Encounters with Delightful Ladies

          One fine morning last week, I went to the recently re-vamped, re-opened and re-named Museum of the Home in East London. It used to be called The Geffrye Museum, after its founder and benefactor, but that name is now known to be tainted by the fortune he made on the backs of African slaves. (His statue is still in its niche above the door, though an explanatory notice is to be found among the exhibits upstairs.) On entering, I was greeted by a cheerful, exuberant lady at the reception desk and, though the fact that she was of Afro-Caribbean descent made it hard for me not to read her presence as a witty riposte to history, the notion was swiftly banished by her proficiency. She had both the skills and the personality to make a visitor feel welcome and valued.

          But, before I entered the galleries, she pointed me towards coffee at the adjacent Molly’s Café, where I was made to feel equally welcome, by no less a person than Molly herself – or so I led myself to believe. As I entered, she was apparently working at a laptop at one of the tables, but promptly dropped everything to greet me, take my order and even ask my name. I took a seat and, momentarily, felt very popular with the ladies – before realising that I was the only customer, so far, in either establishment. Still, I felt flattered and in receptive mode.

          The museum’s main exhibits, room-settings through the ages, remain unchanged, but for me they are most appealing when they reach the 20^th century. Here, the furnishings morph into modernity to reflect new ways of living. Technology also makes its grand entrance into the home. The 1970 JVC Videosphere, a portable TV that looks like a space helmet, is just one of the items I covet, despite the fact that its performance – assuming it still works – would certainly be disappointingly lo-fi compared with any up-to-date flat screen. Still, it is strong on nostalgia appeal, as are so many other items, among them the ubiquitous paper and bamboo lampshades made popular by Isamu Noguchi, the Japanese/American sculptor and designer. There is a show of his work currently at the Barbican Centre, which I had been to the previous day and where I learned about his wide-ranging and often large-scale oeuvre. His accomplishments were many and highly lauded but, since he is long since deceased, we will never know whether he was best pleased that the humble lampshade became his most recognisable legacy.

          I seem to have encountered more than my fair share of bright, personable, positive women this week. The last was a saleswoman in the formal menswear section of a department store – though why not a salesman was something of a surprise. Still, she knew her stuff and did not blink when I told her I was looking for a pair of “grey flannels”, a description I assume to be obsolete but for which I know no equivalent. She was exceptionally helpful – though, again, this might have been due to the fact that I was the only customer. She selected a pair for me to try for size and showed me to the changing room. Unfortunately, they were too large. As I took them off, she called out “How are you getting on?” and, before I could answer, came in and caught me in my pants and socks. I was not embarrassed, but an anomaly did occur to me: how likely is it that a salesman would be in charge of a ladies’ wear department? And, if he were, would it be considered proper for him to enter the dressing rooms? If any of you ladies have had this experience, I would like to hear about it.

P.S. I am still intermittently shopping for grey flannels.