I couldn't ever bring myself to hate you as I'd like

[venta]

Earlier this week, I bought some tickets for Doctors, Dissection and Resurrection Men. It's an exhibition at the Museum of London, following the excavation of a burial ground which contained "extensive evidence of dissection, autopsy and amputation, bones wired for teaching, and animals dissected for comparative anatomy". I bought the tickets on a Time Out special offer.

Based on that, Time Out have just sent me an email of further offers they think might interest me: cut-price deals on Brazilian bikini waxing, rabbit vibrators, a bulk buy of 50 condoms, a "boudoir" photo-shoot or a "Boink Box" (no, really).

I remain lightly bewildered. And very slightly concerned that I have misunderstood about the resurrection men.

Comments

[venta.livejournal.com]

Gosh. I'd never noticed before that silicon and silicone were spelled differently. That's two whole things I've learned today, now :)

(The first was that biologists abbreviate species to "sp" and species plural to "spp", courtesy of sammason.)

[undyingking.livejournal.com]

Good stuff! I learnt today what a boiler pressure relief valve is, and how potentially dangerous it is to have one that doesn't work. (Fortunately, I didn't have to learn it the hard way.)

[vicarage.livejournal.com]

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=68p4ngS-yME

BTW, no sex in the Resurrection Men exhibition.

[venta.livejournal.com]

No sex, indeed. At least, none beyond the suggestions of the anti-anatomist movement that surgeons wanted female corpses for lascivious, rather than educational, reasons.

I have a vague memory that you reviewed the exhibition slightly unfavourably, but now can't find it on your journal. Did you?

[vicarage.livejournal.com]

My review was pretty positive

I consoled myself with a tour of Bart's 2 room hospital museum, with a quick peek at the Hogarth staircase, before planning some Burking at the Museum of London's Doctors,Dissection and Ressurection Men exhibition, based round the exploits of the grave robbers feeding the anatomists of 1820's London. A rather catchy ballad about the death of the Italian Boy, lots of skeletons dug up from the Royal London's burial ground with neat trepanning and amputated bones, and wax models of all those squishy bits. I thought it ironic that the lady who was buried in a cleverly latched iron coffin to defeat the graverobbers had the indignity of her (empty) coffin being displayed to all.