What a resource, two days in London take a lot of digesting.
for instance . . . .
for quickness and size I slip 'Fables by Schedrin' in my pocket, (an old 1941 ed) written before the revolution they were radical and forbidden, passing Riddlesdown I am in the window reading 'The Ram who could not remember'
Coffee and cake in a side street family cafe and soon I am drifting through Nash's grand rooms in that Royal pile at the end of Pall Mall. excited by Topolski in a corridor, the scale is biblical, then Titan, Rembrandt and Rubens wash over me unexpectedly in the picture gallery; they are profound. The whole p(a)lace and garden is a removed and distinct other world - suddenly we are spat out under the watchful eye of a policeman on to Constitution Hill.
We catch a bus in Piccadily to Aldwych and buy brushes in Drury Lane, Russel & Chappel sell me 'Scenic Fitches' , flats with IL FAMOSO PENNELLO on the black gloss handles and new 'da vinci' riggers that I love.
The view from the ninth floor is of the city and beyond, I read a little more Schedrin. Supper is French in an open window off Longacre before Chekhov at The NT, walking back across the river we watch people, and take in the night air.
We delay breakfast and eat scones and coffee in the Morris room at the V&A. then bathe ourselves in treasures, more wood than gold, and more Terra cotta than silver - so is my preference.
I select 'The life of Isamu Noguchi' from the bookshop after lunch, wander in the Early Medieval aisles before catching the C1 to Victoria.
I am now very full.