what appears to be a blank email, until you dimly decipher a message in tiny grey lettering, inviting you to the opening of an exhibition in a former industrial foundry on the quays.
2
Enlist a friend to guide you – to the studio on the quays, and in the habits of the contemporary art crowd. She advises you to “look like you haven’t tried” but to definitely wear that unstructured grey COS suit (but say it’s Jil Sander), clean white trainers and an emphatic red lipstick.
3
Arriving by bicycle is advised but, if not possible, walking to the venue is next best – ear pods in, listening to the Bad At Sports weekly contemporary art podcast, so you have an opening conversational gambit at the ready.
4
No need to have worried, the experimental jazz ensemble is in full swing on the mezzanine, no one can hear anything.
5
The artisan G+T is going down well but you haven’t spotted anyone you recognise. It’s hard to tell if the other guests know each other either – very few people are smiling.
6
A dour-looking man asks if you are going to freeze this year. You perplexedly reply no, you have invested in a cosy winter coat. He moves on. A quick, furtive google reveals he meant Frieze art fair.
7
Rest your handbag on an empty chair, only to discover it’s part of the installation when asked to remove it by a surly gallery assistant, glaring through heavy-rimmed spectacles.
8
Looking for the loo, you wander into a darkened room. Inside, a naked Tiny Tears doll lies spotlit on a swivel chair, with an audio loop of a man laughing maniacally. Emerge feeling shaken.
9
Relief as the speeches begin – this part of the proceedings you understand. Except you don’t. It’s in English alright, but you have no idea what the “gallerist” is talking about.
10
In the paper next day you read the exhibition was, in fact, “a profound and lacerating commentary on the deep unease at the heart of consumerist culture”. Of course it was – you couldn’t have put it better yourself.