Oxford museums offer quirky delights without the London crowds

I have twice had the misfortune to visit London's Natural History museum during the school holidays.
Young family members pleaded, we obliged, but it wasn't great for any of us.  The dinosaur museum ... as the little people are more likely to know it ... is a case study in the perils of popularity. We all flock to see extraordinary things, until the crowds are so thick the experience becomes one of survival rather than joy.

I'm happy to say that I've found a worthy substitute in Oxford. The Natural History Museum there is a scaled-down version of its London cousin. While lacking the animatronic T Rex, it offers dinosaurs and all the other wonders you'd see in South Ken, but in quantities more suited to a youthful attention span. Without the fame and expectations of London, they also seem free to have a but more fun. As you approach the museum, you'll notice dinosaur footprints stamped across the green field in front. You've just missed one ... pop inside to see others!

With a fraction of the crowds, you'll actually be able to wander at your leisure and enjoy. Better yet, it's linked to the Pitt-Rivers Museum. This is one of the most delightfully quirky collections in the country, and a place with vast appeal for the kids. (Pictured above.)

Visiting the Pitt Rivers is like having a time machine whip you back to 1890. Though the collection has expanded considerably since the eponymous general donated his 22,000 items, you'd never know it, because the architecture and the displays are all resolutely Victorian. It's a magical eyeful from the moment you cross the threshold: A sunken ground floor packed with old display cases, two encircling levels of balconies with more treasures, and the vast space in the middle dominated by cultural artefacts like totem poles and fishing boats. It is, for any Harry Potter fan, the room of hidden things brought gloriously to life.

General Pitt Rivers' philosophy ... vastly unpopular today ... was that culture evolves from simple to complex. If you collect and study the objects from more "primitive" cultures, you can build a picture of the evolution of mankind. Thus we have items that do similar things, but are from all over the world, grouped together. Consider, for example, the case on body shaping and decoration, where a Victorian corset, Japanese foot binding equipment, African neck-stretching rings and a South Seas tattooing kit sit cheek by jowl. Forget evolution. For me, the fascination is simply to see how similar humanity is across differences of distance, time and culture.

But that's all far too esoteric for the kids. They'll love the Pitt Rivers quite simply because it's filled with cool and bizarre stuff. Shrunken heads, scary funerary masks, boats, musical instruments, saddles, dolls, card games and clothing. Don't miss the stylish cape made out of seal intestine by some enterprising Eskimos, in the case devoted to waterproof clothing. The weaponry collection on the top floor is particularly good. Who knew there was such variety in throwing weapons, or that they could be so beautiful?

I'd head for the Pitt Rivers before the Natural History museum, even though you have to cross through the first to get to the second. That's because, frankly, the Pitt Rivers is so fascinating, and stimulating, you'll want to attack it with a fresh brain.

Back in the Natural History Museum, the kids have the convenience of most of the major displays being in a single vast hall under one roof. And what an extraordinary roof it is. Gothic in style, but Victorian in construction, cast iron foliage wraps around around columns and stretches to the glass roof above. Don't forget to look up. Below, in addition to the dinosaurs and the parade of ancient mammal skeletons, don't miss the collection of beautifully taxidermised animals you can get nose to nose with. The Shetland Pony is, evidently, most popular, though my choice is the bear. There's a
brilliant Dodo bird to show you what we've recently lost, and wonderful butterfly collections to show you what's in danger. Best of all is a little free-standing cabin with a curtain. Slip inside, and you're in darkness only lit by the strange glow of different kinds of luminous rocks.

Over the years I've spent my Oxford museum time at the Ashmolean. (I've written about it here.) Another great museum in miniature, it's like a mash-up of the British Museum and the National Gallery. And it's worth your time, too. But if you have kids in tow ... or if you're in the mood for some childish fun yourself ... head across town and check out the other two.

10 reasons Winchester Cathedral outshines its rivals

Thanks to an impressive spire, a famous Constable painting, a copy of the Magna Carta and convenient positioning near Stonehenge, tourists flock to Salisbury Cathedral. The same can't be said for its near neighbour Winchester, which lies 25 miles east. (And is also the cathedral town for my part of the world). It's a real shame, as Winchester Cathedral is one of the great treasures of England in art, architecture, famous associations and great stories. Yet I know many locals who've never set foot inside the place, much less foreign tourists.

Like most of the great English cathedrals, you'll find stunning gothic architecture, an impressive choir, fascinating monuments and enthusiastic tour guides happy to show it all to you. (I've done the tour three times now with different guides, and I learn new things from each of them.) Here are 10 things that make Winchester Cathedral unique. Reasons why you, whether local or tourist, should invest the  time and money (£7.50, less for concessions) to take a proper wander around this treasure house.

