The very name, Trieste, is redolent of sadness: I’m thinking of Françoise Sagan’s novel. I went for a Ryanair weekend in 2008 and, to avoid repetition, you can read about it in a post misleadingly titled Tahiti .
Category: Art
Windmills on My Mind
British Baroque
Hugh Lane
The Mountbattens
Bertie Wooster describes Sir Roderick Glossop as “a high-priced loony doctor … over the years practically every posh family in the country has called him in at one time or another”. In the words of the late, much lamented, Wodehousian, Norman Murphy: “ Wodehouse never made anything up”. Indeed he based Sir Roderick on Dr… Continue reading The Mountbattens
Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man
Everybody loves a Rembrandt. They go mad for him. Pre-blog I went to the Rijksmuseum at opening time on a Sunday morning. It was almost empty until we got to The Night Watch where the crowd was five deep. You can dangle his contemporaries, Anthony van Dyck, Jacob Jordaens, Peter Paul Rubens and get a nibble… Continue reading Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man