Partly, we weren’t actually that high up, so the view itself was local rather than city-wide. More interesting was nosing through windows to see inside. Here’s a rare (and sadly blurry) view of the kitchen, seen from through the skylight. Several of these high windows have no way to open or close them, except to send a servant scurrying up onto the roof.

And you can’t really make it out in these photos but it was also possible to look down into a few other rooms, through lovely old coloured glass.

Nowadays, even most staff aren’t able to come out here, except on very rare occasions. It’s just not safe. And ultimately, even standing high on the roof, it is still far more striking to look up, not down.

Of course, the onions and towers of the Royal Pavilion are fundamentally illusion – facade – to be viewed from a distance; built onto and extended around a pre-existing (conventional) house. Stunning to see from down in the gardens or beyond, because they were designed that way: a building meant to create an unforgettable, iconic silhouette on the skyline, more than anything else.

Up here, they’re at a far more human-scale.

You can look at the joins and processes that plonked these follies on top of a normal(-ish) working building and you see the sheer effort required to keep it in decent nick, battling rain, wind, gulls, pigeons and the occasional human vandal.

Senior Keeper Tim Thearle (in the green jumper) brought a group of us up here and showed us around, explaining how they maintain the building. It’s a mammoth task.

Here is largest onion surface, viewed from inside.

Through a tiny wooden doorway, like something for Hobbits, we crawl inside the dusty bottom of the biggest onion, under the eaves that have held it up for close to 200 years.

Here there are piles of mostly wooden junk, some of which may be 80+ years old; pieces of carapace and decoration and ornament. Bits of abandoned history deemed not so important as the other bits, yet they’re equally historic.

During last winter pigeons got in here and it took months to get rid of them. There is nothing like piles of pigeon poo and abandoned decorative wood to humanise an iconic old building.

Caitlin Silberman

First we welcomed Caitlin Silberman from California, but studying for her doctorate in Art History at the University of Wisconsin-Madison. She is in the early stages of writing a dissertation on birds and bird/human hybridity in Victorian British art, visual culture, and material culture. One of her chapters deals with bird taxidermy, and the Booth Museum is of course a prime source for nineteenth-century taxidermy. Caitlin looked at all our archives about Mr. Booth, his diaries, catalogues and paintings, as well of course as his splendid 4-volume publication ‘Rough notes on the birds observed during twenty-five years’ shooting and Collecting in the British Islands, 1881-1887.

Michelle Campbell

Only a week later, we were happy to be able to help Michelle Campbell in her quest for Chalk fossils of some early representatives of marine reptiles. Michelle is studying for her doctorate at the University of Alberta, though she originally comes from Ottawa. She is interested in how land-based reptiles made the leap into becoming fully marine in their habits. Michelle’s supervisor, Prof. Mike Caldwell first visited the Booth Museum in 1995 and discovered our rich collection of 85 million year old fossils which he studied and published on. Michelle is extending those studies.

We take a great deal of pleasure in the knowledge that we are able to help people as diverse as scientists and art historians advance their studies by using the collections in the Booth Museum.

John Cooper, Keeper of Natural Sciences

On the Thursdays though, I fall into conversations. Even when I decamped for a couple of weeks downstairs to the Dome foyer bar (because there was temporarily no wifi up here) it was the same; a collection of interesting people from out of nowhere and fascinating, bonkers topics.

I’m tapping away at the laptop when this dude comes up in a dark blue three-cornered hat, like a comedy Napoleon. It’s a modern approximation, not a replica. And in every other way he’s dressed normally, jeans and a tshirt. In fact, it was a British Sea Power band tshirt, I think, yet he’s got this funny-looking hat on and he’s smiling down at me. Then what we talk about is why the Royal Pavilion wasn’t built facing out to sea and what that means about George IV’s disinterest in nature, versus people.

No, nothing to do with his hat, which neither of us mention at any point.

At the launch event for the Murder In The Manor interactive website (of which more soon – click that link for joy if you have a spare 45 minutes and like mystery stories) I was intending to speak with the young writers from Little Green Pig who contributed the short stories to the project (I still will, hopefully), yet I ended up mostly in conversation with a woman doing a thesis on bodybuilding, who has now become obsessed with it; diving into the very sub culture she was studying.

You’d also be surprised (and I am very impressed) by the number of museum staff who can hold their own discussing American underground punk and metal.

And I loved chatting with Aurella Yussuf (@rellativity on Twitter), who was here working on the World Stories exhibition. We were supposed to discuss blogging itself but that got hijacked by a messy free-range conversation about race and gender in art history. Aurella has just launched her own blog and it’s terrific, well worth checking out her piece on the Turner nominees.

I’ve been interviewed several times about the residency. Three guys including my publisher friend Jonathan (@jonathas on Twitter) rocked up last week with a state-of-the-art movie quality camera and didn’t mind what I said, so I got to waffle on about the tunnel, standing right above it in the Pavilion Gardens.

I’m learning the surprising degree to which people take such different responses away from the museums. The extent to which they can be enchanted by one exhibition, or one group of objects, while completely overlooking (or actively disliking) other sections – and allow that to become a pattern. Like (and this really happens) when someone has been a Brighton Museum regular for years, then goes into the pottery section for the first time and realises those stories are just as interesting as, say, the fashion things they normally enjoy. They’ve spent years walking through one section and not another. I do it too, almost always ignoring one or two sections that I think I won’t find interesting. I’m almost certainly wrong.

I like that. I like seeing long-time friends, or long-time Brighton & Hove residents, walk into this space they’ve not visited before. They’ll always be back soon. And so I like the Thursday afternoon routine becoming the glue that holds together the variety and fluidity of the rest of the week. Especially if you’ve never been in Brighton Museum before, come say hello.

Chris T-T