Storehouse East offers intriguing peek behind the V&A's scenes

London’s cultural landscape has a bold new addition — the Victoria and Albert Storehouse East. Calling it a “museum” is a misnomer. This is something different: part working warehouse, part offices, part restoration laboratories, yet open for the public to wander through.

It’s a place that invites you not just to look at objects from the V&A’s vast collection, but to see how a major museum actually works.

Most museums have far more in their collections than they can ever display. The V&A is no exception. To house its overflow, it built this new warehouse — but with an imaginative twist. Rather than hiding everything from view, the V&A chose to let visitors wander through, to glimpse treasures alongside everyday artefacts, and to think about object histories in a new way.

WHERE FUNCTION MEETS WONDER
At first glance, the Storehouse feels like a curious hybrid of a museum and a logistics hub. Placement of objects seems random, until you learn that they're stored by size, weight, material, and fragility — each on its own pallet, secured so that forklifts can retrieve them when needed. In places it resembles a very posh furniture showroom. Italian Renaissance cassoni (wedding chests) share space with Victorian and mid-century pieces. Across the aisle might be old radio sets, or ethnic costumes, or kitchen wares.

One unexpected delight for me was seeing my elementary school furniture in a museum. I knew our nuns were unusually connected to the modern world, but didn't realise that the stuff we loved to play on in our assembly hall was contemporary high design: pastil chairs by Finnish designer Eero Aarnio. The ovoid, fibreglass seats wobbled, rocked, and slid quickly across the room's carpet. Unaware they were anything worthy, we played games of giant croquet with the lucky students getting to ride in the chairs as we slid them at each other. After that treatment, I doubt any of the set from Oak Hill School ended up in good enough condition for a museum. Clearly, no gang of energetic 10-year-olds ever came near the pristine example in the Storehouse.

Far more visitors are likely to be excited about the David Bowie Collection. The boundary-defining artist donated his professional archives to the V&A when he died. You can take an intellectual approach and dig into his creative processes, or just revel in the fun of glam rock. But if you want to see it, book your place. Like the rest of the V&A, admission is free, but capacity is limited and usually fills up in advance, so booking is essential.

RESCUED TREASURES
Some items are genuinely astonishing. The Torrijos Ceiling is one of my favourites: a magnificent carved wooden dome in Moorish style from the time of Ferdinand and Isabella. Like so much in the V&A it's architectural salvage: rescued from a palace near Toledo that was demolished in the early 20th century. 

Another example of rescue and renovation is the Agra Colonnade, four arches held up by five columns, all lavishly decorated with inlaid stone flowers and foliage. This, like the Taj Mahal, was built for Shah Jahan and is in much the same style, but had been part of his bath house. That building was destroyed and pillaged for materials over centuries of conflict on the sub-continent, with no recognisable colonnade left by the time the English were in charge. In the late 19th century the British governor of the province suggested the fragments should be collected and sent to England for display on the condition that the V&A restored the pieces to their former glory. It must have been quite a puzzle. If you don't plan to go to India, this may be as close to the magic of the Taj Mahal as you can get. 

What makes Storehouse East truly special is the way it peels back the curtain on museum life. You can see curators at work, repairing historic costumes or cleaning paintings, and look at a display of how curators make bespoke mounts to display fragile objects. 

GETTING THERE & WHAT TO EXPECT

Storehouse East sits on the edge of the old Olympic Park in east London, about a mile’s walk from Stratford station. Buses serve the area but were remarkably slow when we visited. It took us a full hour to get to the Storehouse from Waterloo.

Remember this is a working building to which you have guest access rather than a place designed for a visitor experience. Visitors who have issues with heights should be aware that all the walkways on upper levels are metal mesh and you can see through them; typical for a warehouse but challenging for some. Unlike the main V&A in South Kensington, you won’t find a gift shop, interactive exhibits, copious benches or a variety of restaurants. There’s a café at entrance level, but it’s very basic; you’re better served going across the street to Clarnico Coffee, which has a cozy, greenhouse vibe and a decent variety of food.

You'll probably spend no more than an hour wandering here, a bit more if you get tickets to the Bowie collection or arrange access to view particular items. 

If you're a visitor to London, I'd still prioritise the main V&A in South Kensington. The Storehouse is a footnote, not a main event. If you have limited time and you're concentrating your visit on central London, don't underestimate travel time.  If you know the V&A well already, this is an exciting enhancement of the experience ... though you might only visit once. And if you happen to live in the booming modern developments around the site of the 2012 Olympics, then you're lucky to have a quirky cultural attraction on your doorstep.

Royal splendour, maximalist style links Edwardian and Marie Antoinette shows in London

On the surface, Edwardian England and the French court of Marie Antoinette might seem worlds apart.

One is the gilded peak of Britain’s industrial boom, the other the glittering excess of pre-revolutionary France. Yet both are united by a devotion to beauty, luxury, and the arts — royal courts that embraced a maximalist ethos, showering wealth on jewels, fine books, decorative objects, and the latest fashions. The key difference? The Edwardians were atop a society whose middle and upper-middle classes were thriving and keen to emulate them, while the French monarchs remained utterly distant from its people, blind to the brewing social unrest that would ultimately topple them. 

There is, perhaps, a cautionary tale in Marie Antoinette’s story about the perils of extreme inequality.I recently had the chance to explore exhibitions celebrating these two very different worlds on the same day — The Edwardians at the King’s Gallery at Buckingham Palace and Marie Antoinette Style at the V&A — and I was struck by how the two courts’ obsessions with style, comfort, and spectacle shaped not just their own lives, but entire eras of taste.

Edwardian Elegance: When royals set British style
If you love the Gilded Age, The Edwardians exhibition is a feast. Housed in the King’s Gallery, it charts the era from Edward VII’s marriage to Alexandra of Denmark in 1863 through World War I, focusing on the artistic lives of two glamorous royal couples: Bertie and Alexandra, and their son George and his wife Mary.

Alexandra’s early influence is evident in the Danish touches that adorned England’s royal homes — stunning Copenhagen scenes, Royal Copenhagen porcelain, and exquisite silver. These were collectors who delighted in decorative gewgaws and books alike: from Meissen monkeys in an orchestra of whimsy to a beautiful example from the William Morris Press, the craftsmanship and artistry on display is extraordinary.

