Art

I have been terribly lax. (In so many ways over the years.)
There's you all thinking I'm some kind of fountain-obsessed weirdo, when I am not obsessed with fountains at all. Can't argue with the last bit, mind you.
Anyway, I showed my sensitive side, albeit with some weirdo thrown in for good measure. I finally saw a Hieronymous Bosch work. Yes, there were Rubens galore at the Altes Pinothek, and more Van Dyks, Tintorettos, Breughels and El Grecos than at which one could shake a stick, but nonetheless the Bosch stood out. Probably because I am a weirdo.

There's not really much point in describing it. Suffice to say it was worth returning to the museum and reclimbing the 50 (or so) steps to see it just one more time before I left. He was one messed-up fellow. Analyse away, amateur Sigmunds.

Today I did nothing. And exhausting it was too. I am trying to sort out a timetable that gets me to the cities I want to visit, but doesn't leave me abandoned on a railway station in eastern Europe crying for board. The trouble is, the more I organise, the less room there is for flexibility. Well, like, duh. Nonetheless, several of these things will require booking, so book them I must. I'd tell you now, but then you'd deride my plans and I'd have second thoughts. Besides, I'll probably change everything tomorrow. Suffice to say, I will be going to Austria. From there, probably a bit east, then north, then south-west... You know, dear reader, that if you said you'd be in x then I would meet you there, but you have made no such commitment and so to my own devices I am left.