After our return from Venice, there isn’t much to describe. I had a bad cold and took to my bed for a few days. Once I was up and about again, the rain started, and how it poured! So there were no trips anywhere. On the day before we went off to Scotland for another trip, our son and grandson came to visit, and at lunch time, our small grandson, who had been unable to go out all of his school Half Term holiday because of the heavy rain, suddenly decided that, the rain having stopped, he wanted to visit the Bluebell Railway. I couldn’t go, as I was due to go to the theatre, so I went off early to make a pre-theatre visit to the Munch exhibition at the British Museum and the rest of the family drove to Sheffield Park. I understand the visit was a huge success. There being no other visitors, my grandson was given a ride in a diesel shunting engine out to the far points and back again: he was over the moon!
Meanwhile, I was making myself miserable at the Munch exhibition. I had forgotten how depressing I find Munch, with his dark subject matter, his dread of illness and madness, and his obsession with bereavement and death. This is his most well known one image, The Scream, but it is not so well known that it was the conveying the idea that it was the whole landscape that was screaming.
This was an exhibition of his prints, not his paintings, so it was interesting to see prints very similar to well known paintings, and also to understand how skilled he had become in printmaking of various sorts. However, after all that, I needed something cheerful. Unfortunately, the theatre visit, to Rutherford and Son, with the very wonderful Roger Allan, was not very jolly either, and I returned home somewhat depressed to finish packing for our trip next day. The plan was to drive very slowly to Scotland, stopping on the way to sightsee and arriving in time to take a pre-booked trip to the highlands and Skye.
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