Thurthday, continued … BK suggested we try again, late, to get into the Picasso Museum, and sure enough, when we got there at 6.45, there was no line-up at all. What a treat – the collection focusses on his earliest work, starting when he was fourteen, just beginning and yet already pretty good – a lovely little oil of five birds, a study of hands, portraits of his friends, doodles, and then some great classic portraits and scenes. Picasso’s father was an artist and encouraged and taught his son, who in his early teens went to art school in Madrid. Eventually he felt he wasn’t learning anything new, dropped out and spent months at the Prado, copying the masters, mostly, of course, Velasquez, El Greco and Goya. There’s a head of Philip IV he copied from Velasquez – made me laugh, Bruce and I marvelled all through the Prado at how exceptionally ugly the Spanish royal family used to be. But somehow, very young Picasso made the king sad, interesting, almost attractive.