For me, the exhibition had a deeply personal resonance. One of my husband’s ancestors was a member of the Danish court who came to England with Alexandra and became governess to the princesses. Among the treasures on display are watercolours by Queens Alexandra and Mary. Hanging on our bedroom wall are watercolours by the three princesses, gifts to their governess. It was exciting to see the similarity in style and imagine the women sharing a teacher and painting excursions.

Maximalism was the rule of the day. Alexandra’s coronation robes were adorned with metallic threads and the flowers of the nations, a motif she introduced, while Mary’s jewellery continues to dazzle in the Royal collection. Travel also played a role in shaping taste: from New York to India, South Seas, and Australia, souvenirs and artistic encounters enriched the royal aesthetic. And yet, as visually sumptuous as it was, the Edwardian world was fated to collapse with the advent of World War I.

Marie Antoinette Style: Rise, fall and reinvention
Hopping over to the V&A, I travelled 20 minutes west and 150 years backwards to the world of France's most famous queen. I was prepared for a show heavy on modern fashion, light on history — perhaps because of the Manolo Blahnik sponsorship and promotional photos that were almost entirely of modern fashion. Instead, I found a deeply immersive historical experience. I’d guess that more than 65% of the exhibition focuses on the queen herself, charting her life through clothing, accessories, and the material culture of the French court.

The exhibition opens with a dazzling array of 18th-century costumes — most not belonging to the queen but conveying the extraordinary opulence of the age. There are outrageous diamonds, jewelry cases brimming with bling, towering hairstyles, and even the queen’s piano. One striking section lets visitors explore scent in the palace, a sensory detail often overlooked in historical exhibitions.

The story moves beyond objects to Marie Antoinette’s legacy: her vilification in pamphlets and caricatures, her imprisonment, and eventual death, followed by her posthumous rehabilitation. The English and Empress Eugenie played key roles in restoring the queen’s image, linking her name to luxury, culture, and fashion. Finally, the exhibition pivots to contemporary couture inspired by Marie Antoinette — costumes from film, installation art, and high fashion — a reminder that her style remains iconic centuries later. Unlike the Edwardians, however, she didn’t live to see her world change. It came crashing down with revolution, a violent punctuation to opulence untempered by social awareness.

Two Courts, Two Fates
Comparing and contrasting the two exhibitions is compelling. Both courts relished beauty, both spent lavishly on art, fashion, and decoration, and both eventually faced their reckoning. The opulence of Edwardian England died— metaphorically and literally with the slaughter of WWI — but many of its key players lived on to reinvent themselves in a more sober age. Meanwhile, Marie Antoinette’s court ended abruptly and brutally, and was vilified for years before it was resuscitated to for other purposes. Fortunately we don’t have to pay any price for indulgence other than admission fees. Both exhibitions reward that investment with sensory delight.

In terms of presentation, the V&A takes the crown: soundscapes, scent, and immersive displays transform the Marie Antoinette show from mere exhibition into a multi-sensory experience. The Edwardians, by contrast, offers a quieter, reflective feast of objects, drawings, and family histories — equally rich but more contemplative. You feel much more of a sense of getting to know Bertie, Alexandra and their families, while Marie Antoinette remains more “celebrity” than authentic human throughout.

For those who want to explore both worlds, hurry up: the Edwardians closes on 23 November. You have much more time for Marie Antoinette Style, which runs until 22 March 2026. A side-by-side journey offers a rare opportunity to compare courtly maximalism across centuries, in Britain and France, and to reflect on the social forces that shape — and may eventually topple — even the most glittering of worlds.

You can find short films by me on both of these exhibitions on my Facebook, Instagram or TikTok accounts. Follow the last for the most extensive, up-to-date content.

V&A’s Donatello blockbuster brings wonder, beauty and Tuscan sun to South Kensington

Ask the proverbial "people on the street" to name a sculptor from the Italian Renaissance, and even the ones without a trace of interest in art history stand a good chance of coming up with the name Michelangelo. He and his David are so big, they've crossed into pop culture. Go back a century and a half, however, and the answer would have been different. Donatello would have dominated the consciousness back then, just as he had in the four hundred years since his death.

It's not hard to see why Michelangelo connected with the 20th century: rebel, sculptor of muscle-bound figures of power, portrayer of brutal force and raw emotion, immortalised as a restless, troubled genius in modern book and film. But if you want to really touch the spirit of the Renaissance, from its obsession with classical elegance to its love affair with beauty and humanism to the very warmth of its sun-baked piazzas, Donatello is your man. 

The Victoria and Albert Museum's new exhibition, Donatello: Sculpting the Renaissance, sets out to prove that point, and does so with style. 

Curators divide their cavernous main space into three sections with arches, walls and loggias, so you find yourself in an abstract distillation of a Tuscan townscape. The first part explores the young Donatello and the workshop system that trained him. There’s work from plenty of names you probably don’t know here, all beautiful, showing the collaborative spirit of the age and the way all the artists influenced each other. We learn about, and see an excellent video on, the jewellery making that was … like many other Renaissance craftsmen… Donatello’s first trade. Many feel that starting at such a fine, intricate scale is what gave the sculptor his virtuosity when he moved to larger scale works, particularly his bronzes. 

The heart of the show is pure Donatello, with free-standing figures, portrait busts, tombs and relief sculptures contributed from museums across Europe. Florence’s Bargello has been particularly generous, but this show started with them and came through Berlin before its triumphal conclusion in London.

The exhibition closes with a look at Donatello’s outsized impact on the art world, particularly in the century after his death and in the huge Renaissance revival of the 19th century. It’s amusing to see the counterfeits in this section created to sate a voracious hunger for the artist. And there are works from as late as the 1920s that exactly copy his style.

While Donatello worked across central Italy, he was indelibly a son of Florence. Any visitor to the cradle of the Renaissance will have seen so much of his work on plinths, walls and in niches, standing amidst so many other wonders of the age, that it’s possible to take it all for granted. The real glory of this show is the way it takes works out of their sensory-flooding contexts and stands them alone, allowing you to fully appreciate just how remarkable they are.

