Attended moving little ceremony in Westminster Abbey to mark the birthday of Keats. Wreath laid, 'Bright Star declaimed, Lord's Prayer intoned amid tourist cacophony. When a child, I was fascinated by the Abbey's gloomy splendour and ancient monuments. Now, it seemed a lot smaller than childhood memories. Henry VII's Chapel still a glowing Gothic marvel. Nice to stand on the gravestone of the Great Cham himself.
Unpleasantly humid outside. Then to the National Gallery for short talk on Salvator Rosa's tenebrous 'Witches at their Incantations'. His self-portrait glowers at us from along the wall.
Derby lose miserably to Ipswich, who haven't won a match since LBJ was in the White House. Relegation threatens.
Monday 2 November 2009
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