France: Toulouse

As we drove into Toulouse, we experienced one of the disadvantages of being car-borne: there wasn't anywhere to park near Les Abattoirs, so we missed the chance to see something of its enormous collection of contemporary painting and sculpture, and Picasso's Minotaur backdrop. After handing the car back, though, we were free to explore the old centre of the city, and particularly some of its many fine churches: Caroline had only passed through before, and it was many years since I had visited.

I had forgotten how spectacular is the interior St Sernin, Europe's largest Romanesque basilica. And I don't at all remember the brilliant carvings on the church's Porte Miègeville: in the tympanum, there is the Ascension, witnessed by the disciples in stylised poses: they look faintly Egyptian. The figures on this capital are more naturalistic: I like the rather laid-back angel who accompanies Adam and a glamorous Eve out of the Garden of Eden. (This photograph also indicates the repair work needed on St Sernin's exterior.)

Barcelona: La Sagrada Família

We came away from our two days in Barcelona with so many contrasting impressions that it is hard to choose just one. Having had my rucksack (with cash, credit cards etc.) snatched from beside my seat in a bar, my first thought is of the number of needy people Barcelona must contain, living off unwary tourists the year round. What makes me feel stupid is that several friends had specifically warned me of the risk. But we moved on to Valencia in the same train as members of the Göteborgs Symfoniker, some of whom suffered a worse fate - being personally attacked on the beach after their Palau de la Musica concert the night before.

The good memories far outweigh the bad though: mass in Catalan in Sta María del Mar; drinking cava outside afterwards; discovering - rather against my will - the intimate delights of the Picasso Museum, such a contrast to the Louvre and Musée d'Orsay the day before; walking in Parc Guëll; exploring the Boqueria Market and Las Ramblas - all in sunny, warm October weather.

But the highspot for me was Gaudi's La Sagrada Família, not so much a place of worship as a crowded building site, with workmen smoking, listening to their iPods and chatting on mobile phones as we snailed round the perimeter of the interior. The exterior is another matter altogether: the South transept entrance adorned with quite conventional carvings depicting the Nativity, whilst the other side, the Façade of the Passion, is covered with the most striking Holy Week scenes, culminating in this extraordinary Christ Crucified, and Veronica's veil transformed into a death mask. An indelible impression!

Surrealism and Spain

Paul McKee dressed very much for the occasion on Friday evening last, for the opening of Surrealism Returns at Cheltenham Art Gallery. I enjoyed the exhibition as much as any I've seen at Cheltenham.

As usual the display is limited by space, but what it lacks in quantity it makes up for in quality. I knew nothing about the original Realism and Surrealism exhibition, which took place in Gloucester 70 years ago; but it is clear from the present show what an effect the conduct of the Spanish Civil War was having at that time upon the artists exhibiting: not just Picasso and Miro, but others too protested forcefully against Fascist atrocities.

At a recent visit to the glaucoma clinic, I was reminded how important it was to keep taking the drops to avoid blind spots developing. We all it seems have blind spots about the history of the decades immediately before and following our year of birth: I must read more about that Civil War period before we depart for Spain later this month.