Wilf: Value for money at the V&A

Oct 31 2009 by Linzi Nicholson, Huddersfield Daily Examiner

THE reception area at the V&A museum is a circular counter above which there is an enormous hanging sculpture of squirming coloured giant glass spaghetti.

When I say enormous I mean enormous. It hangs like the sword of Damocles over the ticket sellers’ heads (inset). I asked the chap behind the counter if any bits had broken off and fallen down.

He said: “No one’s mentioned it to me.” “Doesn’t it worry you?” “I try not to think about it.” “I’d ask for a helmet if I were you. What’s the thing called?” “I’ve no Idea.”

What about ‘The Attack of the Intestinal Worms?’ He replied, “That’s the best name for it so far.”

He gave us our tickets and we went in to the Maharaja exhibition. It was a fabulous show of opulent treasures with films and interviews.

A purpose-built Rolls Royce was on show. The other transport was some beautiful palanquins which reminded me of the sedan chairs we used in the past.

Bristol BBC is on Whiteladies Road at the end of which is Blackboy Hill where the white ladies were carried up in sedan chairs. That’s the story I was told. Now they say it was nothing to do with slavery – the road and hill were named after pubs.

Fuel shortages and unemployment could bring the sedan chair back. After all, we do now have cycle rickshaws and a sedan chair employs two. A stretch one for weddings would employ four chaps. Very green. Is this the future? Although it is part of the V&A collection my only disappointment was Tipoo’s Tiger wasn’t included.

It’s an automaton tiger mauling a European soldier with accompanying groans from the man and growls from the tiger. Despite this, they always put on a terrific show. You always get good value for money at the V&A. That can’t be said of the British Museum’s Montezuma Exhibit.

You pay good money to look at stuff you can see for free at other times. My only consolation walking round this thin show of stone skulls to the sound of a very windy day was my grandson, Burley, who’d just learned to count to five and was determined everyone should know.

Wilf’s autobiography to the age of eleven, My Best Cellar, can be bought at Waterstones or via his website www.wilflunn.com