Jane Austen
Cross the border into North Hampshire and the signs proudly tell you you're entering Jane Austen country. The great author lies buried inside the cathedral, an exceptional honour at the time even if she was already a well-known author. It's thought that family members with church connections pulled strings to get her here, and to place a prominent grave stone in the north aisle. Ironically, it makes no mention of her literary contributions. The glowing description of a genteel lady could apply to any of her characters, but gives no credit to their creator. A large and lavish brass plaque on the wall nearby, installed by her Victorian-era fans, addresses the oversight. You'll often see flowers here left by today's followers. There's a small exhibit here, too, that explains her connection to this part of the county.

William Walker
Like many Christian churches, Winchester took over what had been a pagan sacred space. Fine idea on the PR front, but a poor choice for construction when the sacred ground is a spring in a marsh. You can see the results best at the very back of the building, where parts of the floor undulate like the damp meadow that would have originally been here. At the turn of the 20th century, the foundations were so compromised that large sections of the cathedral were at risk. Enter William Walker, who spent six years in a primitive diving suit, working under water, in the dark, to haul bags of cement under the building to underpin the foundations. You owe your ability to visit this place to him; give thanks at his small but poignant memorial.

The crypt
Walker might have firmed up the foundations, but the sacred spring is still there and the cathedral crypt floods regularly. Modern custodians have made a feature of this. When it's covered in water (which is usually, in the winter and spring) you can stand at the gate and peer into the quiet, dignified Romanesque space where a single figure by modern sculptor Anthony Gormley is contemplating water held in his hands. It's ghostly, solemn and magnificent. When it's dry down here, there's other modern sculpture to check out. It works well against the ancient, austere backdrop.

The font
The cathedral's baptismal font is a rare survival from the 11th century. According to their web site, only 10 others of this time period exist in the whole country, and this is probably the best. In comparison with the typical gothic style of most cathedrals, the Romanesque carving here seems otherworldly and brutal. It conjures pictures of invading Vikings or Middle Earth. It's also very beautiful, its highly-polished black marble showing the story of St. Nicholas giving bags of gold to three sisters to keep them from descending to prostitution. Look at the round-arched building in the background to get a glimpse of what the cathedral probably looked like when the font was first installed.

Pre-Raphaelite stained glass
Equally rare is pre-Raphaelite stained glass. You know this artistic style, even if you don't think you do. Late Victorian beauties with pouty lips and billowing hair, generally in historical settings. Lush patterns of flora and fauna. Knights in shining armour. As the industrial age approached, William Morris and his set created a decorative style that denied modernity. Love it or hate it, it's still all around England, from the high culture of museums to the common mugs in kitchen cabinets. But I've never seen it in windows. Which is a shame, because the lush, fairy-tale quality suits them well. And is far more memorable than the usual heavy-handed Victorian re-creations of medieval originals. Go to the Epiphany Chapel to see these four windows by Edward Burne-Jones. They're bible stories, but they look more like scenes lifted from an Arthurian romance.

Chantry chapels
Most of the great cathedrals have these ornate churches-within-churches, but I think Winchester's are
some of the best and ... thanks to careful restoration ... in the best shape. Sometimes built between columns, sometimes free-standing, these towering enclosures are masterpieces of gothic architecture and stone carving. The tomb of the person who commissioned the chapel is usually in the middle; he bought this space and endowed the monks to say mass here daily to speed his soul to heaven. William of Wykeham's has been recently restored: the exterior stone glows golden, inside an astonishingly lifelike statue contemplates an exquisite blue and white gothic vault. Behind the main altar, there's the delicious irony of Cardinal Henry Beaufort ... you're not likely to forget his rank, since he managed the tricky task of lying down for eternity without taking off his wide-brimmed cardinal's hat ... entombed within sight of the monument to the woman he condemned to death. We know her as Joan of Arc. Around the corner, modern craftsmen showed off their skill by re-creating the statues on Bishop Fox's chapel so perfectly you'd never know they weren't the Tudor originals. Look out for St. George. His face is that of a local boy who died in World War I, making this a touching double memorial.

Burial place of kings
Winchester was the capital of Anglo-Saxon England, and most of the kings of that era are buried here. For years, their bones lay in ornate mortuary boxes perched atop the choir. They've currently been removed to the Lady Chapel, which is closed off and has been turned into a laboratory for DNA testing. There's not much to see now. But the results of the scientific work will undoubtedly make a great story, and the re-internment will be something to see.