I don’t think anyone in art has been as good at capturing the contradictions of boys on the brink of manhood. Here we’re treated to two Davids, a Saint George and a John the Baptist, all shown as teenagers at that exquisite stage just before their elegant, androgynous features are rewritten by manhood. They exude that curious mix of confidence and doubt, power and fear, one foot in reality and one in some dreamy nether world so distinctive of the age group. The details on St. George’s armour are particularly impressive, reminding us of Donatello the jeweller. So beautiful is the young man in his martial glory we can forgive the fact that the dragon looks as menacing as a golden retriever.

But Donatello isn’t a one trick pony. His women are just as beautiful as his men, shown off by a whole wall of Madonnas and their children. The mothers are ethereal, soft and warm despite the stone they’re made of. The children are plump and adorable. You want to reach out and wiggle a toe or squeeze a fat little thigh. His mastery of children is at its height, however, in a series of spiritelli. (This was a new term for me. Why these frolicking winged children aren’t cherubs or putti is a nuance I can’t explain.) It’s as if someone covered fat, gorgeous babies at peak giggle with a thin coat of bronze to preserve them forever.

He doesn’t just do feel-good art. There are wizened, life-beaten men in a series of portrait busts, a classical form Donatello helped revive. The bronze Christ on loan from the cathedral of Padua is heart-rending in its emaciated pain. An over-sized head of a classical god is as frightening as he is attractive. And yet these, too, are all wondrously beautiful. 

Your jaw is most likely to drop, however, when you look hard at Donatello’s relief sculptures. A relief is a sculpture that rises out of a flat background rather than standing on its own; think of the raised images on a coin. Donatello is credited with inventing a technique called rilievo schiacciato, a kind of squashed relief … the whole thing only a few millimetres deep … where the artist manages to show many layers of depth.

The best example of this is a panel depicting the ascension of Christ, carved from snowy Carrara marble. The exhibition is using this as its lead image in marketing but photography can’t convey its wonder. Christ, Mary and the apostles occupy three different planes. Angels and putti are on at least two more in the background. And then the landscape recedes, in wave after wave of hills, with tiny but perfect town walls barely scratched into the marble. All created from a piece of stone no thicket than your thumb. Elsewhere the receding background is layer upon layer of architecture, while in front a crowd watches St. Francis offer communion to a donkey. (One of his more delightful legends.) That one is in bronze, as is a Crucifixion where crowds, architecture, angels and distinctive Italian umbrella pines draw your eyes ever deeper into the complex scene.

This last relief hangs in the section on Donatello’s legacy, beside copies by followers that are beautiful, but can’t quite compare to the master’s combination of technical perfection and mastery of beauty. That didn’t stop them from following in his footsteps. Much of the look and spirit that defines the Renaissance emerged beneath Donatello’s chisels over more than 60 years of productive work. Everyone that came after studied him, including a young man who would have copied Donatello’s works in the Medici gardens when he started his own training some twenty years after the master’s death. His first work would be a rilievo schiacciato of madonna and child with winged putti occupying various planes of a receding background. Very Donatello. Except the figures are more muscular. More masculine, even though they’re children and a young mother. Michelangelo had arrived. But he wouldn’t have gained his current fame had he not stood on the shoulders of the earlier master.

Donatello: Sculpting the Renaissance is on at the Victoria & Albert Museum until 11 June. Reviews have been universally ecstatic, so weekends are likely to sell out. 

Cast off for luxury with the V&A's lavish Ocean Liners show

Government policies have a way of triggering unexpected consequences.

In the 1920s the United States, worried by immigration, cut the flow by putting tight quotas in place. For almost 70 years, ocean liners had been making a tidy profit packing their ships out with third class and steerage passengers leaving Europe for a better life. When that market evaporated, they turned their attention to the wealthy. First class had always been there, of course. But from the '20s through the arrival of commercial air travel, all the effort went into enticing the upper crust to take, and enjoy, long sea journeys. Thus came the golden age of the great ocean liners.

And there's your explanation for why the Victoria and Albert's new show, Ocean Liners: Speed and Style, won't give you much about the experience my ancestors had crossing to America, or what it was like to work on these giants. This is a show about style and glamour, a reputation now so ingrained that even the cheapest and cheerfullest of today's cruise ships still play on it as they pack thousands on board. Our fantasies will always live in first class, however, and that's what the V&A delivers with its usual panache.

After a brief introduction and a bit on marketing ... including a fascinating and beautiful range of posters and brochures ... we dive into the interiors. The great ocean liners were, quite literally, flagships for their national reputations, attracting their best designers and often receiving government funds. From the first late 19th-century interiors on display we see distinctive national styles emerging. The Germans went for bold, showy nationalism. The French for royal opulence. (Yes, there's Louis XIV's sun king emblem wrought into the ironwork of The France) The Brits are more subtle, letting the internationalism of their style remind travellers of scope of empire: William de Morgan tiles evoking the paradise gardens, exotic mosques and palaces of Arabia; Chinese themed lounges with lacquer walls; marquetry panelling with an array of hard woods from British possessions in. From the inter-war years, both the Americans and the Italians start to show their flair for modernism.

Early ocean liners made their first class passengers feel at home with interiors similar to the chateaux and country houses they occupied on land. Beautiful, but derivative. A more distinctive style developed after World War I, when the need to replace ships destroyed when doing war service combined with the world's desire to embrace the new. Art Deco perfectly matched the brief, and perhaps found its greatest expression in the floating palaces of the inter-war years.

We're treated to chairs, carpets and decorative items from the Queen Mary, Britain's pinnacle of the style now preserved and moored permanently in Long Beach, California. The ship's Catholic altarpiece and Torah cabinet, displayed side-by-side and both given Art Deco interpretations, remind us how every aspect of life was catered for. It's all quite subtle compared to the French interpretation. The Normandie only operated for four years before it was commandeered as an American troop carrier and burned in New York harbour during its conversion. Luckily that was after its luxe interiors had been removed, so we're treated to a variety here including a towering metallic wall mural of exercising youths and a range of fixtures and fittings. If you missed the point of the opulence, a film capturing life on board drives it home. It makes the German artefacts nearby look dowdy in comparison, though you can indulge in the uncomfortable fascination of watching everyone fall all over themselves to delight Hitler as he toured their flagship entry into the liner race.

