Twenty minutes north of a city I have walked all day, and I have never once got on the train. One entry, no visit, and no dressing it up.
Written as an intention, not a memory. I have not done this day yet.
Say the true thing first: this is a page held open by somebody who has not gone. Everything here is planning rather than description, and it will be rewritten the week after I have actually walked the garden.
What I have been told, repeatedly and by people whose eyes I trust, is that it is a whole day and not an afternoon — a modern wing, a collection, and a designer's own house standing in the grounds. Three things that want three separate frames of mind.
May is what I have written down. My excuse for not going has always been that I was already having a good day in Copenhagen, which is the worst reason there is, and this page exists to say so out loud.