I can’t have been in Canberra for fifteen years, not since Gordon and Marilyn Darling drove us from Sydney and we stood on the top of a local hill to survey the layout of Walter Burley Griffin’s utopian city from above.   Last time I only remember viewing the city from a car window.   This time I was told it was easy to walk from the hotel to the National Gallery of Art along the banks of the lake.  This wasn’t wholly true.   It was very hot (I’ve been told not to say this, but it’s true) and curiously quiet, nothing but the sound of distant automobiles, a birthday party on a boat, and, for some reason, a distant glockenspiel.    By the time I got to the National Gallery I hadn’t much energy except to look at the Glovers upstairs amongst the early Australian landscapes.


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