Beating the January Blues

Having been ill over Christmas and then back at work before fully better, I'd got into a weird trogladitic existence where most of my time was either working at my desk, or resting up in bed. 

 My inbox alerted me to the fact that the Frans Hals exhibition at the National Gallery was finishing soon. 

I can remember that the first time I saw his Laughing Cavalier - it blew me away. I'd always wanted to see more Hals. What was I doing missing it? It was the final days though, so surely there would be no tickets.

However, I would try. 

And I got one!

The next problem was the freezing temperatures. Was this wise when I had been so unwell? 

But I donned a ridiculous furry hat and set off.

It was a timed ticket so I needed to catch a particular train.

The footpath to the station was blocked off for maintenance.

I backtracked and found another route. 

At the station the ticket machine was grudgingly unresponsive and I was out of time. 

But I encouraged myself to run over the footbridge and succeeded in jumping onto the train.

At the gallery I'd prepurchased an audioguide, but discovered on arrival I hadn't got the right phone equipment to access it. I felt stupid. 

But looking round, I could see others in the same position. It wasn't my fault! So I went and got my money back.

And great though it was to see Frans Hals' vivacious portraits and virtuoso brushwork,  the most nourishing thing about the day was overcoming all the tiny difficulties which nearly prevented me.

Now, like the laughing cavalier, I have a twinkle in my eye once more.

Not too Christmassy

We always had a Christmassy outing with the children.  We have continued, but sometimes I miss their youthful awe and excitement.

The train into London was packed with families.  Nigel, Pascoe, Carenza and I were split up down the carriage. (Perran was arriving later.)  Two toddlers, high on tic-tacs, were clambering over my knees.  

Their dad said,

“We’re going to Winter Wonderland in Hyde Park.  It’s cost us a fortune.”

In his eyes, mingled hope and defeat.  Wonderland could never match up to their anticipation. 

And probably one of the kids would be sick.

If not all of them.

Our own day centred round the very grown-up play about the IRA, The Ferryman, by Jez Butterworth.

Beforehand we visited the free exhibition of Degas drawings at the National Gallery, then grabbed an Itsu. 

Nigel was on map duty and we even had the experience of walking through a narrow ally full of sex shops and adult bookshops – not something we had previously included in our family Christmas outing.  But apparently, the most direct route between Itsu and the Gielgud Theatre.

Then the riveting, enthralling play.

After the play, we went to Freud’s for a cocktail or two and Dan joined us.  I enjoyed the banter over my virgin mojito.

On the way home on the Tube, we watched a Mummy imploring her three very young children to stop licking the train windows.  

"They may be dirty."  

She was clearly a master of understatement.

And I was glad after all to be missing out on the traditional finale to the Christmas outing - rushing home to wrestle weepy small children into bed. 

Carenza with the Kings Cross Christmas Tree