After a hiatus during World War II, when many liners were once again pressed into military service, the grand ships saw a final flowering. There's a room of gorgeous 1950s modernism, heavy on Italian contributions. Perhaps a hint towards why so many of today's ships are built in Italy? The labels don't say. My favourite item in the room, however, is a glass panel from the SS United States etched with waving coral to give you the illusion you were under the sea, matched with the clean lines of a glass and steel cocktail table. The ship's interiors were designed by an all-female firm;  given the 1951 date, I would have liked to have known more about those trend setters.

Up until this point the displays had all been lavish treats for the eyes, but I'd been disappointed by the traditional presentation. Unlike the V&A's outstanding Opera show late last year, there was no audio guide, no accompanying soundtrack and no innovative signage. All very old school. Turns out they were saving the fun for the massive, penultimate room of the exhibition.

After passing through a room on engineering ... interesting but seemed at odds with the design focus of the rest ... you emerge onto the promenade deck. The entire wall to your right has been turned into a single projection of a sunny seascape with a liner occasionally crossing it. Deck chairs and a frosted glass version of a pool are to your left, where stylised bathing beauties show off a history of swimwear to the occasional sound of splashing. Beyond, a double-height room stretches before you, dominated in the centre by tall screens showing gorgeous flappers and their escorts in white tie and tails striding down a "grande descente".  (The central staircase was considered an essential part of any grand liner, and still features on most modern cruise ships.)

The room around this showpiece is dedicated to life on board. While music of the Jazz Age plays, Normandie. With six options including a vegetarian regime for the pooch trying to watch its weight; though I think my boys would prefer Le Regal de Sweeney with viande hachee, carottes, epinards et toasts.

you get to wander through marvellous clothes, luggage, jewellery and a section dedicated to food on board. There's an exquisitely-beaded flapper-era dress here that proves clothing can be art, and a diamond tiara given added lustre by the story of its rescue by a diligent lady's maid as the ship went down. But surely the greatest testament to the luxury of a world gone by is the dog menu from the

The exhibition ends with a gallery devoted to ocean liners in the popular imagination. At its centre, "floating" on waves created by dappled light, is the largest single artefact ever recovered from the Titanic: an ornate piece of carved panelling from one of the first class lounges. And there, on a movie screen behind it, we see the scene from the eponymous film where Jack hauls Rose onto a piece of floating panelling to get her out of the freezing water. You may not like the film, but you have to give James Cameron credit for historical accuracy. The prop is an exact copy of the piece before you. Elsewhere in the gallery we're reminded of the design legacy ships left back on land, and see more clips of films set aboard. I thought The Love Boat was sadly lacking ... surely the biggest definer of the magic of cruising to my childhood imagination ... but sponsor Viking Cruises may have over-ridden the reference to competitor Princess Lines.

Corporate sponsorship rarely gets more appropriate than this pairing. I've admired Viking's marketing since I first ran into their costumed Norse raiders standing beside their sponsored garden at the Hampton Court Flower Show. As a company that targets affluent, mature adults and emphasises local culture as part of the experience, their association with museums and classical music around the world makes perfect sense. (In the same weekend I toured Ocean Liners in London, friends in New York were seeing a Viking-Sponsored Downton Abbey exhibition.) It seemed unfair that Viking's only tangible presence in the exhibition itself was a model of one of their ocean-going ships, with a label that gave a nod to their interior design but nothing further to show it.

As I've experienced myself, Viking is obsessed by design. Their ships are elegant fusions of modernity and tradition, filled with thoughtful design details drawn from their Scandinavian roots. An etched glass panel or elegant chair from one of their Winter Gardens (above), or even a series of fabric swatches and a few light fixtures, would have brought the design ethos celebrated in the show right up to the modern day. You may no longer pack your tiara, nor can you bring your dogs for their own menu, but the obsession with style and elegance explored in this show is still alive, well and floating on the high seas ... if you know where to look.

13 sightseeing bargains in London

The prolonged weakness of the pound against the dollar is clearly having an effect: I've heard from more American acquaintances scheduled to visit London this year than in the past four put together.

London is still bracingly expensive for most visitors, however, so everyone is on the lookout for inexpensive sightseeing options. This normally means museums: we have extraordinary collections and, unlike the rest of Europe, they're almost all free. But what if you're not a museum person? If a big of culture is fine, but too much is no fun? Here are 13 options that are either free, or under a tenner, in the English capital.

ONE: MUSEUM DINING ROOMS

Let's start with museums, but not for the reason you think. A handful of our great institutions also have some of the best bars and dining rooms in London; they can be great places to dine with ceremony at a reasonable cost. I have three favourites. The dining rooms at the Victoria and Albert Museum were purpose built to go along with the building and are masterpieces of Edwardian splendour. And their cafeteria-style food isn't bad. Tate Modern's bar and restaurant in the original building, not the new extension, has stunning views over the Thames to St. Paul's Cathedral. Food's a bit expensive for what you get but if you can linger over a drink it's tremendous value. The Portrait Restaurant at the National Portrait Gallery has a unique view over the roof to Trafalgar Square. This is getting pricey, but they often have packages ... especially if you dine early.

