The National Galleries

For 15 months, I have found a way to weasel out of going to the National Gallery. On 29 December, I had no more excuses. Gerry felt that I needed a lesson in art appreciation, so off we went. I walked with her, and just smiled. A half hour later, Gerry said, "I'm done." Not exactly our kind of place. If I simply think, "I told you so", does that make me a bad husband? 
Thursday, we tried art again. This time we visited the National Portrait Gallery. The portrait's narratives would gingerly dance around illicit relationships, indicating, for example, that the Duke of Buckingham, (shown on the left), was “a favorite of King James I”. Yes, the same King who gave us the King James Version of the Bible. King James built Buckingham house in 1705 as a loving gift for the Duke. We know it now as Buckingham Palace.
The narratives also celebrated King Charles II, (shown on the right), and his many mistresses and  illegitimate children, with an entire room decorated with portraits of his favs. There were rooms and rooms of kings, dukes, and princes - dressed in silks and doilies with their toes pointed as if they were doing the Hokey Pokey. There were portraits of famous politicians, scientists, painters, and actors. I loved the history, but felt like I was in a very dainty place. Then I entered THE room, called Building the Empire. There, amid the explorers and warriors, I could finally feel some testosterone, and I soon felt better. These were real men, dressed for action, and I don't mean ballet! They would never explore the arctic or defend Khartoum in silk hose, ballet shoes or high heels.