The Winchester Bible
The largest surviving English bible of the 12th century, Winchester's version is so big that each cow vellum page required the skin of an entire animal. You can probably see better medieval illuminations in museums, but there's something special about getting up close to one in the setting for which it was created. The book is on display in its own pavilion in the north transept, and there are rarely many people here. So you can put your nose to the glass and really study the beautiful calligraphy and the lush illustrations, with vivid colours gained from precious materials like ground lapis lazuli and gold leaf. Only one spread is available for display at any one time, but they turn the pages occasionally to reward repeat visitors.

Pay once, get in all year
Save your ticket and your £7.50 investment allows you to explore for another 12 months. Taking the free tours as often as you wish, or simply popping in to look at one thing more closely.

Winchester itself
The town was just named the best place to live in Britain (story here), something that will come as no surprise as you walk around. It's a stately, dignified market town with plenty of views that haven't changed much since Jane Austen was here. There are other tourist sights (most notably the great hall of the old castle, the Westgate of the old city walls and a working water mill) and good shopping that includes a decent number of independent boutiques. It's become a bit of a foodie haven, with a collection of good restaurants and a sprawling farmer's market on the second and final Sunday of every month.

5 reasons Basingstoke locals should flock to The Anvil

I've just returned from our third visit to The Anvil since I moved to Basingstoke, and I left repeating the same phrase that comes up every time I go: Why don't we come here more?

The Anvil is Basingstoke's performing arts centre, named for the unusual shape of the building. It's approaching its 20th birthday, built to address a perceived "cultural desert" in the area. It has aged well, the modern lines blending well with other new development, while glass walls in the atrium take in some of the town's older architecture. Management pursues a "something for everyone" policy, with acts including stand-up comics, kids shows, musicals, pop acts and tribute bands. Of most interest to us, it has forged a reputation as one of the best classical music venues outside of London, regularly hosting touring orchestras and opera companies.

Yesterday found us at Philharmonia at the Movies, where a full orchestra plus guest mezzo soprano Heather Shipp took us on an assured and entertaining journey through the history of Oscar-winning film music.  From the opening drums and trumpets of the 20th Century Fox fanfare to heart-rending orchestral swells of Out of Africa to the closing strings of the latest James Bond film theme, it was pure fun. A feeling exacerbated by playful conductor Carl Davis, who sported outrageous tailcoats, included the audience (whistling chorus from The Bridge on the River Kwai, anyone?) and gamely offered vocals for a few comedy numbers. Classic FM host Andrew Collins compered the concert, giving insightful introductions with the same light touch he uses on his weekly At the Movies radio show.

While any classical music fan would have been delighted by the sweeping film scores and well-chosen variety, the concert was particularly engaging for children. Film scores are the perfect bridge from pop culture to classical music, and this concert was studded with recognisable favourites like the Star Wars theme and songs from The Muppet Movie, Toy Story and Frozen. (Singing along welcomed.) A great tragedy, then, that there were probably fewer than 50 kids in the audience.

In fact, I'd guess that at least a third of the auditorium's 1,400-seat capacity remained unsold. About the same as when we saw Milos Karadaglic here in 2013. (More about that here.) I can't imagine how you break even when you need to assemble and pay more than 80 performers for your show, but have that many empty seats. Especially when many of those seats ... including ours ... were booked through a last-minute sales promotion at £10 each. Great for the audience, concerning for the future of classical music.

It's a common refrain in the UK that everything good gets sucked to London. Jobs, events, culture. Here, just an hour's train ride from the capital, we have our own cultural scene that can be just as good (often, the same performers on tour) but much cheaper and more accessible. I worry that if we don't use it more, we'll lose it. Once culture is in London, travel and ticket prices make it far more exclusive. Exclusivity means shrinking audiences, which ultimately endanger survival. So, if you live in the area ... make an effort to discover classical music at The Anvil. Here are five reasons why.

A friendly starting point
Like any branch of "high culture", classical music can be intimidating if you're new to it. When to clap? What will you like? What's happening up there, and why? Touring companies make a great effort to make things accessible by offering popular music, familiar hosts who help you to understand what you're hearing, and generally work to make things fun. Snobs ... the same types who hate Classic FM's pop music format ... will call this "dumbing down". I think it's precisely the way to draw new people into music. Once they discover their enjoyment, they can move on to more challenging stuff.

Intimate environment
Compared to London's concert halls, The Anvil is tiny. A 1,400-seat auditorium (especially when it's only 2/3rds full) means easy parking and a civilised experience getting interval drinks. There are places to sit and you don't have to queue forever in the toilets. Once in the auditorium, you'll have a good seat wherever you are. You'll be close enough to see what the musicians are doing, allowing your eyes to enhance the experience of your ears. Ah! So it's a xylophone that makes that sound... Best of all, in surroundings this close the music washes over you. No matter how good home stereo equipment is, it can't equal a live performance.

