Gallery hopping haunts

Honestly, if I'm not dragging some poor mate round a new opening with a plastic cup of warm white wine, what am I even doing with my weekends. This is the lot I keep going back to, from the big serious ones on Oxford Road to the tiny places in the Northern Quarter you'd walk past without noticing. Fair warning, I will make you stand in front of one painting for ten minutes insisting it's 'saying something'.