The London overdose

I lived in Amsterdam for a good eight years. In all that time I have not been to the Anne Frank House once, nor to the Rijksmuseum, the Allard Pierson museum, the Tropenmuseum or even the Sex museum. I have not visited Carré, de Kleine Komedie or the Stadsschouwburg.

Twelve months have I been in London now. In that whole year I had not been to the British Museum, the Science Museum, the Victoria&Albert Museum or the National Portrait Gallery. I haven't seen a West End show nor have I gone up in the London Eye. I have barely glimpsed the Tower or Big Ben. You just don't get to do a lot of these things when you live somewhere. Part of 'going native' means snubbing the clichés, even if that means missing out on some interesting experiences.

By far the best motivation to get off our sorry native butts is to have guests over. This week my mum came to visit me. In five days time we have shuffled past the Chinese Terracotta Warriors and the Egyptian mummies at the British Museum. We have been baffled by the suspended tube lights and even black canvasses that pass for art at the Tate Modern. We have sipped champagne cocktails at the Royal Opera House in Covent Garden. We have looked at everything from 16th century locks and keys to Vivian Westwood dresses at the V&A.

In a city like London you are never done. There is always more to see, more to do, more to experience. At least this week I have been giving it my best. I need some time to recover from this cultural overdose. That is, until the next guests come knocking at the door...