After a long night standing at the Museum, I came home yesterday with a swollen ankle. Support is needed during periods of inactivity because a poorly functioning Achilles tendon is not working the calf muscle – and this muscle helps pump blood back up to the heart. Everything depends on everything else.
The British Museum depends on 600-odd volunteers, for whom they give a party every year… a gathering in the splendid Enlightenment Room. Here, I sadly discover that the rumour about the disappearance of the pre-historic objects is almost certainly true. The beginning of man’s story, the spark of cognition, the very first developments in technology and art – in other words some iconic parts of the Museum’s collection… seem destined to be stuffed in a drawer, most likely for lack of sponsorship.
I emerged from the Museum at 9pm and it was still beautifully light – I just love our long summer evenings. It is rare to see Great Russell Street without tourists, which meant no fighting for a cab to Charing Cross. And a lovely and fully ‘earthed’ Jay collects me, barefooted, at Blackheath Station. He has always, always hated shoes.