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I don't remember when I first realised Rembrandt was important. Maybe when I visited his birthplace on a choir twinning trip to Leiden. I do remember when I first realised he was important to me. It was during my two days in Moscow 11 years ago when I decided to go to the Pushkin Museum whether or not anyone else wanted to come with me. In a corner on the ground floor I discovered an old woman next to an old man. She was thoughtful, silent, wise, self-contained, wistful, maybe sad and like no painting I had registered before. She was real. He was reflective, quiet, knowledgeable, self-contained, wistful, maybe sad, and I imagined the two of them understanding each other without words. I imagined Rembrandt also understanding these two old people, painted in 1654 when he was only 48. I had never seen old age treated with such generosity. I sat alone in front of them, almost knowing that they would exchange glances and maybe a word or two after I'd left, but that they could wait. After about half an hour I told myself I should visit other pictures in the museum. I have no recollection of what I saw, but I do remember going back to these two before I left the museum, sitting with them for a bit then bidding them farewell.

Since then I have sought out pictures by Rembrandt wherever I have been. So I was gutted when lockdown happened and stopped me going to see the only-three-weeks-open Young Rembrandt exhibition at the Ashmolean Museum in Oxford.

I was gutted when its closing date, 7 June, passed, still in lockdown. I have kept the Ashmolean tab in my browser open all these months and as soon as I saw that the museum and the exhibition would be re-opening today, I was determined to buy the first available ticket. I waited up until just after midnight on the date ticket sales opened, only to discover that the Ashmolean was being much more civilised than I was and sales would start at 10am. 

This morning, ticket in hand, I was first in the queue, so I saw the doors opened to the public for the first time since March then, along with everyone else, I waited while the director did his media photo-shoot pretending to open the door himself (extra). Then I was the first member of the public to go into the museum in 21 weeks.

It's a really interesting exhibition, covering 1624-1634 - Rembrandt from age 18 to 28 - looking at how he transformed from promising but flawed young artist to master. I don't know enough about art to be able to identify when he got perspective wrong and when he overcrowded his pictures and it was great to have my hand held (metaphorically) by someone who does. It was also brilliant to be in an exhibition so 'socially distanced' that I could have three pictures to myself and never have to peer over someone else's shoulder.

Mostly it was Rembrandt's unrivalled ability to give life to marginalised people - the old and wrinkled, beggars, the poor - that touched me, again.

If you can get to Oxford before 1 November tell me and I'll visit it again two metres away from you.