Yesterday I went to see the Bayeux Tapestry. Here are some reflections: - The tapestry is extraordinary, unlike anything I’ve seen before, and unforgettable. Although I spend a lot of time reading about Anglo-Saxons and Anglo-Normans, so was more than familiar with all the images, nothing prepared me for entering into the presence of this age-old, in many ways mysterious, borderline numinous thing. - For reasons I can’t adequately explain, my first glimpse of the tapestry was an intensely emotional experience. Looking around at my fellow visitors, I was clearly not alone in this. - There has been much discourse about “the queue”. I can only speak for myself, but when we arrived for a 10.30 am viewing, there was virtually no queue going into the exhibition. - Once inside the exhibition, yes, there was about 25 minutes of standing about before we were in front of the tapestry. But this was very well handled. Passing through a long, darkened corridor, the time was spent reading beautifully-presented introductory material, looking at a few well-chosen objects - and also (sorry, but this is important for someone with cataracts) becoming accustomed to the (understandably) low-light conditions. - While “the queue” exists for self-evidently practical reasons, the darkness, the (calming, solemn, slightly wistful) music and building sense of anticipation also had the effect of shutting out the outside world, slowing us down, and preparing us for the ultimate revelation of the tapestry. No one had their phones out. Increasingly, our worlds narrowed to what was immediately ahead of us. For me, anyway, the experience would have been less powerful without it. - Yes, I know that for many years the tapestry could be visited in Bayeux with much less fuss. But not everyone travels. Warmest thanks to the French government for this very kind loan. - Were we hurried along in front of the tapestry rather more quickly than I might have liked? Inevitably so. I could have spent hours there. Plenty of people want to see the tapestry, though, and that’s wonderful - we should all spend more time thinking about Anglo-Normans! - so I’m not going to complain about this. - The tapestry itself is indescribably fascinating. My companion didn’t know the tapestry or its context, but was still drawn into the story, the force of the narrative, the sheer skill of presentation - he wanted to see what would happen next. The details are compulsively engaging. The battle scenes are genuinely horrific. The tapestry still “works”. - It is also very beautiful - all the more so for the little tears, mends and missing bits. The coincidence of enormous age with irrepressible vitality is intoxicating. - Seeing the tapestry at full length has the effect of allowing the narrative its natural momentum. Even very good photographs (as in the very admirable exhibition catalogue) cannot do this. Seeing the tapestry in real life is very different from all the alternatives. - Finally, the @britishmuseum is to be praised for the tone of the exhibition. They could, I suppose, have gone with a much more jolly, popular, dumbed-down treatment. Instead - rather unusually at the moment - the approach is one that fosters genuine, non-ironic awe in the face of this unique, peerless object. Indeed, the whole process of standing in the queue, of quiet waiting, culminating in a brief encounter with something ancient yet powerful was extremely reminiscent of an act of (secular) pilgrimage. For whatever reason, people are drawn to this in vast numbers. (Other institutions, custodians of old yet powerful things and places, might wish to take note.)

René Lalique’s Merles et Raisins, 1928 where blackbirds and grapes become a timeless dance of glass, light, and Art Deco elegance.

Shepherding in the north is in rude health.

The jolly lions rampant on the west doors of St Giles, Cheadle, are in fact giant hinges, of gilt iron. The oak for the doors came from the land of the local patron, the Earl of Shrewsbury. It's the 180th anniversary of Pugin’s least constrained church.

Apple Pickers #VanessaBowman