You may pop into a church, if it’s not locked, to say a little prayer. I go in to look at architecture and monuments; always to a greater or lesser extent rewarding and I can say a little prayer when I get home.
Paris in the 1920s was a crucible in the heat of which Cubism, Futurism, and Expressionism were forged by artists like André Lhote, Fernand Léger, and Albert Gleizes. There was a woman in another country and another continent who wanted to learn about these new styles.
Feeling a little under the weather I have postponed reading Sonia Purnell’s biography of Clementine Churchill and turned to lighter fare more suited to my mood.
C.C.’s comment “what about Carrie?” made me think but maybe one day she will be worth a biography although she is more likely to make a pre-emptive strike by writing a memoir about the red wine stains on her upholstery.
I would only quite like to read Cherie Blair’s 2008 memoir but I haven’t. I wait for a biography of a Prime Minister’s wife (beginning with C) and then two come along.
More than five years ago Bertie and I went to The Charterhouse. B was impossible on the tube, wriggling and squirming, and not very well behaved in the grounds of the C. He was a puppy.
I must digress before I begin. You will be aware I use Wikipedia a lot. Not so much now. When I ask Google a question AI Overview comes up with the answer. I now realise AI already touches all our lives.