Michael is doing some scientific stuff as part of his Mayoral year, including a piece of work with the National Physical Laboratory (NPL) proving Einstein’s theory of time dilation by dint of measuring time at the top of the City of London’s tallest building (Horizon 22) and the NPL in Teddington.
Michael explained it in his inimitable style
I’ll let the propeller-headed NPL scientists explain it – click here.
The event on the evening of 15 March 2024 was an excuse for a drinks party to show off this experiment and more.
Janie came too and took loads of pictures.
Having dissed my Jackson Pollock tie at the Gresham do on the Monday, I wonder whether Bobbie would have approved of my Jackson Pollock shirt?The weighty blob experiment confounds everyone, apparently.Janie really liked the views.Several Z/Yenistas and their friends/partners
It was a jolly evening. The time flew by, which is surely what Einstein would have predicted.
And there was me, into my 7th decade, thinking, until now, that something else comes after The Lord Mayor’s Show.
But then, in early October, I was “perfectly astounded”, to quote Charles Pooter, to receive the following invitation:
Unaccustomed as I am to attending white tie events, this meant a trip to the costume hire shop, Buckleigh Of London in my case, together with Daisy who acted as my sartorial advisor.
“Yup, that’ll do for the do“
A month later, off I trotted to the Z/Yen office, with my whistle and flute in a specially designed suiter, where I changed out of mufti. No I am not a natural in the matter of costume changes.
The Lord Mayor’s Banquet is far more formal than that – no singing, no dancing, just food, drink and speeches.
The reception ahead of dinner was a great opportunity for me to catch up with several old friends and also to speak with Michael’s family, not least his mum, Katherine, whom I missed at The Lord Mayor’s Show. I also spoke with a few new people (new to me, that is).
Then the dinner. I was sitting with an interesting collection of people – opposite me and to my right Tim and Sandi, who had been at school with Michael. Tim I had met before, at Michael and Elisabeth’s wedding. Also on that “to my right” side was Father Bill (Michael’s former maths teacher), Robert Pay and Susan Steele. To my left, people I hadn’t met before but all charming: Judith Pleasance, Philip Palumbo, Philip Woodhouse and Clare Felton. We found many and varied interesting topics to discuss over dinner, only some of which are on the unwritten “safe to discuss at formal dinners” list. Edgy.
This is what we ate and drank.
The cast list of speech makers comprised The Lord Mayor & The Prime Minister (between Course Two and Course Three), then The Archbishop Of Canterbury and The Lord Chancellor after dinner.
You can watch a vid of the speechifying if you wish:
Michael mostly laid out his agenda for his mayoral year, which you can read/skim about here. He included a joke, which, while I paraphrase, goes a bit like this:
Into a bar walks an American economist, an Irish writer, an English accountant and an Italian scientist. The barman says, “good evening Michael, what are you having?”
Rishi Sunak, as is the custom for The Lord Mayor’s Banquet, spoke about foreign affairs, the crises in Gaza and Ukraine being his main focus. Rishi understandably didn’t crack any jokes. I’m not sure jokes would be Rishi’s strongest suit even in more jovial times.
After the two “afters” courses, The Archbishop of Canterbury was entertaining, with an interesting mixture of a serious, pious, skittish and downright malcontented points.
…which is far more than I can say about the other speakers…apart from Michael, of course, with whom I have worked for nearly 35 years.
Last but not least was The Lord Chancellor, Alex Chalk, who was also in somewhat skittish mood. He picked up on Michael’s joke, and pondered about a bloke who had so many different things on his CV. Again I paraphrase:
Economist, scientist, accountant, writer…I thought, “this fellow doesn’t seem able to hold down a job”.
My first thought was to heckle:
…but that’s the whole point of Z/Yen – it’s a place where you can work while you decide what you want to be when you grow up…
…but I thought better of it. A brawl one visit, a heckle the next…I might gain an unwanted, though perhaps warranted, reputation at The Guildhall as a bit of a subversive.
Then it occurred to me that The Lord Chancellor, with all due respect to him, was hardly one to talk about holding on to a job. He has already “Chalked up” his fifth job since the start of the pandemic – indeed he seemed relieved that he wasn’t moved to a sixth job in three years in the cabinet reshuffle that had taken up much of Rishi’s day earlier.
