Last night

Never in my wildest dreams did I ever think I'd type this: I have Tate Modern'ed myself out. I have the book I spied earlier and no more. OK, one more but it is really small. Jack Yeats,  brother of the poet, extraordinary painter. Got some scotch and as a result (and gratefully) have to check my bag. Everything else I can carry in my shopping bag, as planned.  And the plan on the flight is to dose for a few hours if I can.

The best part of this trip? The km's walked (about 60 so far), thus experiencing the city at a micro-level, of sorts. The mainly European languages heard; Spanish, German and Italian - all 3 plus English at the table next to me with kids. How rich an upbringing is that! The exposure to art, my new batik friends, my visit with old friend Liz, and, of course, the play with Dame Smith. And the trip back in time,  namely to the WW periods from the Imperial War Museum,  the eras from which my taste in culture has evolved. I don't know why, but I am saturated!