TWO: THE MITHRAEUM

I haven't been here yet, but you can descend to the basement of the new Bloomberg HQ building to see the remains of a Roman temple and other artefacts from Roman London. This is the result of a recent dig when they tore an old building down to erect the new. The marshy riverbed below preserved things exceptionally. It's supposed to be fascinating, and is free ... you just need to reserve a place. https://www.londonmithraeum.com/

THREE: A RICH AMERICAN'S OFFICE

When William Waldorf Astor moved to London he "went native" by building a Thames-side estate Three and Four Musketeers, his favourite books. It's now the HQ of a charity and only open a few months early in each year for special exhibitions. Free. (The 2018 show is on the Jazz Age.) You don't have to do the "museum-y" bit, though. You can just turn up and wander around the building, which may look familiar from its regular use in television drama. It most famously appeared as the venue for Lady Rose's wedding in Downton Abbey. https://twotempleplace.org/

office that was completely over-the-top in its traditional European architecture. It's a very personal building designed to his specifications. The main stair, for example, is decorated with hand-carved figures from the

FOUR: THE SKY GARDEN (top photo)

In order to get planning permission these days, builders need to give something back to the general public. 20 Fenchurch Street in The City (known to locals as "the walkie talkie) did this by turning its top four floors into an enormous conservatory. The "Sky Garden" features temperate tropical plants on a series of terraces. The low point overlooking the Thames has an observatory deck, and there are great views of London as you go around the whole thing. There's a bar on the main floor and two restaurants rising through the terraces in the centre (both good but expensive). It's free to get into the garden but you must book in advance, bring proof of your reservation and have ID.  https://skygarden.london/

FIVE: THE OLYMPIC PARK

London is full of magnificent parks and gardens. St. James' park is probably the most picturesque, Hyde Park has the most elements inside it (like Central Park in New York City). But if you want to try something quirkier, why not hop the Jubilee Line down to the Olympic Park? They've taken the landscaping very seriously and the architecture of the sports venues is impressive. It may also be interesting for a tourist, who's usually immersed in olde worlde London, to see a part of town that's entirely modern. This part of East London was redeveloped for the Olympics and is now a cluster of gleaming towers around a massive mall and entertainment complex. Free to wander around, though there are some attractions that charge to get in. http://www.queenelizabetholympicpark.co.uk/

SIX: RIVER TRAVEL

Everyone should see London from the river, its lifeline for so much of its history. The typical tourist jaunt involves booking a return journey to Greenwich from Westminster Pier. Greenwich is a great day out and there's lots to see between the museums and a charming town centre. But there are cheaper options for getting onto the river. The Tate to Tate boat takes visitors from Tate Britain to Tate Modern for about £5. http://www.tate.org.uk/visit/tate-boat Transport for London also runs river buses; these are not included in your travel card but it does give you a discount which brings their fares down to a few pounds https://tfl.gov.uk/modes/river/about-river-bus

SEVEN: THE GLOBE THEATRE

One of the pricier things on my list! You'll need £10 per person to tour the Globe theatre complex, which includes the main stage (a copy of Shakespeare's own theatre, open air, built with traditional craftsmanship; the Wanamaker (indoor, intimate, candlelit Jacobean theatre in reproduction) and a very good Shakespeare exhibit that's as much about the phenomenon of Shakespeare and the theatre project as it is about the Bard and his work. Definitely check the web site first, though, because they close parts depending on what's in rehearsal. http://www.shakespearesglobe.com/ Productions tend to sell out well in advance, especially in the Wannamaker, but being a groundling in the pits can cost as little as £5. Which means that if you're not into the full production, you can have the experience and slip away when you've lost interest.

EIGHT: LONDON WALKS

Another £10 splurge! You can find lots of walking tours in London these days but London Walks are the original and the best. They're led by fabulously informed guides on all topics, usually either actors or academics who do this to bring in some extra cash. And because they love it. Everyone flocks to Jack the Ripper but I'd recommend Legal London, Mayfair and any of their pub crawls. You just turn up at the right meeting point, hand over your cash and go. http://www.walks.com/

NINE: PUBS

Speaking of pubs ... pubs are as much a part of the historic fabric of London as cathedrals, museums and palaces. Do a bit of internet research and you'll find scores of "best of" lists. Everyone has their favourites. Mine include, for professional reasons, Ye Olde Cheshire Cheese (it's a dive, but Johnson, Boswell, Addison and Steele drank here; it's the world's first journalists' bar); The Black Friar (art nouveau masterpiece on the theme of monks making wine); Cittie of Yorke (late Victorians' idea of what a medieval pub would have looked like, like the set of an Errol Film flick); The Grenadier (former army officers' mess tucked away in Belgravia in some of the priciest real estate in London, stay late and look in windows on your way home for a view of how the 1% live); The Viaduct (proper Victorian gin palace with lots of brass and smoked glass). Note that while pubs have upped their game on the food stakes, the most picturesque ones often don't make an effort on the food front ... because they don't need to. They'll do fine burgers, chilli, pies, etc. for a reasonable price. "Gastropubs" are all about the food. Many are delicious (The Orange on Pimlico Road is a favourite) but you'll easily push past £50 for a 3-course meal and some drinks.

TEN: THE CITY

The City of London is just a square mile, home to so much history, but few tourists spend much time here after checking out St. Paul’s and the Tower. It’s a great place to wander. Gorgeous Wren churches, the Museum of London (free, fun), Leadenhall Market (Victorian wonder, now mostly restaurants), lots of great Victorian pubs. All the history is wedged in between modern spikes of steel and glass. You’ll have little tourism competition and there’s not even much road traffic. Just lots of office workers. Cross over London Bridge to Southwark to wander through Borough Market, in the shadow of Southwark Cathedral. It's London's best food market, filled with artisan producers, high-end fruit and veg vendors and an ever-changing glory of food trucks and stalls.

ELEVEN: MAYFAIR & ST. JAMES SHOPS

Go window shopping. Luxury brands and galleries cluster around Bond Street. Burlington Arcade is arguably the world’s first covered shopping mall. I like Princes Arcade across the street, where gentlemen have been buying their accessories since Beau Brummell’s time. This is where you can still get dressing gowns like Lord Grantham’s or “smoking hats” like Oscar Wilde’s. My husband will spend thousands at Budd here when we win the lottery. Jermyn Street and the street’s behind it ... now you’re in St. James’ ... are where English society has been procuring the finer things for centuries. Don’t miss Berry Brothers and Rudd, wine sellers to the Crown since the 17th century with a gorgeous historic shop and, believe it or not, decent prices on nice wines. (They played a major role in the last Kingsmen film, which everyone here finds a grand joke.)

TWELVE: HOUSES OF PARLIAMENT

If you book in advance (at least two months to be safe), you can get a free tour of the Houses of Parliament https://www.parliament.uk/visiting/ Amazing building: medieval great hall, the rest is Victorian. Group tours with informed guides mix history with the workings of modern government. This is particularly interesting if you’ve done Washington DC, to see how the American system compares to its governmental mother. It's been much in the news lately that the whole place is in precarious shape; it will soon be closed down for an enormous refurbishment. So book while you can.

