I found the history of the world there, told through the medium of pots. The orgy of earthenware was baffling

Having lived in London since 1986, it was to my shame and discredit that I’d never been to the British Museum. I was not proud of the fact. This wasn’t a one-man boycott over the Parthenon marbles or anything like that. I’d just never got round to it. And this wasn’t good enough. So last week, at the ripe old age of nearly 58, I paid the British Museum a visit.

“Ah, Mr Chiles,” exclaimed no one when I walked in, “about time!” But there must have been something trepidatious about me, because a nice chap asked if I needed any help. I stammered something about looking for room 41. A friend had told me room 41 was special, so it seemed as good a place as any to start. This room tells the story of Europe from AD300. Which was amazing and all that, except it was a story told mainly through the medium of pots. Urns, pots and assorted drinking vessels of all shapes and sizes. I moved from room 41 to other rooms, going backwards and forwards in time and to all points of the compass, and found yet more pots, urns and drinking vessels. Ornate pots, rustic pots, arty pots, functional pots.