Snoop Dogg reveals himself as my Virgil.

The next day we went to the Horniman, which is one of those creatures that began as one gentleman's collection of things that interested him, and shortly after his death decided on its own that it was so extensive and fascinating that it couldn't help but become a museum. Although we'd been warned, Corrine and I hadn't entirely realised before going the extent to which it was a children's museum. They were everywhere. Miniature humans climbed on the benches, on the exhibits, on and in the fish tanks in the aquarium, on their mothers, and on my trousers. Even the crowds of babies not yet born, in their uncontrollable excitement at finding themselves in this place, kicked their poor mothers wildly from within their swollen abdomens. We found fish, masks, and musical instruments. I was thrilled to find the natural history section, which shared much of the delightful strangeness of the Wagner, even if it couldn't quite compete with the Wagner's dusty, dated charm. We learned about ritual and magical artefacts from Africa, the Caribbean, and North America. I liked the African sculptures, little men made out of wood and filled with rusty nails. We learned about the European and North American used clothing that is recycled and becomes fabric that is sold as new in India, and about the Indian used clothing that is recycled and becomes fabric that is sold as new in Europe and North America. From the balcony that connected two galleries we watched a bit of children's theatre in the auditorium down below: a young boy was dressed as the emperor of China. One woman was dancing like a dragon, and the other as some sort of sneaky spirit. We agreed that they had the best job in the world.

While investigating Indian musical instruments, Corinne began to pine rather intensely for India, which is where she'd lived last summer. I suggested that we declare it India Day, that from the many Indian sections of the museum we march on to find Indian food, and then one of London's several (several!) all-Bollywood cinemas. This we did: we found our way to the Indian neighbourhood in which the theatre was located easily, although in more time than we expected it to take. We ate in a cheap South Indian and Sri Lankan restaurant that offered food better than that which she'd experienced in that part of the the subcontinent itself. Staying for dessert and tea and conversation with the servers, we missed the film we'd meant to see. We went for a walk while we waited for the late show, stopping in the shops and flipping through the imported records while she related gossip about Indian pop stars.

The film was called Singh is Kinng, and was a Bollywood musical comedy about love and Sheikh gangsters living in Australia and Egypt. I recommend it highly. During one of the dance numbers I noted the similarities between Bollywood and a certain brand of nineties rap video: Biggie Smalls would feel at home here. So during the credits, when Snoop Dogg was suddenly on screen rapping about the film we'd just seen, Corrine and I screamed and high-fived. It wasn't his best work, I'll admit, but his making an appearance made me feel practically clairvoyant. I've never been so happy to see Snoop in my life, and I assure you, I've been pretty happy to see him before.