THIRTEEN: CHANGING GUARDS

If you want to see a changing of the guard, my personal choice would be to head to Horseguards (11 am Monday - Saturday, 10 am on Sundays) rather than Buckingham Palace nearby. Equally showy uniforms, but on horses and with fewer tourists. Buckingham Palace's changing is also at 11am, though conventional wisdom says be in place in front of palace by 10:15 if you want to see anything. There, they march up and down, have bearskin hats and play musical instruments. I like the horses better. Always check web sites for either as these can change with Royal or diplomatic schedules.

V&A's opera show is a wonder of modern storytelling

There was a point so outrageously fabulous during the V&A's new opera exhibition that I found myself quivering with the pure, unadulterated joy of a small child on Christmas morning.

It's in the section devoted to Handel's Rinaldo. The exhibit displays wrap around a disused stage with early18th century scenery piled in the wings, ropes and pulleys hanging from the rafters. Suddenly, you hear the hubbub of crowd noise, the tap-tap-tap of a baton, and scenery moves into place. As the overture rises, layers of canvas-on-wood waves ... one behind another to a painted horizon ... churn in a circular motion, creating a remarkably convincing illusion of a swelling sea. Rinaldo's boat crosses from one side, a sea deity rides from the other, while scenery clouds part to reveal a sun shining down on a glittering foreign city. It is magical. And exactly the way the London audience would have seen it upon its debut in 1711.

It's one of many moments in this blockbuster show that stirred powerful emotions from glee to dread. Great opera should make you feel, and this masterful collaboration between the Victoria and Albert Museum and the Royal Opera House does that with aplomb. This is a great exhibition because of the way it sheds light on its topic, and because of the objects it brings together, but mostly because it has combined design and technology to give us an immersive experience that embodies the very best of modern storytelling.

You know you're in for something special when you get given a set of top-quality wireless headphones with your ticket, head towards a lavish red curtain and find Tony Pappano, music director of the ROH, welcoming you in. From there, you wander through seven operatic experiences, exploring each production in tandem with the city in which it premiered and thus the political and social trends of its time. These spaces spiral around a final, central area where a series of large screens show off the state of opera in the modern world.

While opera combines many art forms, the music comes first. So giving this exhibit a stirring soundtrack is the foundation of its success. The sound quality is excellent, the choice of musical excerpts beautiful and the technology that shifts you automatically from one audio element to the next is almost flawless. (There were a few times when I stood too close to a section divider and had the next opera cutting in prematurely, but you quickly get the hang of coming back into the main path.)

There are plenty of fascinating things in cases to look at, from beautiful instruments to lavish costumes and original scores. Set design has always been a critical part of opera, and it plays a significant role here. In the Marriage of Figaro section, they've brought in a whole wall from the set of the ROH's highly acclaimed production. In the bit on Strauss' Salome, heavy with Freudian associations, you can take a seat on an oversized version of Freud's famous, Turkey-carpet covered couch to watch the action. Labels on the walls of each section capture key points in snackable bites; design for the social media generation. A risky move ... it could have seemed a cheap attempt to get down with the "yoof" ... but it was actually a beautifully conceived way to get essential facts across quickly and simply. This is worlds away from the dry, academic labels that usually accompany worthy museum shows.

In each case, there are videos of real performances to add to your understanding. Beyond the exhibition, the BBC has produced a two-part show with Lucy Worsley on the same topic. The V&A's web site is full of additional information and short films. The seriously keen can even sign up for classes at the museum. This is the embodiment of the modern, multi-media, multi-channel exhibition.

It's not all perfect. The format of seven premiers in seven cities is an interesting concept, but ultimately creates a rod for their own backs. It works beautifully for the early operas. We experience Monteverdi's Coronation of Poppea at the same time the decadent opulence of Venice gives birth to the art form. Handel's Rinaldo in London sees opera grow up and move beyond Italy as the English capital grows to world prominence, while Mozart's Marriage of Figaro puts Enlightenment trends in Vienna on stage. Verdi's Nabucco premier in Milan is unquestionably linked to the Italian unification movement, but we start to lack balance here as this part of the show becomes more about the politics than the opera. (Although I found one of my favourite displays here: a photographic wall of 150 Italian opera houses, backlit and shining like precious jewels.)

We really slide off the rails when Wagner's Tannhauser gets paired with Louis Napoleon's Paris. True,  a quirk of history did throw this opera and city together; but it's an uncomfortable forced marriage. Wagner and his work was so inextricably linked to Germany, and the role of "Mad" King Ludwig is one of opera's greatest off-stage stories. To do Wagner and his enormous impact on the art form justice, we deserved one of the Munich premieres. Instead, it felt like the curators wanted to avoid the troubling German nationalist legacy, and needed to wedge Paris in somewhere, so pushed the two together.

Then it's on to Dresden, where I actually enjoyed exploring Strauss' Salome more than I thought I would. Though the Dresden tie seemed completely incidental; most of the trends we were talking about here came out of Vienna. While I'm still not enough of a convert to want to see a full production of this challenging (both musically and topically) production, linking it to the world's growing awareness of female sexuality and teenage angst was fascinating. Oscar Wilde's play and Beardsley's prints (beautiful but disturbing) show how Salome's story was so much bigger, and on trend, than the one opera.

Unfortunately, the final section on Shostakovich's Lady Macbeth of Mtsensk (paired with Leningrad) risked destroying all the joy that had come before. The plot is distressing, the political reality of Stalin's Russia horrible and the music so discordantly awful that I had to take off my headphones. Porgy and Bess would have been a much more satisfying, and palatable, take on the move toward modern opera, but I assume its launch in Boston ... hardly a world-renown opera town ... took it out of contention.

Sadly, I was so disturbed by the Shostakovich that I didn't have the mental energy to spend much time in the final room with the screens exploring opera since 1945. Having resumed my headphones, I entered to a blast of discordant notes, violent images and ugly, industrial set design that reinforced my ingrained prejudices that the art form has steadily gone to hell since the death of Puccini. I would have liked to have been convinced otherwise. My greatest complaint about the otherwise wonderful show is that they didn't use this fantastic opportunity to change my mind.

