It's Sunday, it must be Madrid...

On Friday I travelled to Majorca to check on progress of my home on the island, which, surprise surprise, is running 9 months late. They assure me it will be finished when I want to write the new book, but that's what they promised me last year. I flew on to Madrid to visit the Prado Museum, which I hadn't seen for 15 years. I was lucky enough to be accompanied by Chris Beetles, who ensured that our two hours there were well spent. It's a massive museum with over a hundred rooms, and you could be tired long before you read the gems. We studied, as everyone does, the 50 Rubens, including the magnificent Vulcan's Forge . We then moved on to El Greco, and my memory of Christ on the Cross, a subject one has seen a thousand times, only emphasised how great the painting is. As we crossed the corridor and headed towards the Goyas - hold your breath, they have 135 - we stepped into a travelling on-loan exhibition of some of the greatest Pre-Raphaelite paintings in the world which were bought with great foresight in the 50s and 60s by a Puerto Rican collector, who set up a museum of great Victorian art. In this collection is Edward Burne-Jones's

greatest ever painting, The Last Sleep of Arthur in Avalon, on which he worked for 20 years until the day of his death. However, the one I fell in love with - and it must be the most beautiful painting Lord Leighton ever did - was Flaming June (see right).

We then continued on our route, viewing one of Goya's most famous paintings, The Execution of the Defenders of Madrid, and ended our visit in the Velazquez room to see probably the master's most famous work, The Infanta. It was surrounded by a hundred people and we had to wait our turn before we could study the masterpiece. We left the national museum shattered, having covered only a tenth of what it has to offer. It is without doubt, among the 5 great galleries on earth, and one not to be missed.

After a brief visit to the Botanical Gardens (which look like a work in progress), and some fine tapas (thank heavens for having done so much walking), we returned to the Prado later in the afternoon to view its special exhibition of Joaquin Sorolla, the most popular early 20th century painter that Spain has produced. This dazzling, exciting loan exhibition, which makes Sorolla Spain's great response to Singer Sargent, crowned a memorable day.

The following morning we went to the Reina Sofia Museum, which is the only gallery open in Madrid on a Monday. We immediately headed for Picasso's most famous painting, Guernica, his brutal and mesmeric image of the evil of fascism and the nazi dictatorship. I've always wanted to see this painting, and the joy of it was strangely heightened by the presence of 30 or 40 school children under the age of 5 who were seeing it for the first time. Clearly their teacher was giving them not only a lesson on Spain's greatest modern artist - who I noted in The Times this morning was voted the greatest of modern artists - but also giving them a lecture on the history of Spain. To my surprise, almost without exception, the children were riveted. I wonder if a London school visiting The Tate with 5 year olds would elicit the same response? As we left the gallery we passed a magnificent Miro bronze, once again surrounded by 30 young children. When they rose to leave, each clinging on to the child in front, they waved goodbye to the statue as if they'd met a new friend. We dashed to the airport to fly to Dublin for a special theatrical event - but more of that tomorrow.