We needed a quick lunch before seeing a truly landmark exhibition of Georges de la Tour – the Master of Murk – at the Musée Jacquemart-André. O’32 was on the corner of the block so we settled into a tight little table and perused.

With an eye on a big-ish dinner before heading home were invested in cheese. The previous evening we’d been too stuffed for a big dessert so now we had a cheese deficit. It was a big plate of the creamy stuff with a smattering of veg. Variety wasn’t a strong point with no blue, sheep or goat. (As far as I could tell, the servers were run off their feet and I wouldn’t have wanted to interrupt them to go through the card with me, that would have been rude.) A carafe of white washed it down nicely and after a coffee we were ready for Major Art.

7/10

To whit … the paintings were obviously outstanding, although there was a lot of padding with ‘workshop ofs’ and also-rans from the period. GDLT’s known body of work is minuscule so this was forgivable. What was unforgivable was the behaviour of the crowd.

People often question my love of Paris because of the, well, Parisians. Generally I defend them to the hilt.

But on this occasion I’ll join in the kickfest because this crowd was the biggest collection of stuck up, rude, over-privileged, selfish and shagbagged arseholes to be stuck in a room together since the last Tory conference. Ouais, je vous dénonce et je vais cracher sur vos tombes.

So if you want to go see a de la Tour either wait for the Dice Players to come back to Preston Park, or go to Leicester for the Chorister, either of which you’ll be able to contemplate at leisure. And spare yourself the c*nties.

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