Instead, I slipped quickly back into the Wagner section, closed my eyes and listened again to the overture to Tannhauser. Then I took off my headphones and walked through the modern bit in silence.    Emotional equilibrium recovered, my final verdict remains overwhelmingly positive. This unique exploration of the art form will intrigue anyone who's even mildly interested in opera, while the topic, format and design will delight people fascinated by how we tell stories.

Opera: Passion, Power and Politics is on at London's Victoria and Albert Museum through 25 February. It's a good idea to book tickets in advance, especially on weekends or for Friday night openings.

Don't miss this opulent jewellery show at the V&A

I feel a lot better about the super-rich when they have impeccable taste, buy good stuff, then share their collections with the rest of us.  Enter Sheikh Hamad bin Abdullah Al Thani, Qatari prince, CEO of that country's investment juggernaut Qipco, and modern-day Lorenzo di Medici.

In addition to completing a spectacular, historically-accurate and reportedly tasteful restoration of one of Park Lane's historic mansions (great Vanity Fair article about it here), he's turned a passion for the bling of the Indian maharajas into one of the best jewellery collections in the world. And now he's sharing it with us mere mortals at the Victoria & Albert Museum until 10 April.

You know you're in for something special from the first moment, when you step into a dark entry vestibule to be greeted by a single item. It's the Maharaja of Nawangar's turban jewel (pictured above): a 152.64-carat explosion of diamond-difused light, with a cheeky little spray of ostrich feathers coming out the top to lighten the mood. It is, quite literally, jaw dropping ... and that part of your anatomy is likely to be lowered for most of the show.

Everything here is magnificent, however the displays manage to captivate you. They may grab your emotion, with their innate appeal to the human love of beautiful, sparkly, shiny things. They may impress you with their sophisticated craftsmanship or elegant design. The fiscally intrepid will enjoy calculating the net worth. The thoughtful may ponder what they say about the history of India, and India's influence on the West. I thought about all of those things but, ultimately, I was just a girl blown away by a lot of highly desirable jewellery.

Diamonds take centre stage, of course. You'll see them in complex, traditional European cuts that refract light to glittering excess. In fascinating contrast is the traditional uncut Indian approach, where surfaces curving like a river-washed pebble give off a subtler sheen.  Demonstrated by the front of another turban jewel shown at left. But the maharajas were equal opportunity jewellers. You'll find lots of spinels, which are indistinguishable from rubies to an amateur's eyes, though their chemical composition is different. They're hanging from the bauble at left.  Emeralds and sapphires both make starring appearances; my favourite pieces used them together. I found emeralds carved with designs or sayings particularly fascinating, and there's a modern uncut sapphire and diamond brooch at the very end where the blue is so beguiling it's as if someone has managed to contain and distil the sea above a coral reef as the sun shimmers upon it.

There are some opulent swords and daggers to keep the boys interested, along with some loot Clive and his troops brought back from India. The jewelled bird and lion's head from Tipu Sultan's throne are here, on loan from the prince's good friend Queen Elizabeth II. I've seen them many times at Windsor Castle, where they tend to fade into the general magnificence of the place. Here, isolated in a pool of light in an otherwise dim room, you can properly appreciate them.

The maharajas loved enamel work almost as much as gems, and there are some fine examples of what's known as "Kundun setting" here. Front-facing gems are set in 24-carat gold, while the backs or bottoms of objects are covered in enamel. Look at the back of a similar turban jewel to the one I talked about above (now at right) to see the level of craftsmanship lavished  on something only the owner would ever see, to get a sense of just how rich and powerful these people were.

My only complaint with the whole show: a video showing how this stuff is made is at the very end, when you'd appreciate the objects much more if you saw it at the beginning. Or, just watch it on the web now.

In the late 19th century, the European world fell in love with India and the Orient. The last section of the show demonstrates how famous jewellers like Cartier, or whole movements like Art Deco, took their inspiration from the maharajas. While I loved everything, these are the pieces I'd want to take home with me. (Though how you'd be brave enough to wear any of this without an armed guard at your back, I have no idea.) Most spectacular in this section is the peacock brooch the curators selected to be the emblem of the whole show. With good reason. It's practically alive, as its eyes glint at you and its unusual curved shape (made to wear over a shoulder, or rounding the top of a pile of upswept hair) makes the feathers seem to move. The story behind it ... of a travelling maharaja falling in love with a teenaged Spanish dancing girl, and commissioning the piece in Paris as part of his campaign to sweep her off her feet and make her his wife ... is rather spectacular, too.

She said yes. Bewitched with that kind of jewellery, most girls would.

With a bit of planning, kids and culture CAN mix

Locals with children helpfully suggested activities for my 7-year-old niece when she visited.  The word "museum" never popped up.  Adventure playgrounds, local pools, craft workshops, petting zoos and play groups dominated conversation.  Which is all very nice ... but would have all been pretty much exactly what she might be doing back in St. Louis, Missouri.

If we were going to the trouble of introducing the kid to trans-Atlantic travel, we all wanted to make sure she experienced the cultural highlights of her destination.  Thus our sightseeing wasn't that far off of a grown-up itinerary.  Though I quickly picked up these differentiators:

1. 7-year-old attention spans are short - keep things moving and know when to quit
2. Games are the oil that slides the culture down
3. Kids eat little and often - build lots of snack breaks into the day
4. Physical play on something is often better than looking at something - architecture is your friend
5. It's helpful to know where all the toilets are

I'm not sure our sights would work for every 7-year-old, or every local host.  Throwing humility aside, I'll state that neither my niece, nor I, are typical.  A curious kid with a voracious mind, she's already dropping grown up vocabulary words and twisting logic in arguments like the line of lawyers who've contributed to her genes.  Her parents are making sure she's widely-read and exposed to diversity.  (Each day included an "adventure bite", where she had to try something new to earn the right to eat the usual kids' fare for the rest of the day.)   And despite my existence in a mostly child-free world, I am the daughter of an art historian and museum educator who made a career out of making fine art fun for the under 10s.  If you want to get a 7-year-old excited about the V&A, frankly, I'm the woman to have at your side.