In truth, I think the best joke of the evening was my own, albeit an inadvertent one. Immediately after the formalities ended, I chatted again with the Mainelli clan. Michael’s sister, Molly, asked me what I thought of the evening. I paraphrase our chat.
MOLLY: So what did you think of it all.
ME: A lovely evening, lovely.
MOLLY: What did you think about the fruitcake at the end?
ME: Do you mean the Archbishop of Canterbury or the Lord Chancellor?
MOLLY: You’re so naughty. You know I meant the cheese and fruitcake…
The thing is, I hadn’t experienced that cheese course, as it was walnut-based and I had reported ahead of time my nut allergy. For the final course, the caterers had kindly provided me with a “mushrooms on toast” savoury. So I hadn’t registered that the cheese savoury had been served with fruitcake and really imagined that Molly had found one of the closing speeches a bit left-field.
Mercifully, I don’t think anyone other than Molly heard my faux pas. Equally mercifully, I didn’t burst into song when the savoury was served…
…although that John Shuttleworth classic always pops into my head on the rare occasions I attend a dinner that reverts to savoury at the end.
After enjoying a few minutes catching up with friends and (Michael’s) family in the Old Library, I returned to the office to change back into mufti and get home before I risked causing any more trouble.
In truth, the pomp and circumstance of The Lord Mayor’s Show is not really “our thing” – neither Janie nor I had ever been before, nor had either of us even watched the show on TV.
But in these circumstances, with Michael being the incoming Lord Mayor and all, it seemed only polite to accept the invitation to see the show as a guest of The Lord Mayor and Lady Mayoress at the Mansion House.
But returning to November 2023, before the show, I wanted to show Janie the Z/Yen office at 1 King William Street, just around the corner from Mansion House, as Janie had not yet seen that “new” office. Nor had she seen the oft-mentioned roof terrace. It was also an excuse to make sure we would be on time, while still able to take some warm sanctuary indoors before the Mansion House opened its doors. At least half the Z/Yen team had taken a similar precaution.
Janie loves a roof terrace: 1 King William Street does not disappoint in that regard
Then Janie and I popped around the corner to the Mansion House. I suppose I’ll be popping around that corner a few times in the coming year. Following pre-show refreshments, in which we did not partake, Janie and I were stewarded to our pavement seats right at the front, underneath The Lord Mayor’s viewing position, next to Michael’s brother Kelly. I don’t think we’d seen each other since Michael’s shrieval ceremonies four years ago:
Janie, despite her stated lack of interest in pomp and circumstance, was irritated with herself for forgetting her phone and therefore being without a camera. I allowed her to use mine, on the proviso that she didn’t use up all my film. Janie, cognisant that phone cameras don’t use up film (she knows a thing or two, that lass), proceeded to take about 300 pictures, only 20% of which were fully deserving of the bin.
The weather absolutely smiled on the City of London that day. We have had a rather relentlessly wet autumn in 2023, so all assembled thought we had struck very lucky…except for the (surprisingly sizeable) minority who were convinced that Michael Mainelli is able to control the weather and therefore the crisp but sunny day was by design.
Regardless of how or why the weather ended up so good, it did make for an especially photogenic show. As did the fact that there was an even broader international flavour to the parade than usual.
If you would prefer a brief highlights skim through eye candy and a few choice words, then read and look on.
Evidence that I was there. Just one picture of me amongst the hundreds.Xenia Mainelli (Michael & Elisabeth’s daughter) at the rear of this mounted troupeMichael arrives
After the Armistice Day two-minute silence, the parade began. Here is a small sample of our (Janie’s) pictures.
