Drinking at the well of culture.

I reduced my family contacts to just the three sisters today (without a cherry orchard in sight) and after a cup of tea with sisters Mary and Caroline, my sister Susan took me off to the National Gallery….

… for a lunchtime lecture on Samuel Courtauld, the art collector and philanthropist.

It was very interesting and after fortifying ourselves with a bowl of soup, we went to look at a small exhibition of pictures that he had found interesting.

We found them interesting too.

He seems to have bought or caused to have been bought every famous impressionist picture I learned about at school.

He took his work home with him.

His sitting room.

… but gave a lot of it to the nation when he died.

I fitted a bit of sightseeing into the day and enjoyed this tiny 17thC church behind the gallery…

… and the views from beside the Thames as I walked along the south bank.

I struggled to find a view of St Paul’s which didn’t have a crane I’m front of it…

… but close by in a crowded field, there were any amount of contestants for the silliest building in London.

After my stroll along the river, I caught the train home from Blackfriars Station which sits on a bridge directly above the river.

The day ended with a meal with Susan and Mary as Caroline had gone back home.

I am going back to Langholm tomorrow and I will miss the excitement of the big city. It is very expensive down here though. I hadn’t been here for much more than a day when bang went two pounds just like that.

I did find a sitting bird of the day beside the Thames.

Published by tootlepedal

Cyclist, retired teacher, curmudgeon, keen amateur photographer.

14 thoughts on “Drinking at the well of culture.

  1. That comment about money made me laugh! It reminded me of a line from Luthera Dawson’s Maine memoir “Salt Water Farm.” Her mother often said, “We don’t go to town much, but when we do, bang! There go the butter money.” šŸ˜‰

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