I attended a special session of national museum directors yesterday. We met in the personal rooms of one of our number, a palatial space in the Abyssinian style, its walls glittering with gold-leaf and precious stones as befits the splendour of the incumbent.
Everything is run according to a strict protocol. The servants, dressed and masked as Egyptian gods, carry in the champagne and truffles that are served throughout the meeting. We then entered, in order of rank. Of course, because I have no collections yet, I was last.
There was only one item on the agenda, the trial of a local museum director. When we were all made comfortable and refreshed, the accused was brought forth by Anubis and Ra and tied to a chair. The charge was insubordination.
Several witnesses were called from among our ranks. One had heard the accused say that Sir N’s tie looked as though it had been used for strangling chickens. Another had seen the accused making faces, and whispering “no surprises there”, when it was announced that Sir M’s museum had been shortlisted for a prestigious award.
Our verdict was swift and unanimous. The wretched man was pronounced guilty. His punishment was the most terrible we could apply: his museum must host the “Unto Those That Have: Unwanted Gifts From The Royal Wedding” exhibition from the Royal Collection in 2012.
When he heard this, he fell to his knees. “No, not that,” he pleaded, “anything but that.” But it was too late for remorse. He was dragged away, weeping piteously.
Everything is run according to a strict protocol. The servants, dressed and masked as Egyptian gods, carry in the champagne and truffles that are served throughout the meeting. We then entered, in order of rank. Of course, because I have no collections yet, I was last.
There was only one item on the agenda, the trial of a local museum director. When we were all made comfortable and refreshed, the accused was brought forth by Anubis and Ra and tied to a chair. The charge was insubordination.
Several witnesses were called from among our ranks. One had heard the accused say that Sir N’s tie looked as though it had been used for strangling chickens. Another had seen the accused making faces, and whispering “no surprises there”, when it was announced that Sir M’s museum had been shortlisted for a prestigious award.
Our verdict was swift and unanimous. The wretched man was pronounced guilty. His punishment was the most terrible we could apply: his museum must host the “Unto Those That Have: Unwanted Gifts From The Royal Wedding” exhibition from the Royal Collection in 2012.
When he heard this, he fell to his knees. “No, not that,” he pleaded, “anything but that.” But it was too late for remorse. He was dragged away, weeping piteously.
