In a move that has sent shivers of synthetic excitement through the boardrooms of the arts establishment, the Bayeux Tapestry is to journey to London. Organisers insist that 'nothing is left to chance' in this transport operation. Really?
Nothing? Not even the possibility that a passing pigeon might mistake this 70-meter embroidery for a very fancy loo seat? Let us be serious for a moment: this is the cultural equivalent of smuggling a Fabergé egg through a rugby scrum.
The tapestry, a 950-year-old piece of linen embroidered with the bloody mess that was the Norman Conquest, will be displayed at the British Museum. The French, bless their hearts, have agreed to lend it. But at what cost?
I imagine the insurance premium alone could fund a small war. The British Museum, that grand mausoleum of plundered treasures, will have to erect a special climate-controlled chamber, presumably guarded by men in tweed who have been trained to tackle anyone who sneezes within a ten-foot radius. The journey itself, as reported, is a masterpiece of logistical gymnastics.
The tapestry will be transported in a specially designed crate, on a specially designed lorry, driven by a specially designed driver who probably has to pass a test on needlepoint and medieval history. But let us not forget the real reason for this pilgrimage: tourism, plain and simple. The British Museum hopes to pull in the punters, to get them to gawp at the thing and then buy a tea towel with a rude Norman soldier on it.
Meanwhile, the tapestry itself will be subjected to the scrutiny of a million eyes, each one a potential threat. I can see it now: a toddler with a sticky lolly, a pensioner with a half-dissected cough, a journalist with a hidden camera. The Bayeux Tapestry is a fragile, extraordinary object, a testament to the stupidity and ambition of man.
It deserves to be seen, yes. But at what cost? The French are already wringing their hands.
The British are already patting themselves on the back. And the tapestry, poor thing, will just sit there, silent, embroidered, wondering if it might have been better off staying in Normandy, where at least the rain is consistent.
