Rachel Whiteread, Tate Britain

Seen a little while ago, but I failed to write about it, sorry, this major retrospective is essential if you are in any way a fan of the not so Y now, YBAs.

As they are all about my age, I feel woefully inadequate when faced with a body of work as impressive as Whiteread's. Although her famous House is not extant, having been torn down in what might be judged as the worst planning mistake a council ever made, there is more than enough here to show why she was the first woman to win the Turner Prize in 1993.

She's all about space, the nothing places and things that we don't notice, like the undersides of the hundred chairs cast in coloured resin in the main hall. And the things that will never be, like the books not written by Holocaust victims in her memorial to them in Vienna, which I have also seen. Here there are similar book shelves with books placed spine in.

Of all her castings, doors, mattresses, staircases, my favourites were the tiny and domestic. Her hot water bottles in various media are some of her earlier pieces, and there is a whole case of them to rekindle my interest. But this is also work of scale and wonder. Just how did she do that?

Impressionists in London, Tate Britain

The quietest times of the year to visit a gallery is just before Christmas and between Christmas and New Year, when everyone is elsewhere doing other things. Hurrah for that. December 23rd at Tate Britain was calm, almost empty, and we had the place to ourselves. Perfect conditions for viewing the Impressionists.

I'm not a massive fan of this period really, but there is much to admire here from Monet, Pissaro, Tissot and all the others who fled the Franco-Prussian war and the Paris Commune for the safety of London, preferring to paint our suburbs and sporting events over the brutal realities of home.

Monet's series on the Palace of Westminster capturing the fog are worth your while alone. But sit in that room for several minutes, adjust your eyes to the lighting to get the most out of them, in the same manner as one had to with the Rothkos in their special room in days of yore.

Quite by accident, I drove passed spot where Pissaro lived in West Norwood the week before. Seven days later I find myself studying his painting of the same street in snow. Funny, these life co-incidences.

Pop along if you can afford to pay nearly £18 for the privilege. At this price, and why are exhibitions so very expensive?, it's making my membership look like a total bargain.

Merry whatever

Season's Greetings to everyone who takes the time to read this roll of cultural and other ramblings. It's been a busy year for me, moving jobs, moving country, and finally feeling at home. Here's a new poem for your festive reading.

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Good news from Oslo, batteries included

We're

sorry we haven't

wrapped it, again this

year, but, you know, after

70 we didn't think you'd mind.

It's a bit

big, awkward with

those needles, graduated

branches, and we didn't want

to risk you putting it upside down

in the hidden stand. The guards aren't

keen these

days either. If we

spruced it up, they couldn't

keep an eye, and a 20 metre green

Viking at customs might look like a

missile, too soon chipped, composted, mulched

by the bomb squad. Anyway, we know you prefer it

draped

in words.

Enjoy.

Hidden London - The Mithraeum

A month or so ago Bloomberg opened its new billion pound building in the City. It has been carefully built over the remains of a rare piece of Roman London, a temple to Mithraeus. An experience has been created, but this is not a cheesy affair in the slightest.

Some of the 600 finds are artfully displayed. The rest, including the key find - the bust of Mithras -  are in the Museum of London. Ipads are on hand to describe to the exhibits. These are well worth lingering over, especially the wooden tablets, one with first time Londinium was written, and another being the oldest piece of Roman writing in Britain, and funnily enough an IOU between two freemen.

Downstairs there is an interactive display voiced by Joanna Lumley.

Downstairs again, at timed intervals, hence the need to book a ticket, is the temple itself. You enter in the dark. Its slowly revealed clever lighting and subtle smoke effects, along with the soundtrack of voices and chanting, attempts to create something of the cult experience.

It's mysterious and slightly shivery, and was just the perfect thing to explore on a freezing day.

The location specific irony of the men only Mithraeus cult, based as it seems to have been on rather a lot of feasting, should not be lost on anyone.

To get your glimpse, book a litter to Walbrook. No denari required.