Janie formed a surprising fondness for the giant effigies Gog & MagogI was able to explain the true and fictional stories of Richard/Dick Whittington to Kelly and Joan seated next to me. I guess Michael and Elisabeth knew I’d have my uses sitting there.Pageantry west meets pageantry eastListen up! The late Mayor’s key charity, The Samaritans – Janie is one of their listeners.Punjabi dancing well-timed for DiwaliVic Reeves aka Jim Moir with his arty crowdA Lord Mayor’s Show delegation from Lagos for the first time“Oh goody. Chigley…” said Janie at this stage of the showA Mongolian themed troupe, for theatrical reasons I believeJanie loved the Hong Kong dragons perhaps as much as Gog & MagogMichael’s partial to a puffin. The Institute of Couriers pandered to that preferenceAlderfolk – the boys and girls on the bus90 minutes later, the pageant was over, once Michael set off for The Royal Courts of Justice.O farewell, Farewell the neighing steed, and the shrill trump, The spirit-stirring drum, th’ ear-piercing fife; The royal banner, and all quality.
Then milling to get back inside the Mansion House, a light lunch and some socialising/chatting before setting off for home.
If you are keen to see the BBC broadcast of this event but don’t know where to find it – as long as you have found this piece within 11 months, you can see it by clicking here.
…I was bound to appear at the Old Bailey sooner or later. But it wasn’t until a few days before Michael’s admission that I was asked to join Michael and the judges for lunch on his first day as Sheriff, which I thought a very nice request and one that would be hard to turn down, despite the day not being overly convenient for the purpose.
The done thing is to stay on after lunch and watch the afternoon sitting of a case unfold for an hour or so; something that would interest me a great deal, but my itinerary for that day would not allow that post lunch hour. The kind administrators at The Old Bailey have arranged for me to return on another day, a few weeks hence, to observe a post-lunch sitting.
Anyway, I got to The Old Bailey in good time, which was just as well because security gave me a fairly thorough going-over. Try as we might, we couldn’t seem to find everything about my person that was making their gadgets go bleep.
I had visions of being taken down the cells and that the “phone-battery-gate” incident, as it would doubtless become known, which led to my (Michael’s business partner’s) arrest on his first day as Sheriff, becoming a legendary smear on Michael’s Aldermanic career.
But no, security eventually gave up on me, accepting that my cuff-links might be causing the relatively mild residuary bleeps. I was allowed in.
I was one of five guests that day and five judges dined. Before lunch, we guests were hosted by Michael and Elisabeth in their Old Bailey apartment for drinks. This was an opportunity for Michael to explain the workings of the Old Bailey to us and explain the protocols for the rest of our visit.
I should perhaps explain that Michael has opted for a puffin as the animal atop his crest. Michael’s puffin is playing the bagpipes…obviously. You can read more about Michaels’ chain and crest by clicking here. The punchline, for those who choose not to click, is the motto: ordo ex χάος. Order out of chaos. Welcome to my world.
Then we guests were led into a reception room where we met most of the judges who were joining us for lunch. The traditional pre-lunch drink is a very flavoursome tomato juice.
There I learnt that coroners know how to have a good time when they gather for a convention, at least in the matter of witty after dinner speakers, such as John Spence.
Then the lunch itself, which was a light but very tasty vegetarian Indian meal.
There I learnt that judges don’t always pre-read the mini cvs that each guest is required to submit ahead of the lunch…but that judges can catch up pretty quickly on the content of five single paragraph cvs – who’d ‘ave thought it? The judges were excellent company. We discussed theatre, music and the Price Of Fish as well as their interesting cases.
There I also learnt that the knife crime epidemic is certainly manifesting itself in The Old Bailey schedule and that even genteel parts of London, such as my walking route twixt Notting Hill Gate and Lord’s, is not immune from such events. A slightly chilling thought ahead of my making that very walk later that very day.
But before braving the edgy, mean streets of Notting Hill Gate and St John’s Wood, I needed to say goodbye to the judges and my fellow guests, all of whom were sticking around in The Old Bailey.
After I descended the staircase to find myself back in the hands of the security team, I was much relieved to be shown the door rather than the next flight of stairs downwards for involuntary retention.
A very interesting lunch and I look forward very much to my return to see part of a case unfold.
Actually, this shrieval office is one of the most ancient offices in all humanity that remains in continuous use. See helpful blurb from the back of the breakfast menu below.
