A country that hangs its pictures at the right height, keeps its floors polished, and never once raises its voice about it.
The whole country, as far as this directory is concerned, sits inside one commuter timetable. Copenhagen and Charlottenlund are a short train apart, and treating them as separate journeys is a failure of nerve rather than geography.
Monday is the closing day here more often than not, and the smaller houses keep shorter winter hours. I went to Thorvaldsens in July and would go again in July: the light is long, the rooms take it well, and nobody is in a hurry.
One of the two entries below I have stood in and one I have not, and the second is the more embarrassing omission of the pair. It is twenty minutes from a city I have visited. That is not distance. That is inattention, and the hollow mark stays until I fix it.