Wednesday, 25 February 2009

A picture Paints

I'm still paying the price for the activities of last weekend. Paul and Darren came on Saturday and then on Sunday Polly and I took the boys to the National Gallery in London. There was a free cartooning workshop being run which we thought the boys would like.

It is many years since I've visited the National Gallery and I had forgotten how wonderful it is. While Polly sat in with the boys I was allowed to wander off and enjoy myself browsing some of the worlds greatest art. I have a particular fondness for the impressionists so I was thrilled to find an exhibition of Alfred Sisley's English and Welsh paintings. In addition there is something wonderful about seeing Van Gogh's Sunflowers or Monet's The Water Lily Pond there in front of you. At times it was like being in the Athena catalogue. All that was missing was a tennis player scratching her backside.

We had lunch in the gallery's restaurant which was disconcertingly posh and expensive. You know that sinking feeling you get when you've been shown to a table by a waiter in a smart suit, who has struggled to move a chair out of the way for you, and then presented you the menu with a flourish, and then, only then, do you realise that the cheapest thing on that menu is a single jammy-dodger biscuit at £2.50 each. Fortunately there was a children's menu so the boys were happy. Polly had the soup of the day and I had some cheese. The cheese turned out to be something or a treat. I'd chosen three different kinds of British cow, goat and sheep's cheeses that came with different kinds of exciting biscuits and breads. Polly helped me eat them and we pretended not to notice the couple who decided not to sit next to us.

By the time we got home that evening I was exhausted. The trouble with January and February is that I go for days at a time not doing much. I need the warmer weather so I can get out more and build up my stamina. Roll on Spring.

1 comment:

  1. There was me getting all impressed about your appreciation of art and the subtleties of impressionism and you go and bring up the scratchy bum can take the boy out of Hartcliffe...but you can't take Hartcliffe out of the boy…..I’m proud of you!


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