Anyway, point is, from the moment I arrived at the Guildhall, I found myself running into and chatting with folk I have known for ages; Michael’s brother Kelly and sister Katy, Elisabeth’s brother Marcus, Chris Smith, Robert Pay… also several of Michael’s high-profile friends, such as Neal Stephenson and Faisal Islam, who for once were in circumstances where they were perhaps less well known than me!
But today was about Michael Mainelli and his partner in crime (I mean in controlling crime of course) Sheriff Christopher Hayward, CC.
First up was the admission ceremony. It is explained on the following page.
This is not a ceremony that one films or photographs, but its ceremonial look might be gleaned from the following Pathe film from 1949 which claims to be the Mayoral Election but its title also claims to be a shrieval occasion, which I think might be an error:
Medieval ceremonial and an uber-historic look to many of the garbs there, from so long ago that the world was in black and white.
The ceremony in the Great Hall was a solemn affair; the Common Cryer and Serjeant-at-Arms broke the silence by commanding silence, so startlingly that several people made audible gasps before falling silent once more. I especially liked that bit.
After the ceremony, a reception downstairs in the Old Library – an opportunity to catch up with many people before going upstairs for the banquet.
At the reception, downstairs in the Old Library
I was too timid to take any pictures that day, but Rupert Stubbs, another of those good friends met through Michael and Elisabeth from decades back, took loads and sent me quite a few; many thanks Rupert.
I have often joked with friends from the North of England about the word dinner, meaning luncheon in the north and evening meal in the south of England. But here is an instance of a lunch-time (or do I mean dinner-time?) banquet being described as a breakfast. Indeed the breakfast invitation says…
the breakfast does not usually conclude before 3:30 pm
…which some of us might mistake for tea-time.
The term breakfast in this context, of course, like a wedding breakfast, has the ancient connotation of being the meal after a solemn ceremony before which, in days of yore, the main participants would be so engrossed in prayer ahead of the ceremony that the after ceremony meal would be, for them, the breaking of a devotional fast.
It did look grand…it was grand
Amazing grub too:
After the repast, the speeches in that glorious Old Library setting
I especially enjoyed Professor Jo Delahunty’s speech, during which she placed great emphasis on diversity and the rule of law; this year’s shrieval theme. Some around me seemed to find her speech, which seemed to me to be the voice of moderation, a bit edgy for the occasion. Apparently it is “the done thing” to restrict that particular speech to “pomping up the incoming sheriffs” (my choice of words for the gripes I heard).
Actually, my only beef with Jo Delahunty’s address was the selection of terrible mustard puns she made at the end of the talk, somewhat apologetically, as she had been told that it was compulsory to end on a joke.
That type of joke is a crime against hilarity in my book and the sheriffs should have done something to restore good order…except that I have a dreadful feeling that one of the sheriffs might have been the sauce of the puns [pun intended].
In any case, Jo did plug The Price Of Fish at the start of her talk, so I would forgive her pretty much anything.
Three hours after we sat down to breakfast, it was all over. Except that, before heading home, there was time to mill around and chat with some of the people I’d missed out on before the event. It really was lovely to see those people again.
The grandees departed in grand style…
…while the likes of me departed on the Central Line straight back to Noddyland and our little mock-medieval cottage:
One of the grander buildings in Noddyland, dwarfing our cottageThis sheriff is not for mocking
So what does a new sheriff do on the weekend after his admission? Why, of course, he drives sheep across London Bridge. What else? Here’s a little film of the very thing that Michael is doing right now as I type (film from the previous year of course):
While the only thing that is driving out here in Noddyland, as I write, is the driving rain against my window pain.
For someone who is making a conscious effort to cut back on midweek evenings out, this was not a high-achieving week.
11 February 2019, BDO Binder Hamlyn Partners Reunion, Guildhall
It started with a gathering of former BDO Binder Hamlyn partners at the Guildhall. Michael Mainelli asked me to join him and Elisabeth in helping to host that event – the first regathering of those partners since the firm dissolved into Arthur Andersen and other firms in the mid 1990s.
Of course, I wasn’t a partner in that firm, but during my five-to-six years with the firm I did do most of my work for audit clients. I also did a couple of internal consultancy projects – such things were normally considered to be career-blight for consultants, but I was either considered to be sufficiently dispensable or savvy enough to survive such trials – I still haven’t worked out which.