Bargain prices
Even at full cost, performances at The Anvil are less than half of what you'd pay in London. The most expensive tickets are usually around £40, and you can regularly get seats for less than £20. Once on the mailing list you may get offers for discounted seats they're trying to sell at the last minute. That's how we got to our most recent concert, where two tickets plus booking fees cost us less than just one of the off-peak train tickets we would have needed to see the Philharmonia at their regular home on the South Bank.

London quality
You're paying bargain prices, but you're getting the same artists and quality of performance you'd see in London. (Coming soon: More from the Philharmonia, Nicola Benedetti, Nigel Kennedy, the Orchestra of the Age of Enlightenment.) Shows at The Anvil are often warm-up runs before big acts head to the capital for their higher-profile performances. The ease of commuting that makes Basingstoke a popular home for so many London workers works both ways; London-based artists can get down here easily for a show ... and no doubt enjoy the more casual, intimate atmosphere.

Impromptu booking
Having seen so many empty seats at both of my visits, I suspect it's usually possible to walk up the day of a performance and buy tickets. In London, things regularly sell out and you have to plan months in advance. We often pass on things we're interested in, simply because we're hesitant to block up our diary so far in advance. At The Anvil, you can make an impromptu decision to take in a concert, and probably be able to snag a last-minute seat with no problem.

All of which is why, I'm telling myself, we need to go back again soon. Hope to see you there, neighbours.

Tower's ancient ceremony casts a rare spell of history, drama

Americans tend to be fond of history and ceremony, two reasons England draws us like moths to a flame. I suspect it's the reason why, when standing with a group of more than 40 Brits outside the Tower of London on Friday night, I was one of just two people who raised my hand when asked if anyone had ever seen the Ceremony of the Keys. And I suspect I was the only one about to see it for the fourth time.

The mix of historic costume, 700-year history, atmospheric setting, military parade and limited access makes the Ceremony one of the most magical bits of heritage anyone can experience in London. It never ceases to amaze me how many Brits have never even heard of it, much less realise it's free to attend and open to all. (You just need to be organised enough to ask for tickets many months in advance.)

So what, exactly, am I talking about?

The Tower of London, as fortress, prison, palace, jewel house and mint, has always needed to take security seriously. The Ceremony is the nightly, official locking of the main gates.  The Chief Warder leaves the guardroom and walks to a point near the Traitors' Gate (where visitors are standing to watch), collects his guard, then returns to the main gate to lock up. He and the guard return to their starting point, where they're challenged by a fierce-looking sentry brandishing his bayoneted rifle.

"Who goes there?" he thunders. (A booming voice clearly being one of the requirements for military service.)

"The Keys!" the Chief Warder thunders back.

"Whose keys?"

"Queen Elizabeth's keys!"

The challenging sentry then pronounces "Pass, Queen Elizabeth's Keys ... for all is well."

The Chief Warder and his escort head up to Tower Green and the onlookers, now assured that all is right with the world, get to follow. You emerge from a medieval arch to see a bunch of soldiers gathered in formation on the steps above you. The illuminated bulk of the White Tower looms beside you, Tower Bridge forms a stunning backdrop over your right shoulder, and history draws close on every side.  The Chief Warder bellows "God Preserve Queen Elizabeth!" and everyone gets to join in with a hearty "Amen". Republicans and atheists may wish to opt out.

The business of the day done, a lone bugler plays The Last Post. It's always an evocative melody, but in this haunting setting, with the solemn, stern soldiers before you honouring their colleagues who have fallen in service, I defy you not to feel the hairs on the back of your neck stand.

At this point, visitors return as they came and get ushered out a small postern door in the main gate. The whole thing takes less than 15 minutes. Quick, but magical. Although perhaps not as magical as it was way back in 1981, when even fewer people knew about it and the palaces had yet to discover corporate hospitality. I remember standing in a small group in a steady drizzle, entranced by the Yeoman Warder and convinced I'd be able to see a ghost if I could just stay longer.

It's not quite as haunting these days, when there are a couple hundred of you, but the Yeoman Warders are still as entrancing. These long-serving soldiers meet tough service criteria, then compete through a rigorous interview process to become one of the handful chosen. They live in the Tower until their military retirement and are the face of the place for the general public. A Yeoman Warder's tour, imbued with equal measures of history, drama and humour, is one of the world's great sightseeing experiences.

