I’m am ashamed to say that I judged a museum by its title. The Museum of English Rural Life (abbreviated to MERL) just doesn’t sound too exciting unless you have an unhealthy attraction to farm yards. I grew up in the countryside and my first word was ‘tractor’, you’d think I’d be the target audience; but I just wasn’t sold . . . it’s nice when your wrongly negative assumptions are blown away.
If I’d left my heart in Tokyo, it wouldn’t have been down by the river (don’t you know) . . . it would have been here.
I love receiving letters. In a world of instant communication there is something dramatically gratifying about being able to attach a stamped picture of the queens head to a piece of paper and it seemingly magically still makes its way to the desired destination. I had never heard of the Bath Postal Museum, but I thought ‘well why not’ and popped in; what a gem.
My family have always carved at least one pumpkin at Hallowe’en. As soon as it gets near we trudge off to weigh up the pumpkins on offer at the local supermarket, choosing one to carve. As I spooned the stringy innards of my pumpkin this year it got me thinking about how old this tradition actually is.