They are quite a centric bunch, the former Binder Hamlyn partners, in contrast with the quirkier group that descended on the National Liberal Club a few days later. Perhaps that explains why Michael didn’t trial his Gresham Society talk on humour in lectures. Instead, Michael made full use of his gavel and kept the formalities mercifully brief.
Actually it was a really pleasant gathering; just a shame there were none of the consultancy partners there who might have enjoyed the merry tale of my despair at my first assignment…
Anyway, I think the former partnership informally decided that it should regroup socially once every few years – certainly not leave it 20 to 25 years next time!
14 February 2019 – The Gresham Society Dinner – National Liberal Club
In fact we were on the way to the National Liberal Club when I discovered that Michael’s after dinner speech was to be on the subject of humour in Gresham lectures.
Excellent idea; it is always interesting when a professor chooses to speak on a subject about which he knows nothing…
…I said.
Michael laughed and then promptly added that joke to the start of his speech. It would be churlish to suggest that it got the best laugh of the whole speech, as there were lots of jokes in there…
…including, rather dangerously, I thought, one of my favourite intellectual jokes, the one about binary:
There are only 10 types of people in the world: Those who understand binary, and those who don’t.
I say, “dangerously”, because, of course, that is a joke that really only works properly on the printed page. As soon as you say “ten” or “one-zero” you have slightly killed the joke.
Had it been me, I’d have fallen back on my other favourite intellectual joke; the helium joke, which I think works much better orally than on the page, as long as it is delivered with good timing:
Helium walks into a bar.
The bartender says, “I’m sorry, we don’t serve noble gasses here”.
Helium doesn’t react.
Anyway, Michael’s after dinner talk was merely the apex of a very jolly evening. As usual, Tim Connell tried (and failed) to get through all the AGM business in five minutes. This time Tim double-failed; firstly by over-running in the first place, secondly by forgetting to re-elect the committee during the AGM bit which meant he had to hijack the start of the after-dinner revelry with that aspect of procedure.
Unusually this year we were graced with Iain Sutherland’s presence and he brought Bobbie Scully with him as a guest, which was a very pleasant surprise. Coincidentally, I had that very morning been Ogblogging about a visit to the theatre some thirty years ago with Bobbie to see the impenetrable Peter Handke play (or should I say dramatic poem?), The Long Way Round.
At the mention of this coincidence, Bobbie almost started hyper-ventilating as she remembers that particular theatre visit as quite the worst experience she can ever recall having at the theatre. If you click through you can read more.
Mercifully, Bobbie doesn’t seem to think that staying on for the second half was all my doing – she seems to think we both decided to stay out of charity to the performers, as we saw so many people leaving during the interval. So my memory of her begging me to leave during the interval and me insisting on us both staying is one of those false memories.
But back to the Gresham Society event, which no-one left early, even at the thought of an after dinner speech by Michael. It was, as always, a very convivial event with such interesting and friendly people.
Barbera Woodthorpe Browne organised a really charming touch for the evening – which ended up being on Valentine’s night this year due to availability of the venue – by sourcing large quantities of Valentine’s roses and seasonal gift bags enabling all of us to take the roses home to our loved ones.
15 February 2019 – Kim & Micky At Sanzio
The following evening Janie and I had dinner with Kim and Micky at Sanzio.
Picture from our previous visit in July 2018
I realise, looking at the picture from our previous visit, that we not only sat at the same table again but we even sat in the same places again. Here is my account of that previous visit:
This time I was not required to sign any disclaimers in the restaurant, but Kim was very determined to prove that she is “good at logic” by trying to demonstrate some logic puzzles on the table, using glasses, bottles and the like to try to make those “pattern-grid” type puzzles.
Janie and Micky were utterly baffled by it. I kinda got what Kim was on about (for once) but seemed to irk her by suggesting that such logic puzzles are not the be-all and end-all of rationality and indeed formal logic.
