The Museum Of Shops is sign-posted all over Eastbourne. It really whets your appetite. What an intriguing name. What could this place be? And it doesn't disappoint when you get there. It's spread over four floors in a townhouse not far from the seafront, in a quiet bit of town.

It's a massive 100,000 bit collection of, well, stuff, from the last hundred and fifty years of shops and consumption. Packaging, advertising, products, signage, clothes, ephemera, everything. The collection is crammed into themed displays with emotive mannequins acting out the part of shopkeepers. See Mr Barton in his well-stocked Grocer’s Shop. Check out the now long-gone treats available in the Sweet Shop. The Edwardian Kitchen is like a scene from Upstairs, Downstairs and the Wartime display will remind everyone large and small that we’ve never had it so good.

The focus seems to be mostly on the first half of the 20th century; if you're a thirty or forty year-old, you won't find much actual nostalgia to bathe in, but that's better in a way. You don't spend your whole time shouting 'Look! Spangles!' you actually look and think.

The museum was created by Jan and Graham Upton over a period of 50 years. They've done it really nicely. There's none of the compulsory interactivity that seems mandatory in museums nowadays. And no real attempt to create some historical context. You just gawp at the stuff and soak up the atmosphere. But it works really well, the overwhelming effect of the densely-packed sheer mass of stuff soon fades and you get to peer at the revealing little details. The tiny shop format is the perfect way to organise it – like full-size doll houses. This is a great place to pass some time.

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Posted by Russell on February 14, 2008 | Permalink | Comments (1)

Scotland’s Secret Bunker is near St. Andrews, Fife and it’s exactly the place to visit if Scotland’s weather turns momentarily inclement. You laugh at the irony of all the large signs pointing at Scotland’s Secret Bunker, you park at an unprepossessing farmhouse, near a slightly miscellaneous collection of military vehicles, you pay your fee, pass the barrier and a long, sloping tunnel leads you down into the cheap, paranoid world of the 70s.

Built in the 1950s as a safe place for government bigwigs from Edinburgh to hold Cold War pow-wows, the bunker is 40m underground. The air is purified to weed out radioactivity, gas and biological warfare and can be refrigerated/heated, ozonated/deozonated, humidified and de-humidified - whatever that means. There are so called "hot beds" in the 6 dormitories, more luxurious accomodation for the ministers, an RAF control room, and the piece-de-resistance, a telephone switchboard with 2,800 outside lines enclosed in a "Faraday cage" which is built to withstand an atomic blast. And if the red telephone should ring, there's a BBC Sound Studio for broadcasting the news of a nuclear strike to lesser-protected mortals in the outside world.

All in all, it’s an intriguing place which you expect to feel like a museum but which actually brings out a few thoughts and fears you might not have wanted to have on holiday. The slight half-heartedness of the dressed-up dummies manning the consoles and computers seems to suit the collection of shabby technology which must, once, have been state of the art, and which we presumably relied on. Part of you can’t imagine the idea that a bureaucracy would hide down here while the rest of us fried, but the bureaucracy itself seems oddly quaint; the Minister of State has generously appointed quarters, the scientific advisors have white coats and pipes, the typing’s all done by female secretaries, the café has nice checked tablecloths. One tends to think of nuclear war has something big, dramatic and American, either Dr Strangelove or some sc-fi fantasy; but this place evokes the apocalypse as administered by Reggie Perrin.

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Posted by Russell on June 16, 2006 | Permalink | Comments (1)