On this visit I was remarkably privileged to special access because I was there with a group with Army ties. We had an hour's tour earlier in the evening, filled with all the usual tales of intrigue, violence, politics and pathos that make this place so fascinating. Except that this tour, being in the military family, had even more humour ... much of it of the insider's variety. As I approach five years of marriage to a former soldier, I now realise that the wry jokes of a Yeoman Warder's tour aren't just some scriptwriter's way to engage tourists. Humour is as hard wired into the DNA of the British Army as sharp uniforms, shoes polished to a blinding sheen and that bellow of "God Save the Queen!"

Wandering around the historic military complex in the quiet darkness, free of other tourists and with our own guide, was a real honour. It reminded me what a unique site this is, and that ... dissuaded by stories of terrible crowds ... I haven't visited it properly in well over a decade.  I need to go back to let the American tourist in me revel in more history and ceremony.

If you're interested in tickets to the Ceremony of the Keys, the general public can book here. Best to plan at least six months in advance.

Ivy Kensington delivers tradition with a bit more buzz, a bit less cost

Since the turn of the year, every friend in London's western suburbs has recommended the same restaurant when discussing nights out: The Ivy Kensington Brasserie. Unable to dodge the requests any more, we gave it a try last Friday.

I don't have an issue with The Ivy, it's just never impressed me that much. It's a go-to, dependable standard for corporate entertainment, so I've been there many times. The fact that I've never given it a full review in this blog, but only several mentions within longer articles, is telling. The best experience is probably in the private club section (which I wrote about here).

Part of the allure, no doubt, has always been that it's tough to get a table there, something the owners are doing something about by spinning off four new Ivy restaurants. They all offer the same style of Anglo/British classics, circa 1930, but are less expensive and ... crucially ... hold 40% of their tables back for walk-ins. (Although our table was booked in advance.)

The best things about the new branch on Kensington High Street are the general ambiance, and the bar. The style of the place is of a continental cafe early in the 20th century. The crowd buzzes, the waiters bustle. There's plenty of marble, wood and brass. If brought here blindfolded, upon the reveal you could easily assume you were at The Delauney on Aldwych (review here). Both staff and punters radiate the cheerful confidence of people who know life is treating them well.

There's a traditional wooden bar at the far end of the long, rectangular room, where bartenders in
white tuxedo jackets and black bow ties mix options from a wide cocktail list which combines classics and in-house inventions. I went for "a road less travelled", one of those lovely rum drinks that's so well balanced (in this case with Pernod, pineapple, raspberry and agave) you hardly suspect there's alcohol in there. It's finished with a film of cream and some edible spray onto a stencil that leaves the perfect outline of a fallen leaf on top. Pure theatre. My husband opted for a sticky toffee martini. Yes, they've translated their most famous dessert into alcohol, and it works surprisingly well. Any girl could have a lovely evening sitting at this bar, flirting with the waiters and watching the world go by.

At the table, things are as expected. Classic starters like oysters, steak tartare, smoked salmon, and chicken liver parfait match the atmosphere. The mains are generally straightforward; mostly grilled fish and steaks with shepherd's pie and fish and chips for comfort food and duck curry bringing a hint of the exotic. It's one of those places where the sides are extra (and therefore will inevitably pump up your bill), but the fried matchstick courgettes are worth every penny. On the whole, I think our starters were better than our mains, and you might be better served here going for a mix of the lighter dishes.  They also have a full egg menu (truffled eggs, eggs benedict, eggs royale, etc) that suggests this would be an ideal Sunday lunch location.

Surprisingly, the Ivy's famous sticky toffee pudding is not on the dessert menu. Instead, they seem to be trying to establish the chocolate bombe as their signature. Out comes a chocolate globe, onto which the waiter pours a stream of hot caramel sauce. The chocolate disintegrates under the onslaught, revealing a centre of vanilla ice cream studded with honeycomb. It's a showy performance, but a true dessert lover will find the balance off. There's far too much sweet, fatty cream without a contrast of crunch or sharpness. Once the show had passed, it was essentially a bowl of super-rich melted ice cream, which I wasn't inspired to finish. Which, for me, is very rare. This is a dish best shared between two, and eaten very quickly.

Prices are slightly below the mother restaurant's, with starters in the £7-£10 range and mains averaging around £16. There are bigger differences on the premium items, however. The 280g sirloin will set you back £30 at the original, but £23.50 here. It's still unlikely that you'll get out of here for less than £60 per person for three courses and a couple of drinks, but you'll feel like you got a bit of a deal in comparison to what might have been.

While I wouldn't go out of my way to come here, I understand why it's so popular with locals, and I predict these Ivy spin-offs will have a long and prosperous future.