The Tower of London - London, UK

28th February 2014 - £21.50 (joined by Shelagh Deeney & Emmet Deeney)

Joe Deeneyan Rhapsody

The infamous White Tower was the first addition to London’s iconic skyline and I imagine the locals objected to the ostentatious monument to a swaggering foreign power much more than we did with the Shard. For hundreds of years, the Tower of London loomed over the Thames as a stark reminder to England of its ruling classes. Now, it looms over the Thames as a stark reminder to England of its touring classes. It is the world capital of tourism. It’s where tourists come to out-tourist each other. It’s a place so touristy that my parents and I, three Northerners dressed in macs and backpacks, were made to look as local as Danny Dyer buggering a pigeon to the Lambeth Walk. 

Like every wave of outsiders travelling up the Thames, those in the Tower saw us coming and slapped us in the face with a £21.50 entry fee (and later had the gall to speak of folk being executed for extortion). Historic Royal Palaces must be laughing all the way to the Royal Mint with this one. They understand that the ToL is an essential visit for most tourists, like the Eiffel Tower or Christ the Redeemer, and ergo can charge whatever they can get away with. I looked to my phone’s train ticket app for an example of the furthest destination I could afford for £21.50. Blackpool. I joined the fucking queue.

National Football Museum - Manchester, UK

22nd February 2014 - Free (joined by Kez Casey and Will Sanderson)

Two selfies, one love

Football (or soccer if you’re American or one of those weird Brits who prefers American sport) is the world’s national game. It can be played with a tin can amid the favelas of Rio or before half the world in Soccer City’s arena of television cameras, prawn sandwiches and vuvuzelas. It’s not called ‘the beautiful game’ for nothing, although nothing’s how it feels when you’re watching your beloved team draw nil-nil at Luton in the pouring rain as you eat a tepid, grey pie that set you back six quid. 

England has an especially close relationship with the game. It was invented here and, until the rest of the world became familiar with the rules, we were really quite good at it. The Urbis building in Manchester was chosen in 2012 as the nation’s arca of the nation’s game, but, at the end of the day, does it give 110%?

Cinema Museum - London, UK

31st January 2014, £10 (by appointment only)

“When you love life, you go to the movies!” French advertising slogan.

Did you know that, after Hollywood, Mumbai and Cannes, Kennington in South London is the world’s foremost cinematic locale? No? Good because I made it up. It may sound strange for the nation's Cinema Museum to be set there, but if we keep in mind that my hometown Bradford declared itself “City of Film”, the location of the nation’s love-letter to the big screen doesn’t seem so extraordinary. South London (my current home) has a bit of an image problem when it comes to the silver screen. Sure, we had A Clockwork Orange and Attack the Block, both fine films, but neither are going to do wonders for tourism. Does South London have any of the Hollywood dazzle of it’s Northern, Eastern and Western inmates? Well, yes it does. Charles Spencer Chaplin. We win. 

National Portrait Gallery - London, UK

17th January 2014 - Free

Joena Lisa, Joena Lisa 
men have named you

Britain, ey? What are we like? Well, we’re a bit like France, a lot like America, some like Germany with a little bit of Irish thrown in. In fact, name a country, we’re more like them than not. Some would say Britain's the last bastion of chivalry, galloping through the ages like Boudicca in her chariot - the most over-achieving land on God’s green. Others say we’re the result of geographic fortune in our isolation that meant a strong navy and lucky winds stopped many invasions and said ships could double up as hulking great slaving vessels, bursting with their quarry. The folks at the National Portrait Gallery have committed to showing us the faces of those who've built this ragtag, past-tense, tin-island empire that sixty million of us call home.

For reasons way too boring to bother you with now, I was up at the crack of dawn on the day of my visit and was, subsequently, the first person through the gates. I could have run to the centre of the gallery and shouted “first!” like those absolute FANNIES do on the internet, but I really didn't want to. 

Sherlock Holmes Museum - London, UK

6th January 2014 - £8

The Desolation of Smug

A new year, a new season of Sherlock, the BBC’s much-hallowed flagship drama, and it appears the seams in the deer-stalker are starting to fray. Silly motorbike chases, oh so sentimental asides (we get it, they’re friends) and a worrying lack of puzzles only a genius could solve have left a pretty special show feeling less Twin Peaks and more Peak Practice. I’m clearly in a minority over this, however, as on my first attempted visit to the Sherlock Holmes Museum the queue stretched from 221B to Madame Tussaud’s. You can sing for that, I thought, but promised that “Joseph Deeney will return!” and return he did, the day after the disastrous second episode and finally I was in league with the common man as the queue had dissipated to a manageable half an hour.

Steve & Joe Talk Museums in 2013 at the Royal Festival Hall - London, UK

14th December 2013 - Gawd Bless Us... Every one.

Christmas hero Steve Slack and I talk 
all things museums and galleries in 2013. Merry Christmas, smellies!

The Jewish Museum - London, UK

14th November 2013 - £7.50

גוט־מאָרגן דו

Camden Town. Playground of the eager tourist and the desperate Londoner. Where the streets are paved with pavement. The land of goths, dreadful Irish bars, and that infuriating guy who sits by the bridge, hawking the plastic yolks you put in your mouth to make bird noises. Where better then to house the nation's flagship museum of history's most persecuted religion?

From the word go, I was bowled over by how kind everyone was at The Jewish Museum: the cloakroom lady, security guard, the man behind the till. I felt like a nephew who'd been away and "never calls and never writes". Ok, I'll stop stereotyping. After this: entrance isn't free. There. It's over. The fee's not a problem though, as the museum's a registered charity and I shouldn't laugh because a Yorkshireman poking fun at spurious claims of Jewish thriftiness has a distinct glass houses/stones smell about it.