Down the road is the Victoria and Albert Museum. Was under the impression this was a crusty collection of teacups and petticoats. In hindsight, perhaps The British Museum Jr could be an alternative name. I browse the collection of Islamic art. The geometric motifs are abstract and pleasingly intricate. Early works portray the love of wine and love of love before Islamic art shied away from the depiction of human figures.
The cabinets of Moghul India are also worth a peek. Here the cultures of the middle-east and far-east met under the enlightened rule of emperors such as Akbar and Nur Jahan.
I also peruse a large wing dedicated to garden sculpture, very much in vogue in England in the 18th and 19th centuries, when classical form and the myths of antiquity were revived. Norse gods frown at busts of eminent Englishmen, flighty Aphrodite flirts across the room with philanthropist and quack doctor Joshua Ward, while an aged and bearded Dionysus reflects on the wonders of sobriety.
I'm already exhausted from my ramble through the Natural History Museum, so call it a day and save the rest of the V&A for another time, or another life.
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