Meanwhile Kim’s dinner table logic puzzles started to look and sound like an old duffer demonstrating military maneuvers or cricket field placings by moving the cruet around the table. And the more Janie protested that she doesn’t/cannot engage with such puzzles at all, the more Kim sought to explain, while insisting that Janie can.
Meanwhile, I have a funny feeling that Jean-Paul Sartre was sitting alone at the next table, contemplating existential logic. After dinner, I heard the gentleman say to the waitress, “I’d like a cup of coffee with sugar, but no cream”. The waitress acknowledged his order and Sartre returned to his ponderings. A minute or two later, the waitress returned and said, “I’m sorry, Monsieur Sartre, we don’t have any cream – is it OK without milk?”
…and (perhaps less plausibly) I did claim another world record as a child, along with Paul Deacon, recorded for all posterity in my diary. This earlier claim has caused some controversy amongst the Alleyn’s School alumni:
So, when my business partner, Michael Mainelli, announced that, in his capacity as Master of the World Traders, he had decreed that the Guiness World Record for the most nationalities simultaneously singing a pop song was to be broken on his watch, I thought I should lend my considerable experience of world-record breaking to the enterprise. Especially as part of the purpose was to raise some money for charity.
Michael, looking masterfully iconoclastic
The world-record attempt was to be made in conjunction with Goodenough College (a wise and practical move given the size of the college’s hall and its international residency characteristics).
The extant record is (was) 72 nationalities, which doesn’t sound difficult to beat until you try.
My attempts to coerce some of the rarer nationalities to Bloomsbury on the promise of refreshments and a chance to be a record breaker had very limited success.
However, I did turn up myself in my capacity as an Estonian E-Resident as well as a UK national. Whether my E-Residency will count or not is in the hands of the official authenticators. It is on a short list of “others” which might or might not count. But we believe we have kicked the extant record deep into touch even if none of the “others” are accepted. .. (Update: the e-residency didn’t count – but my attendance still counts of course).
Yo!
The first part of the evening was a bit like trying to get through immigration at Heathrow after our beloved Prime Minister has had her bureaucratic way with Brexit. Everyone needed to register, have their nationality documents copied, witnessed, verified…
…only then could you complete the maze and enter the large hall where the sing-along took place.
…but without the chairs
Even then, we were all put through a further confirming, counting and segmenting into bite-sized zones to enable stewards and witnesses to confirm that we were all singing. We had over 200 people singing, representing up to 87 nationalities (including the three or four odd-bods like me) – well north of the previous record of 72.
But, despite the bureaucracy, it proved to be a great fun evening. There were lots of people I know there and I got to meet some new people too.
The choir-mistress got us to do some excellent warming up exercises to ensure that our minds, bodies and lungs were all to be working at full pelt when we went for the record.
Warming Up – photo borrowed from the World Traders Tweet
I was at the far end of the room – you can probably see three or four pixels of me in the above photo.
Then we practiced by singing “I’d Like To Teach The World To Sing”. I remember, even as a small child, finding that song cheesy. Yet it still turns out to be even cheesier than I remembered it:
Then we warmed up some more with Mamma Mia – another cheesy song but one with more communal fun singing characteristics:
But the actual world-record attempt song was Imagine, which we practiced once and then sang in full, even repeating the third verse to make absolutely sure that we exceeded three minutes, a required factor for our record it seems:
Actually, when we performed Imagine the second time – i.e. for the formal record-breaking attempt, it was a very moving experience. I think we all felt a sense of international cameradie and in the end we linked arms and swayed to the rhythm of our singing.
After the record attempt, the choir-mistress led us in another Mamma Mia to let off steam.
Then drinks. Plenty of them.
There were rumours on the night that a commercial enterprise was going to trying to break the very same record the next night. Indeed they sent some spies who tried to recruit singers from our event, which felt a bit sleazy to me. Anyway, word is, that those chancers only reached the 72 previously achieved and that our record should be confirmed.
We should learn quickly if/that our effort has been confirmed as a new world record. We ‘re quietly confident. I’ll update this posting once we know. Until then, you’ll have to imagine.
When Tim Connell sent round a circular announcing a visit to the Chelsea Physic Garden, I knew immediately that the visit would be a special treat for Janie and guessed that Linda Cook would also be very interested. I was less sure about Michael and Elisabeth; as it turned out Michael was keen.
