Dripping Dahlia

It's so miserable this evening that I'm driven to alliteration - any of the d-words could be used to describe the dismal scene outside.

I'm up in Edinburgh. I went to the Bridget Riley exhibition at the RSA this afternoon. I realise I've never seen any of these paintings in the flesh, so to speak, in spite of having studied them from books in my student days.  I found I couldn't look at the early black and white ones for long before they started to make me feel quite dizzy - an odd sensation, all the lines and patterns jumping about and however hard I concentrated, I couldn't hold the images still. 

TM has stayed at home. Going to galleries with me is his idea of torture.  And besides, the plumber is coming tomorrow to look at the problem with the loo. I'm going to a singing workshop - definitely the better option.