Yesterday, the Princess and I went to see Ratatouille. Paris looked delightful and I said to her that we might go there together one day. She seemed unmoved by the proffered treat but I was misty eyed at the thought of mother-daughter bonding. Maybe she was dubious about hygiene standards in the kitchens there.
Today, at lunch time, I sneaked off to a short film about Rubens in the gallery. On my way in I noticed a small fat man kissing the hand of a tall blond woman. She looked mildly familiar. Once I got in, there was a speech welcoming Princess Mathilde (aha, that’s who she was, future queen of Belgium, assuming that there is a Belgium to be queen of) who, in many ways, sounded like the rest of the working mother brigade as the speaker referred to her younger son who was 2 today and her older son who was laid up with measles.
The film reminded me that when my daughter and I have our trip to Paris, we must see the Marie de Medici cycle in the Louvre. I really recommend clicking on the link, Marie de Medici had a busy life and capturing it in pictorial form required all of the painter’s genius.
I passed Mathilde again on the way out having her hand kissed by some other fat man and chatting amiably to the event organiser but it was all very peaceful. Given that Mathilde is Belgium’s answer to Princess Diana (except that she appears to be smarter, saner and somewhat plainer) I was expecting slightly more of a throng than two but apparently not.