My First (…) at the British Museum

Let me let you in on a little secret. I’d never been to the British Museum. Not until today. Atrocious. But this evening. This evening was one of the three nights in a year where the Museum opens up its door (all exhibitions, naturally) to members post regular opening hours. Pharaoh effing boon. I was able to wrap up work at my own sweet pace, took a nice stroll across Blackfriars bridge down to Fleet Street, meandered gently through the cobblestoned alleys in Covent Garden and came to the Museum by Holborn to catch up with my mate. No sweat. The sun was still there and the entire building was almost empty. Can you imagine. The top London hotspot that attracts more than 7 millions visitors a year is almost empty. Stepped into the building and was instantly serenaded by tremendously soothing music. Beautiful traditional Japanese string instruments. And geishas dancing. Geishas dancing. We took the stairs up to the restaurant, said music playing in the background, unwind with supper and glass of wine. Also, where I was seated, there were pots of mini lemon trees feng-shuied behind my head. Love it. I love lemons. Alas, mediocre, mediocre food. My partner in crime filled me in on the ponzi pool party I missed last Saturday. Big deal for choosing Doritos and Netflix over topless hunks and sunshine on the member-only rooftop pool at the Ned. Ponzi. I really cba. For art though, chain me up in a water tank and I’ll kid you not do a Houdini. Any day. He told me about his date with a plumber. Who he took to a fancy cocktail bar in Mayfair only to be dragged to a seedy casino in Stratford because she was eager to show him “her favourite place in London”. Such a keeper. Londoners, living in different sides of the ozone layer. The dating scene. The member-only obsession, when in reality it’s really just convenience. The life of les afford-ablés. “Give us the extended hours.” “No queueing bullshit.” It’s not even that expensive. So don’t read too much into that. Oh the casino? Dodgy AF but the gin and tonic was £4. Somebody out there is a winner. “Maybe we should go and get drunk there one day.” I agreed. We cleaned our plates out of school night hunger, determined to not dip our toes into the deep ghastly pool of POTUS (He had to go through the parade today to get to work. Poor guy.) and wandered down to the Manga exhibition. Don’t bother guys. Wikipedia the Shinjuku out of it yourself on a Saturday night when your date flakes on you and your pizza delivery man loses his way if you really do want to know about manga. The only thing to write home about from that exhibition was the Shintomi curtain created by a leathered, Sake soaked Kawanabe Kyosai, whipped out in four hours with a broom. Don’t miss that. You can’t miss that. It’s miso impressive. It’s huuuuuge. All in all, fantastic Monday evening. Minus the fact that I got told off for touching the Nereid monument. Eyes roll. Wide eyed wonder. Couldn’t help it. How the heck did the Brit stuff this loot into their pocket?? Anyway. So, what did you say again about your Monday evening?

With love x

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