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Thirty-five years after I queued to see Tutankhamun’s treasures I heard they were coming back to the UK, to my part of South East London. I was thrilled.

Then I found out more, and grew indignant.

The life-size solid-gold death-mask is not part of this exhibition at the O2. That picture of Tut on posters at Tube stations is a blown-up image of the tiny coffinette that held his mummified liver, not the mask that covered his head.Ìý

The ticket prices are expensive and the souvenirs tacky and overpriced. The presentation owes more to Disney than to history.

What’s more, the British Museum is trying to steal the limelight by wasting scarce NHS resources on CAT scans for one of its old mummies. Why?

She showed me how her old museum is stuffed with thousands of relics, and how profits from the touring exhibitions will fund new museums to display them.

They will also pay for restoring the pyramids, damaged by eighty-five years of tourism since English explorer Howard Carter discovered the tomb.Ìý

I began to understand that Egypt’s past is vital to its future, and that the O2 is hosting a Tutankhamun ‘tribute band’ rather than the real thing, in the hope of raising enough cashÌý to sustain its heritage.

Does it work?

Well, for me the treasures themselves are so beautiful that I can see past the glitz, but my students from City University respond differently.

Some marvel that the mythical beasts are like their own Hindu gods, others are rather bored and underwhelmed.

They’re dying to get out, to experience the O2 - the karaoke booth, the ice-skating disco and the Slug and Lettuce pub.

I like to think that the boy king Tut - who was their age when he died and had stacks of wine-jars in his tomb - might have wanted to join them in the bar.

Jan Whyatt is the pathway leader for community radio and television on the City University Foundation Degree in Creative Industries