British Museum Part 1: Really Ancient Human Stuff

 If you were a dog, you'd be delighted.

'Why?' you ask, ears pricked up and tongue sticking out slightly.

Because, my four-legged friend, there are eight columns forming the main facade of the British Museum.

'So what does that mean?', you ask, tail now wagging in anticipation.

Well, you get so much choice as to which column to pee against!!!

Joy!!!

And with that, I welcome you to the British Museum.

PUT THAT DOWN. IT'S NOT A CHEW TOY.

These rather abstract, Henry Moore-esque figurines are not a new means to make playtimes more fun.

They're actually ancient - in fact, so ancient that the Powers That Be have seen fit to stick them behind a glass screen, just in case they see fit to walk out of the Museum, Freedom Passes in hand, and go on a 'Coffin Dodgers' Rampage'.

Talking of coffin dodgers, these figurines may well have lain in graves.

Or been decorations.

Or gifts.

Or offerings.

Or............well, the general explanation is that they are 'ritual objects', which is code for, 'I don't have a flaming clue'.

Elf's theory is that these are actually life-size models of elves, made when humans first discovered us.

Meanwhile, these rather imposing vases were made 3 million years ago, formed from star dust when the alien species Homo Sapiens crash-landed on the planet and took over.

Sort of.

Anyway, the point is, they're really old (this might be a theme in the British Museum..........) and have undergone restoration. You see the one to my left (your right, woof), which has an intricate pattern broken up by large plain areas?

The plain bits are because the original patterned sections have broken away and been lost. The excuse the restorers give is that a restorers shouldn't try to hide that an object has been restored, and besides, how the hell are they going to spend 13794 hours drawing in the patterns again?

Elf knows better. The plain areas actually had money-off coupons glued to them, which archaeologists cut out to save themselves money at the Cash 'n' C'Agora.

See what I did there? Don't all die of laughter at once, for my sake, please.

This dude has blatantly nicked my hairstyle.

I contacted lawyers, but they just laughed (and billed me for it).

So I took matters into my own hands.

Don't mess with Elf.

See you later,

Elf Dryadalis

There's something not quite right about this building.

Aha! I thought I might be seeing you again.

Why do you keep looking to the left of the picture? Is there something wrong?

'Yes!', you all cry, hysterical. 'That building is FLOATING'.

Why, indeed it is. How fascinating.

The angle of this picture also looks like it's about to move sideways, like a giant diabolical piano, and take the tops of my ears off.

It is basically the apocalypse.

So there's only one thing for an intrepid elf like me: get in closer.

(Don't ask me why there's always a guy's head in the corner. I don't know. Maybe I should get a better photographer.)

Anyway, until Mario Testino comes to offer his services to me, we'll just grin and bear it.

The building behind me (or, at least, what's left of it) is a tourist magnet, as crowds of people flock towards this structure which probably roasts and toasts health and safety officers for a living.

Naturally, the logical thing to do in this instance would be to run. I had the great misfortune to watch 'Pompeii' during the summer, and if there's one thing I learned, it's to move away, not towards, any collapsing building.

Yeah, but then again, life's too short. And possibly about to get even shorter, if that column above gives way.

WELCOME TO LONDON. THIS IS WHAT THE ENTIRE CITY LOOKS LIKE INDOORS.

Heh.

Heh.

Heh.

Not really, honest!

You can't go inside the building (I mean, why would you want to?) but the interior is exposed, and you can stick your fancy camera into all the nooks and crannies. Then go home, and tell your family that this was the hotel you stayed in.

And be banned from travelling ever again.

By this point, you probably think I have bats for brains for going in so close. And so I must inform you of the truth.

My head is full of polyester stuffing, not bats.

Oh, and as for the building, it's actually an installation by Alex Chinneck, whom I shall not be hiring as an architect anytime soon. I mean, how exactly do you explain something like this to the surveyors? 'Oh, it's not really an extension, it's a sort of hovering attic, you know?'

It's modelled on the Marked Building in Covent Garden, which is where it is, and you can see it, free of charge, till the end of October. The installation is called, 'Take my lightning, but don't steal my thunder', which is just asking for trouble from the British weather.

I think I'll run back to the safety of four solid walls.

Best,

Elf Dryadalis