Wellington.

We went into town today to pick up some Linus quilts being delivered to Waverly Station from Dunbar. We had anticipated Saturday shopping traffic, it didn't materialise, so we arrived early and had to wait for a while. It cost me a few pounds for parking and a few more for two luke-warm cups of coffee.

With that mission accomplished it was off to a bed emporium to try out some mattresses. While Mrs TD walked there through the drizzle, I drove out of town far enough to park free of charge and then caught the bus back in again. By the time I'd parked, we had a torrential downpour; I hope I didn't wet any of the mattresses. When we came out it was still hissing down and blowing a gale, so we went back in again (c.f. Michael Finnigan's hair) and wasted more money on more tepid coffee; it was probably possible to obtain a better brew at other establishments in the arcade, but such places were a rather crowded and we do appreciate a little peace in our lives.

The next stop was the art gallery, which we made in the dry, to catch the end of the annual J. M. W. Turner exhibition. A condition of the gifting of the water colours was that they should only be displayed in January, and under minimal lighting, to avoid the colours fading. I do appreciate their efforts as we have several original water colours in the family, of which we are rather fond, that have noticeably faded over the years. I will have to make digital copies of them as computer memory is fairly immune to the ravages of sunlight. There were some very nice pieces, both in the Turner display and in the outer room; I was pleased to be able to recognise two artists' work from their style, they were El Greco and Constable; perhaps I did learn something useful at school all those years ago.

The Blip is of the statue at the east end of Princes Street during the downpour; it was quite difficult manipulating both camera and umbrella in the wind. The other day, a lady on the radio was saying that she'd read that, if someone dies in battle it is indicated in art by his horse rearing; if, however, only one hoof is raised, the rider died subsequently from injuries sustained in battle.
Wellington died of a stroke at the age of 83.