Here's a look at some of the things we did, with a focus on youthful enjoyment.

The British Museum

I experienced my proudest moment as an Aunt when this made the kid's Top 3 highlights of her trip.  We have a lot to thank the latest Night at the Museum instalment for; now the place has the glamour of a film set.  You can play a game figuring out what's really here and what's not, since the film version acquired some dubious collections (dinosaurs, Medieval armour) to make the plot go.  Award a point for each thing they realise was made up.  But, really, you don't need tricks here to get kids excited.  Just follow where they wonder and give some context.  Mummies are cool.  How did the Romans make those mosaics out of all those tiny pieces of stone?  There's a lot of gold to gawp at.  The automated German galleon that used to "sail" to the middle of the dining table and fire miniature cannons to start the meal is sure to delight.  And the 7-year-old lost her tooth surrounded by a Celtic treasure hoard, which was a memorable touch.  The museum has organised kids activities and an iPad explorer which we didn't use because I know the collection so well.  But those would be worth checking out.

The Natural History Museum

I groaned to find myself in the snaking queue.  What idiot goes to the Natural History Museum during the school holidays?  Idiots with kids, of course.  With its audio-animatronic dinosaurs, this is the No. 1 museum stop for most little people in London.  While I could have done without the crowds and the cacophony (are they genetically programmed to be that loud?), it does my heart good whenever I see crowds at museums.  Maybe culture and learning will survive another generation.  The NHM understands their audience and have configured the galleries perfectly.  Once you wind, amusement park-style, around the brontosaurus cast in the main hall, you're into the dino gallery and quickly up onto a catwalk that runs its length.  In peak season you'll be in a slowly shuffling queue all the way along, but they've designed it so that lots of dino robots are moving below you as you go.  If you get bored, you can play a game where you award points for spotting different animals in the architecture.  (I've always thought the building itself is the real reason to visit here.)  At the end, you arrive at the full sized robotic T-Rex, lashing his tail, moving his head and growling menacingly.  It's worth the wait.  Then you wind back through the galleries, but most kids will probably be bored by this point and ready to move on.  We'd reached our attention span limit at this point, meaning we didn't get to check out the Earth Sciences galleries complete with some sort of tornado model.  Might need to check that out on my own.  The 7-year-old Missourian can probably just wait 'til October and look outside.

The Victoria and Albert Museum

Here's the secret to the V&A with a child: Hunt for something.  It might be dogs, the colour turquoise, pearls ... just pick something and make it a game, with one point per discovery.  You can use your phones to photograph your finds and relive the memories at home.  Once they're on the hunt, they have to actually look at what's in the galleries, and a bit of culture will rub off.  We chose dragons, which is an easy entry point in the land of St. George.  We weren't even through the medieval galleries before the 7-year-old was beating the adults by a score of 9 to our communal 6.  When the attention wanes, there's a cafe in the courtyard where the adults can settle down with a drink while the kids play around the water features.  Sadly, we ran out of time before I could show her the biggest bed in the world.  Next visit.

The Golden Hinde

I've strolled by this full-sized model of the 16th century ship in which Francis Drake circled the globe scores of times on my way along Southbank, but have never gone on board.  Neither have most people, I'd guess, because despite it being the height of summer hols, we had the place almost to ourselves.  Given Drake's propensity for a bit of Spanish plunder the Hinde can technically be called a pirate ship, much to the delight of the little people scrambling around it.  Because it's a modern replica, there's none of that "no touching" regime the kids hate.  They can sit in the captain's chair, manhandle the cannon balls and spin the ships wheel.  Though, in a nod to health and safety, running, climbing on rigging and going down ladders front-ways are all prohibited.  It's worth paying a bit extra for the tour, where a costumed ship's mate will let the children turn the capstan and instruct them in swabbing and loading a cannon.  Our guide led a particularly colourful re-enactment of the amputation of a leg after a pirate raid gone wrong, three kids holding down the "patient" while she got into the act by writhing and screaming lustily.  Pure childhood gold.

Warwick Castle

I admit, I was distressed when an amusement park company took this place over.  I was afraid they'd trivialise a building of monumental historic value.  But when you have a child in tow, perspective changes.  There are plenty of worthy houses and castles in England, but very few that are arranged specifically to appeal to the little people.  Hats off to Merlin Entertainments, who've managed to make this a child magnet while still retaining architectural and historical integrity.  I'd anticipated the 7-year-old thinking the waxworks were the coolest thing about the place, but all she needed was the prospect of climbing towers and scrambling around the ramparts to find glee.  (Her parents, consigned to follow her around what their FitBits told them was the equivalent of 20+ stories of stairs, were less enthusiastic.)  She was also delighted by a fairy tale show about saving a princess they currently have running in one of the towers.  My husband and I, meanwhile, were enthralled by the best birds of prey show we've ever seen, complete with American bald eagles and Andean condors swooping perilously close to your head.  The condor is the world's largest bird of prey, and seeing it in flight ... especially when coming straight at you ... gives you a sense of majesty and controlled terror that's hard to beat.  From an adult perspective, we thought this was worth the price of admission.

Trafalgar Square

Another thing I didn't notice until I had a pint-sized companion:  Landseer's lions are kid magnets.  The four noble, gigantic beasts sit at the foot of Nelson's column and I usually just point them out to people as the three dimensional proof that their Victorian artist was the best ever at representing animals.  (Only Van Dyck did dogs better.)  But it turns out that climbing onto the back of one is every child's fantasy, and the civic authorities don't seem to mind.  Children swarmed around the base of that column like ants on a dropped ice cream.  We, meanwhile, were able to procure drinks from the Tesco Metro across the street and sit on the benches at the square's edge, enjoying an alternative happy hour. 

We didn't subject the kid to a pure stream of culture.  Our local maize maze and petting zoo at Manydown turns out to be a fabulous day out.  She loved my neighbourhood's various playgrounds, and went on a play date to a local indoor play area with a friend's children.  But I like to think that, as she grows up, it's the cultural stuff that will sink in.  Only time will tell.