The one page in this country I have not earned. One entry, no visit, and no intention of pretending otherwise.
Written as an intention, not a memory. I have not done this day yet.
I should say plainly what this page is: a placeholder held open by somebody who has not gone. Everything below is planning, not description, and it will be rewritten the week after I have actually stood in the building.
The collection sits out in parkland rather than in the middle of town, which is the part I keep hearing about and the part I want to test. A gallery you have to walk into through trees is making a claim before you are through the door, and claims of that kind are either earned or they are not.
October is what I have written down: a full day, not an afternoon squeezed on to the end of something else. The reason I have not gone is not distance or difficulty. It is that I keep giving the day to somewhere I already know I like, which is a poor habit and this page is the reproach.