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A keen north wind sends me seeking shelter in the Museum at Capodimonte, due to a cock up on the washing front and a distinct lack of thermal vests. I had avoided this museum for six months on the grounds of a) waiting for a cold wet day, and b) not having a passion for baroque Neapolitan art. It served me right. The place is stuffed to the ginnels with Old Masters, and it’s huge. Admittedly there are no famous pictures that have been made into mouse mats and ceramic plates lovingly hand finished with 9 carat gold in a limited edition of two million, but there is lots to see. Bruegel, Van Dyck, Rubens, Caravaggio, Canova, Titians galore, and even a Renoir. This last is the first of his nude bathers, which he daubed while on a boat in the Bay of Naples, and just goes to show that if at first you don’t succeed,……

Stuck up on the third floor, a warehouse that has been attached to the roof houses a modern art collection, which includes a whole wall of black crazy paving, some neon lit newspapers and an Andy Warhol painting of Vesuvius. Add in to this heady mix the royal apartments newly painted in vivid blues and purples and it’s quite a museum. Typically, the thing that made the biggest impression on me was the stairs. The rooms are so high that there are four flights of stairs, 68 in all, between each floor. It must have been a bugger to heat. And I only saw one fireplace.