Sunday, 7.
QR16 to Manila.
Friday, 5.
With Maurizio and Cristina’s family in Surrey.
Thursday, 4.
I twisted my ankle slightly on the way to Eataly. Just to make sure I didn’t sprain it, we put an ice pack on my foot and Stuart held it on his lap while we had lunch. I wonder what people in the restaurant thought was going on under the table…😀
Hoxton Radio broadcasts from the lobby of the hotel every last Thursday of the month.
At Her Majesty’s Theatre for yet another delightful evening with the Phantom of the Opera, third or fourth maybe at various times with various companions and various cast members throughout the show’s long life.
Wednesday, 3.
In Epping Forest to bring flowers and a new grave marker to Mum in All Saints Church in Theydon Garnon.
Tuesday, August 2.
We left Paris for London on the Eurostar. Gare du Nord to St Pancras.
Back in London on the last leg of our 4-month long holiday, we’re now in Andaz Liverpool Street where we had left most of our luggage when we went to Jersey two weeks ago.
Rake’s is always a great choice for quick and delicious meals.
Tuesday, July 26.
This is the lobby of the Hilton Paris Opera, surely one of the world’s most beautiful hotel lobbies.
And just as beautiful are the views from our gentrified garret.
Wednesday, 27.
A quick lunch in Printemps at La Reine Mer was surprisingly good, served with a stunning cityscape on the side.
Thursday, 28.
Picked up my shoes and bag from Loewe then had lunch at a curbside cafe.
Friday, 29.
Lunch at Brasserie du Louvre-Bocuse was both elegant and hearty as we readied ourselves to face what we hoped would be a much thinned crowd at the Louvre. The weekly round of maintenance closures of several rooms might discourage people from turning up, we hoped.
Nope, no chance of that! We spent more time in the queue to get in than in the museum itself.
This is no way to appreciate art.
I managed to get to a few choice pieces. Portraits by Gainsborough, Reynolds, and Goya. Delacroix’s icon of the Revolution, Marianne. And an atmospheric image of tragedy by Delaroche.
But after waving goodbye to La Gioconda from behind jostling bodies several metres deep, we soon gave up.
Saturday, 30.
As expected, Musée de l’Orangerie was a completely different experience.
Of course it’s different; it’s a small collection. But what is more evident is the love for the collection, for the art that is on display.
I had intended merely to once again, after so many years, spend time immersed in the wonder that is Monet’s Water Lilies, here gloriously and sensitively displayed, lit from above in naturally shifting daylight.
I was unaware of the existence of a treasure trove of Impressionist and Post Impressionist paintings on the floor below. And what a delightful surprise that was!
Rousseau. Modigliani. Picasso. Renoir. Cézanne. Matisse. Derain.
We emerged into the Tuileries Garden feeling light as air, as though all is right with the world. Or at least hopeful that it will be.