I am sad to note an epic fail on the daily posting, crushing exhaustion seems to have got the better of me. I have let you down, and I have let myself down. Which is a shame, since you are missing out on all manner of excitement, uplifting tales of human triumph over adversity and baby animals. Yes, that is a lie, well spotted.
I am sure there must be something to relate though. We went to the Belgian Museum of Boring Tanks this weekend, which I am comforted to say that all members of the party seemed to hate in equal measure. Something is going right with my parenting; I would be terribly alarmed to end up with one of those children who like wearing fatigues and keep copies of Guns & Ammo under their bed. That was a classic mode of rebellion at Quaker school, predictably, so I knew several in my youth. We scored the Boring Tank Museum as follows:
Sword displays: 6
("like a peacock's tail" said Lashes, poetically, before losing interest entirely and trying to kick a hole in Napoleon III's camp bed)
Quantity of Belgian flags: 10
Ridiculous helmets: 6
Disturbing tableaux intended to represent hunger on the Western Front: 9
Officious staff: 2
Wide open spaces to play with Fingers's new love, his impressively low-tech wind-up radio controlled car (he is holding it in a vicelike grip in that photo up top): 8
I have a great fondness for museums that have stubbornly failed to move with the times and introduce interactivity and fun. This was a classic of the genre with many rooms filled with dusty, forbidding display cases filled with pieces of metal. Actually, the one attempt at creativity - a first world war trench rendered in decaying hardboard, with a few modest explosion noises sent Lashes into a terrified tailspin, so it was doubtless a mercy the rest of the displays were untouched since 1957. There was a rather brilliant café in a dusty, freezing hangar full of aeroplanes which had also made no concessions to modernity, and perfectly replicated a yellowing provincial bar for elderly alcoholics. The whole thing was very reminiscent of the Railway Museum in York, another freezing, poorly lit hangar in which I have spent far too much of my life, though at least the Boring Tank Museum was policed by dashing members of the Belgian army in pretty blue serge uniforms telling you not to touch the delicate armoury, not doughy, grey, train fanciers.
Amusingly, the people we went with were Really Into That Weaponry Shit and I was forced to nod and smile politely at a great deal of torpedo factoids. My children made no such effort, initially speculating at how they would avoid conscription in the event of a Belgian war (they believe themselves to be Belgian), then rolling their eyes and stage whispering "this is boring when can we leave", and finally repairing to a bench to squabble about their ridiculous coloured elastic bands. The collective relief was great at 4pm when we were unceremoniously kicked out by a gentleman with a luxuriant moustache, saying "We close now. You must go".
Anyway, I seem to have contracted a mild case of hopelessness in the Museum of Boring Tanks, meaning that I have spent much of the weekend trying to find small dark spaces to curl up in, only to be poked awake to sort out fights about single cubes of Lego. I did not post, forgive me. I promise to do better even though I have set myself an implausible deadline this week that will be haunting my every waking moment.
How was your weekend? Or what's your favourite shit museum?