I made a whistle-stop visit to GOMA earlier. The thin, grey-haired attendant was explaining to a group of young tourists that they had to leave their ideas about art at the door when they entered a place like this. Anything can be art he said. Take this for instance – he gestured toward the floor – that artist is up for the biggest prize in Britain this year. Following the direction he indicated, I saw the reason for the conversation I walked in on. It looked very much like a huge, polkadot shower curtain dropped by the entrance.

The shower curtain is the work of Karla Black, who is up for the Turner Prize this year. I recall her in an interview saying that sculpture is unique because it’s not trying to take the viewer anywhere else, because it’s about perceptions and feelings in the here and now. I tend to agree, and because I’ve enjoyed her work before, I’ll go back when I have more time and have a look at this one again.

These photos are from a small arcade of shops that runs off Sauchiehall St in Glasgow. I can’t think of the name of it. I’ve been in there before to try to photograph the feel of the place. I passed it today and thought I’d see how the iPhone would render it. A treasure trove of the weird retail of yesteryear.

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I took the K-5 back today. Merchant city cameras were less than impressive in their customer care.

The owner took the line that I was idiot and needed to be spoken to like a 5 year old (“we’ve never heard of any issues with that camera, have you Sharon? No, no. Nothing. Lovely camera. My daughter wants one….”). When I showed him some crops, he immediately called for the assistant, who came out with a face like she’d just wiped someone else’s shit off it, stood aggressively in front of me and eyeballed me as if to say: over my dead body are you getting any satisfaction.

Fine. I was armed. I showed them the rest of the crops and rebutted idiotic questions designed to get them off the hook without engaging with the issue. Not a lot they could say really. The front/back foccusing/inability to lock is so fucking glaringly obvious that only a complete twat would have continued to try and deny the problem.

So I left the camera with them. The owner seemed genuinely wanting to keep me on side by this stage but bitch-face didn’t even say goodbye.

Walked past Jessops on the way home. £1700 for a d700 body. If Pentax send me another dud, I’ll be thinking hard on that one.