Bayreuth. Is it a new show or something? Or does he mean Beirut? Why would we want to go to Beirut, for God’s sake?
Anyway, I’ve got more important things to think about today. This is my sixth day of Cutting Back — and, crucially, my first weekend. David E. Barton says this is often when one’s frugal regime cracks, as the office routine is no longer there as a distraction and the day stretches empty, waiting to be filled with the familiar comfort of shopping.
But I’m too strong-willed to crack. I’ve got my day completely sussed — and I’m not going near any shops. This morning I’m going to visit a museum and then tonight, instead of wasting lots of money on an expensive takeaway, I’m cooking a homemade curry for me and Suze. I’m actually quite excited about it.
My entire budget for today is as follows: Travel to museum: free (I already have a travelcard)Museum: freeCurry: ?2.50 (David E. Barton says you can make a wonderful curry for four people for less than ?5.00—and there are only two of us.)Total daily expenditure: ?2.50
That’s more like it. Plus I get to experience culture instead of mindless materialism. I have chosen the Victoria & Albert Museum because I have never been to it before. In fact, I’m not even sure what they have in it. Statues of Queen Victoria and Prince Albert, or something?
Anyway, whatever they have, it will be very interesting and stimulating, I’m sure. And above all, free!
As I come out of South Kensington tube, the sun’s shining brightly and I stride along, feeling pleased with myself. Normally I waste my Saturday mornings watching Live and Kicking and getting ready to go to the shops. But look at this! I suddenly feel very grown-up and metropolitan, like someone in a Woody Allen film. I just need a long woolly scarf and some sunglasses and I’ll look like Diane Keaton.
And on Monday, when people ask me how my weekend was, I’ll be able to say, “Actually, I went to the V&A.” No, what I’ll say is “I caught an exhibition.” That sounds much cooler. (Why do people say they “caught” an exhibition, by the way? It’s not as though all the paintings were thundering past like bulls at Pamplona.) Then they’ll say, “Really? I didn’t know you were into art, Rebecca.” And I’ll say, “Oh yes. I spend most of my free time at museums.” And they’ll give me an impressed look and say. .
Come to think of it, I’ve walked straight past the entrance. Silly me. Too busy thinking about the conversation between me and. . actually, the person I realize I’ve pictured in this little scene is Luke Brandon. How weird. Why should that be? Because I table-hopped with him, I suppose. Anyway. Concentrate. Museum.
Quickly I retrace my steps and walk nonchalantly into the entrance hall, trying to look as though I come here all the time. Not like that bunch of Japanese tourists clustering round their guide. Ha! I think proudly, I’m no tourist. This is my heritage. My culture. I pick up a map carelessly as though I don’t really need it, and look at a list of talks on things like Ceramics of the Yuan and Early Ming Dynasties. Then, casually, I begin to walk through to the first gallery.
“Excuse me?” A woman at a desk is calling to me. “Have you paid?”
Have I what? You don’t have to pay to get into museums! Oh, of course — she’s just joking with me. I give a friendly little laugh, and carry on.
“Excuse me!” she says, in a sharper voice, and a bloke in security uniform appears out of nowhere. “Have you paid for admission?”
“It’s free!” I say in surprise.
“I’m afraid not,” she says, and points to a sign behind me. I turn to read it, and nearly keel over in astonishment.
Admission ?5.00.
I feel quite faint with shock. What’s happened to the world? They’re charging for admission to a museum. This is outrageous. Everyone knows museums are supposed to be free. If you start charging for museums, no one will ever go! Our cultural heritage will be lost to a whole generation, excluded by a punitive financial barrier. The nation will be dumbed down still further, and civilized society will face the very brink of collapse. Is that what you want, Tony Blair?
Plus, I don’t have ?5. I deliberately came out with no cash except ?2.50 for my curry ingredients. Oh God, this is annoying. I mean, here I am, all ready for some culture. I want to go in and look at. . well, whatever’s in there — and I can’t!
Now all the Japanese tourists are staring at me, as if I’m some sort of criminal. Go away! I think crossly. Go and look at some art.
“We take credit cards,” says the woman. “VISA, Switch, American Express.”
“Oh,” I say. “Well. . OK.”
“The season ticket is ?15,” she says, as I reach for my purse, “but it gives you unlimited access for a year.”
Unlimited access for a year! Now wait just a minute. David E. Barton says what you’re supposed to do, when you make any purchase, is estimate the “cost per use,” which you get by dividing the price by the number of times you use it. Let’s suppose that from now on I come to the V&A once a month. (I should think that’s quite realistic.) If I buy a season ticket, that’s only. . ?1.25 a visit.
Well, that’s a bargain, isn’t it? It’s actually a very good investment, when you come to think of it.
“OK, I’ll have the season ticket,” I say, and hand over my VISA card. Hah! Culture here I come.
I start off really well. I look at my little map, and peer at each exhibit, and carefully read all the little cards.
Chalice made from silver, Dutch, 16th century
Plaque depicting Holy Trinity, Italian mid–15th century
Blue and white earthenware bowl, early 17th century
That bowl’s really nice, I find myself thinking in sudden interest, and wonder how much it is. It looks quite expensive. . I’m just peering to see if there’s a price tag when I remember where I am. Of course. There aren’t any prices here.
Which is a bit of a mistake, I think. Because it kind of takes the fun out of it, doesn’t it? You wander round, just looking at things, and it all gets a bit boring after a while. Whereas if they put price tags on, you’d be far more interested. In fact, I think all museums should put prices on their exhibits. You’d look at a silver chalice or a marble statue or the Mona Lisa or whatever, and admire it for its beauty and historical importance and everything — and then you’d reach for the price tag and gasp, “Hey, look how much this one is!” It would really liven things up.
I might write to the Victoria & Albert and suggest this to them. I am a season-ticket holder, after all. They should listen to my opinion.
In the meantime, let’s move on to the next glass case.
Carved goblet, English, mid–15th century
God, I could die for a cup of coffee. How long have I been here? It must be. .
Oh. Only fifteen minutes.
When I get to the gallery showing a history of fashion, I become quite rigorous and scholarly. In fact, I spend longer there than anywhere else. But then the dresses and shoes come to an end and it’s back to more statues and little fiddly things in cases. I keep looking at my watch, and my feet hurt. . and in the end I sink down onto a sofa.
Don’t get me wrong, I like museums. I do. And I’m really interested in Korean art. It’s just that the floors are really hard, and I’m wearing quite tight boots, and it’s hot so I’ve taken off my jacket but now it keeps slithering around in my arms. And it’s weird, but I keep thinking I can hear the sound of a cash till. It must be in my imagination.
I’m sitting blankly, wondering if I can summon the energy to stand up again, when the group of Japanese tourists comes into the gallery, and I feel compelled to get to my feet and pretend I’m looking at something. I peer
