When we were in London, I found a couple hours to go to the Tate. Unfortunately it turns out there are two of them (I don't remember that from 1985), the Tate Modern was the close one, but the Tate Britain is where the Turners are. The Tate Modern was a bust, except for the cubist room, spent half an hour staring at a Picasso and a Braque, every time I do that it seems like I've gotten a little closer to getting cubism.
While there were a couple of Turners at the Maritime Museum, they were only "meh". So I feel a little like I've betrayed my twenty-year-old self by being in London and not seeing all the Turner I could see. BUT, on the first night on the ferry to Iceland, sunset (or whatever the sun was doing around 10pm, not really setting but messing about near the horizon), was like sailing into a Turner. So that just about made up for it.
Later around 11:30 I stuck my head back up on deck before going to bed. It was still light, but the horizon was ringed with oil rigs, little christmas trees all around the rim of the world. What's up with that? So it didn't really feel like the North Sea in 1914 some time before the Battle of Jutland. It felt like I-580 around Fairfield. So can I check that off my list, or not?
The ocean, and the ride, had been disappointingly smooth up to that point, but when I climbed into my bunk it all started rocking to beat the band. Felt like we were back on the rides at Legoland. What's up with that, I had no idea.