Yesterday my Mum and I took the train to the little village of Saltaire. The whole village was built to house the factory workers of Salts Mill in 1853. We went to visit the mill which is now a gallery, but had a stroll round outside too. All the streets were named after the mill-owner, Titus Salt's children. It was such a bizarrely quaint place, it felt like a model.
Inside the mill we had a good long nosey at the main gallery, which was filled with David Hockney paintings on the walls, and books and art supplies on the tables. The rooms were vast. I loved the high ceilings and the brickwork and wooden beams. We spent all day wondering from floor to floor examining all the arty books, stopping for regular
tea breaks.
It all got a bit much for some people clearly. We found this gentleman fast asleep, quietly snoring quite happily in a corner of the gallery. Lovely day out.
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