After exploring the new galleries, I took the (new) lift upstairs, turned right, then left, and with hitherto unknown homing instincts made my unerring way through a series of smaller galleries to this door:
This, my loves, is the Library of Western Art where I used to spend many happy hours looking at plates of Giotto's Arena Chapel frescoes, Duccio's Maesta and other delights.
Sadly, I now no longer have a reader's ticket and one of the attendants was looking somewhat suspiciously at me, so I ducked into the nearest side gallery - which turned out to be a gem.
My recent trip to Amsterdam had given me a new appreciation of Delft tiles - and here was a whole gallery filled with the English equivalent.
I ran my fingers over the glazed niche,
admired the pithy sentiments on the tableware,
and considered the neighbouring kings.
I exited the museum past some more old favourites and left with a new appreciation for the Ashmolean, delighted that they've managed to renovate while keeping some pockets of eccentricity.