The Tutankhamun exhibition at the Saatchi Gallery is generating a lot of excitement. I am just old enough to recall Tut’s last London gig at the British Museum in 1972.
Me and a schoolmate were working in the museum canteen evenings, weekends and for the occasional cocktail party. I remember sashaying between groups of archaeologists at a drinks do beneath the Elgin Marbles (…and hoovering up the odd vino while ferrying trays of refreshments between gallery and kitchen).
But Tut was something special even for a world class museum like the BM. Queuing visitors packed surrounding streets for miles. But me and my mate were kids, hormone-powered, hyper. Dead Egyptian kings were not high on our to-do list. Tut was all about gold. Our only metal was the heavy type in Led Zeppelin.
One night after the museum had closed we chatted about the exhibition with a security guard we were pally with. He asked if we’d seen it. We said no. He said d’ye want to. We said ok.
So he led is up through the maze of galleries, passing the huddled 5,500-year-old Egyptian murder victim known as Ginger, named after his surviving tufts of red hair. At last the guard unlocked the Tut hall and we stepped into the inky blackness of an Egyptian tomb.
Our guide opened a box on the wall and flicked switches. Spotlights splashed on brilliant colours. The vivid blue of lapis lazuli. And gold, lots of shiny gold.
The guard, who had seen it all too many times before, hung around the entrance jangling an impressive bunch of keys that opened the doors to millennia of human history.
We two kids walked around, peering into cabinets, the whole place to ourselves, just me, my mate and Tut. We ended at the Pharoah’s death mask, a brilliant pool of colour staring back at us out of the darkness.
Pretty quickly the guard was chivvying us to get a move on. He wanted his dinner.
I remember glancing back for a last look at the glittering face of Tut before the gallery went dark. So ended my night at the museum.

◇ My travel writing has taken me several times to Berlin which has just celebrated the fall of The Wall. It’s a fantastic city, check it out if you get the chance.

◇ Saw a guy, nose buried in a paperback book, walk straight into Brighton traffic without looking. It was a miracle he wasn’t mown down by all the people glued to their mobiles.

◇ The fuse is lit for a Bonfire Night showdown: ‘Deep, dangerous and complex’ – my first Danny Lancaster thriller, THE WRECK OF THE MARGHERITA, is a free ebook download: https://www.amazon.co.uk/dp/B007OVUG6Q