Sunday. I overdosed on art in New York and promised I would never again look at any pictures, ever. Weak-willed as usual, I crack and offer to go to the Tate Britain to see some more pictures. Not any old pictures, they are by one of Jan’s favourite daubers – Turner. It’s a special exhibition of his later stuff. It’s pretty good, of course.
I feel a bit fatigued (probably art-lag) so I admire the pictures from the comfort of the benches in the centre of the rooms as Jan patrols the boundaries, studying the labels. He’s a popular chap, there are lots of people here.
We have a lunch meeting with Bonnie, Jan’s friend from her schooldays at Godolphin and Latymer, and her husband Jim at Loch Fyne restaurant in Covent Garden. They are good company and we enjoy a very fishy and chatty lunch. They had volunteered to take us to Heathrow. They first drove us back to the hotel to pick up our stored bags, then aimed for the airport. We had a comfortable ride in Jim’s smart BMW through heavy traffic. Jim took the back way down the A4 Great West Road so Jan could see some of her old haunts around Hounslow and Cranford – he’s also originally from that part of town.
The journey back is the usual airport hassle of queues and security screening. On the plane and ready to go, someone takes ill and the hosties all rush about. A doctor is called in. A couple of people are taken off in an ambulance. Two hours late, we take off. Luckily, we make up time and have time for a quick shower in the Emirates lounge at Dubai before catching our connection to Sydney.
