Postcard from the museum storage depot

One problem with museums is that they only have a limited amount of space. So visitors have to look at what has been chosen for display by the curators. Which is all very well, but when the museum actually owns thousands of other objects it's a bit of a shame. So I loved having a root around the Museums Collection Centre which is a big warehouse storing all the items owned by museums in Birmingham which aren't part of current exhibitions.

It's more akin to having a rummage around an antiques shop than going to a museum. Items are arranged more by whether they fit the storage space than their relation to the object next to them. So a carved horse from a merry-go-round sits next to some engine parts; empty gilt frames lean against a model of the canal network in the Black Country. Wandering at random down aisles stacked like a surreal warehouse, or peering into cabinets packed with odd assortments of household items, sparks ideas and memories.

There's a writing workshop as part of the Birmingham Book Festival this year in which you could spend the night locked in this place. I'd love to read some of the work produced on the night, but you couldn't persuade me to stay overnight. Who knows what's lurking in among the artefacts to jump out after dark?

Postcard from the removal van

Apologies for the lack of posts. I've been moving home and am currently without internet access. It was distressing to see all my worldly goods crammed into a van; but they have now arrived safely at my new place.

I do have more attractive pictures to share from recent outings and will do so once my broadband goes live. Watch this space!

Postcard from Salcombe

I'm lazy. I don't deny it. So if I'm going to climb steep hills there needs to be a reward involved. Fortunately for Salcombe, the view delivered from the top and the short boat trip across the estuary to sandy beaches drenched in late afternoon sun meant I felt the expedition to the bottom worth it when faced with the million steps back up to the car. Well, it felt like a million.

I admit it: I also can't deny that having partaken of tea and cake at the beach side cafe may have may have made the climb more arduous. But what are holidays for if not indulgence?

Postcard from my post bag

OK, so I make a lot of fuss about postcards, to the extent that several of my friends and family are kind enough to continue to include me in their travels by sending a card rather than email, text or silence. The above arrived in the last month or so and each brightened my day with its vicarious visit to Barcelona, Yorkshire and a Greek beach. From the article and comments here it's obvious I'm not the only one to still delight in them (the comment about 'middle-aged or elderly' rankled a little, have I really crossed that line?)

Last week I went to a preview of a show which will be at the Edinburgh Fringe Festival this month: Me, Myself and Miss Gibbs - the story of an investigation inspired by a postcard of Lincoln Cathedral sent in 1910. See? Postcards as life-changing dramatic device!

If you think it's just a photo of a beach, you're missing out. I'm off for a mini-break in Devon this weekend, anyone fancy a card?

Postcard from the food festival

You might think the ideal food festival starts with a literal interpretation of the name. Food in a festival setting, what's not to like? There's no denying that the addition of a 12 foot high lobster riding in a cart towed by a man in hunting regalia livens things up a little though.

The food was good, as was the drink. The entertainment seemed to be straightforward: cooking demos and a jazz band, until things took a turn towards surreal...

Postcard from the path

I've posted from Winterbourne before, but it's the kind of place which rewards a visit in all seasons. In fact, the cafe rewards a visit full stop.

You already know the only gardening I do is in the line of admiration rather than action, and that I'm fond of a cake, so what's new? Well, Winterbourne is owned by the University of Birmingham - a fine educational establishment which saw fit to confer a degree upon me - and both are in Edgbaston, which I've recently heard is the leafiest suburb in Western Europe.

Birmingham likes these kinds of claims. While other cities  make a lot of noise about how special they are, Birmingham comes up with fascinating facts such as 'more canals than Venice' (true, but hardly comparing like with like), or 'more parks than Paris'. And now the leaves. What I want to know is: who counted?

There are a lot of trees in Edgbaston and I'm thrilled my degree came with added leaf quotient. Another fact: last year a record number of tourists came to Birmingham. My top tip for visitors: take a stroll down this garden path and check out the cakes.

Postcard from the Pantheon

Two thousand years old and yet it's the most impressive dome I've ever seen. Yes, I've visited the one in London; so the standard was set fairly low! The fact the Pantheon in Rome is still standing and looks so fresh is a wonder in itself even before you get round to realising how nice it is in there.

It just shouldn't work. The only light comes through that hole in the roof, and that hole in the roof lets in rain. Any architect proposing the design would be deemed insane. Inside though, it's fresh, calm and beautiful.

These days it's a Catholic church and there are some altars and tombs of significance. All I could do however was look up.