Janie was very keen and had not yet booked in any patients for that day, so we basically decided to make it a date and took the day off.
A hot date in the Chelsea Physic Garden
There were 25 to 30 of us in the Gresham Society party, I believe. The weather was very kind to us; occasionally the clouds looked a bit iffy, but there was also some sun and certainly no rain.
The Original Sloane Ranger In His Garden
We got split into two groups; our guide was Anne, who seemed very well informed and proved to be good company.
To my mind, the best plant in the garden was Catharanthus roseus (Madagascan or Rosy periwinkle), which yields natural remedies for childhood leukaemia, increasing survival rates by orders of magnitude. Yet the most popular plant amongst our cynical, Gresham Society group seemed to be Veratrum viride (Indian Poke), which induces profuse vomiting and which some native American tribes use to choose their leader; on a “last candidate to throw up” basis. Going back to traditional, natural methods is sometimes a very good idea.
Janie asked Anne zillions of questions, many of which seemed to me to be more about the poisonous, nasty plants, rather than the medicinal, nice ones. Even more worryingly, I thought I heard Janie ask a few of times, “would you be able to taste this if you added it to food?” Perhaps I am mistaken about that. But when we visited the bookshop before leaving, Janie bought a small book on medicinal plants and a larger book on the poisonous ones. I think I’ll eat out for a while.
We enjoyed a spot of lunch/high tea at the Tangerine Dream cafe within the garden, which made for a very convivial conclusion to the outing. We always enjoy spending time with the Gresham Society crowd.
By the time Janie had concluded her book shopping, I thought we might be running a bit late for the movies, but I had sort-of forgotten that the car journey from the Chelsea Physic Garden to the Curzon Chelsea was a very short one.
So we had time to book Janie’s birthday treat (a preview of the new V&A wing) before stepping in to The Other Side Of Hope. We thought this was a great movie – very interesting, at times amusing, at times shocking. It is about a Syrian refugee who lands-up seeking asylum and then working as an illegal in Helsinki.
A convivial evening at the National Liberal Club; the Gresham Society AGM and dinner. Michael Mainelli said he was going to miss not only the pre-AGM drinks but even the AGM, so suggested that I leave the office ahead of him. But by the time I had got there and made his excuses to everyone, he arrived; a good 5-10 minutes before the AGM started.
In the hands of Tim Connell, an AGM is neither painful nor lengthy. So there was time for more chat between the AGM and dinner. Several people were complimentary about my maiden baritone ukulele performance at December’s Gresham Society soiree, which certainly made me feel good at the end of a long day.
I sat next to Elisabeth Mainelli on one side and Noel-Ann Bradshaw from the University of Greenwich on the other side, which made very pleasant company; indeed at Gresham Society functions, pleasant company is more or less guaranteed.
The speaker was Michael Binyon, whose tales of derring-do as foreign correspondent for the times didn’t quite match Boot of The Beast (Scoop is one of my favourite novels) but raised several laughs none-the-less. A memorable tale about Messrs Foot and Healey meeting Brezhnev sticks in my mind, as does the problem of dictation down the phone line which led to the reporting of “dead sea squirrels”. What a by-gone era story that makes, although it occurred within living memory).
No doubt Michael Binyon had to dodge a bullet or two as a correspondent, but he struggled to dodge a “question-bullet” about the Times pay-wall, claiming that the iPad version of the Times is making money now. As the economists, accountants and operational researchers on our table might put it; that depends on how you count.
I imagine that the merriment continued in the bar long after I sloped away, but at the end of a long day I decided to quit while I was still feeling very much on top. A most enjoyable evening.
We probably should have a corporate rule that every board meeting should conclude with a lunchtime concert.
But in reality this sort of thing is a rare treat for us…but treat this was indeed.
Michael had spotted this one, no doubt through some aldermanic connection, so not only did we get to listen to the delicious music but we got to eat some of the delicious food for honoured guests afterwards and network a while.
I like Handel’s concerto grossi and we got two of them in this concert. The sandwich filling was some Arvo Pärt of the listenable variety.
