The Return of Blake's 7

 "Blake's 7, that's how I remember it." The security guard was explaining to ten-year-old me how to find the William Blake in The Tate Britain. In those times he was exhibited in a gorgeous smoked glass room smack in the middle of what was then called the Tate Gallery. 

I was crestfallen to find ten years ago that Blake had been shoved upstairs like the madwoman in the attic of the Clore Gallery, where they house the Turners. 

So crestfallen, I penned this. The gallery seemed to have been invaded by BP, not just funded by it. I hated it. 

I was thus really happy today when my friend Cliff posted this on Facebook. In short, they've moved Blake to a much better position--and he's in a room 7 again...

Thank you Cliff! I wrote to the Tate at once. It's as if they listened. Or as if they got wind of Hell. I do talk about the Blake unpleasantness in that book, so I'll be happy to amend it when we copy edit (coming right up).