That'll be because I've never been to Madrid, apart from for a day for business, but that doesn't count as I saw nothing other than a taxi and a meeting room.
That'll be because I made a very bad decision when I was eighteen and broke up with a lovely Spanish boy who wanted to take me home, for quite a long time, actually.
Instead this week, I have contented myself with an interesting exhibition at the Caixa Forum in Barcelona of small paintings from the Prado's collection, some of which are apparently rarely on show.
So even if I'd gone there, there would have been no guarantees that I'd have seen Bruegel's Building of the Tower of Babel, the several terrifying Boshes, or all those exquisite Velasquezes and el Grecos.
Certainly the best value four euros can buy and I had the place to myself.