Show me the Monets

The shame…

“Oh no, madam. The Monets are at Kelvingrove, we’ve got Manets, and Degas and lots of other stuff. But if it’s Monets you want, you’ll need to go elsewhere,” the lady with the badge at the Burrell Collection said gently.

But her kindness didn’t soften it, Boy Three’s face fell. We were crushed. “But you said, mummy.”

And I had. I could have sworn we’d find Monets at the Burrell. It was why we’d come.

Now, we aren’t normally a family that makes outings to a particular gallery in search of a certain work of art. That’s not so say we don’t visit galleries, but only if we’re there anyway and, even then, not for long.

Fleetingly, that damp day, we were the kind of family that enjoyed art. Heck, we were damn close to sharing some olives and leafy green salad. I could close my eyes and imagine my boys saying: “Gosh not the funfair, mummy, I’d far rather visit the library.”

It just took a throwaway comment over the turkey dinosaurs (Yes, that is what the kids had for Christmas dinner, so you’ll see where I’m coming from.)

The Festive slump had gone on a very long time this year and when Boy Three had declared that his favourite artist was Monet and his favourite painting the Lily Pond, his interest was a welcome alternative to another tense snakes and ladders tournament.

Fun the festivities are to start with, all twinkly and cosy, after a while the seasonal specials and compulsory family togetherness become a little trying. I do love them, but a day or two stuck in the house, while it rains, is enough.

I begin the break full of optimism and lists – all those improving things I’ll get done. If only I could settle. Then a week later, having finally acclimatised to inactivity, pouf, it’s all over and there’s a mad dash to do the essential things before back to work doom.

So, pandering to a precious six-year-old offered us the best of both worlds, educational, improving and, after a turn around the park, good for the body too.

Better than that, I could bask in the smug. “Oh yes, we went to the Burrell, you know. Wee Boy Three simply insisted we see the Monets. He was thrilled…”

Ho hum. It’s back to work now and the art world can relax in the knowledge we won’t be along to trouble it for some time.

(Headline thanks to the Panther of News, who was ever so proud of it.)