Blooming heck – Janie and I took Pauline with us on this occasion, to see an Ayckbourn play about a family with three daughters…
…and yet our logged verdict on the event was:
Very good.
It must REALLY have been very good.
The play was subtitled “The Story So Far aka Me Times Me Times Me” and is one of those lesser-known Ayckbourn plays. Possibly it is lesser-known precisely because it is less predictable, glib, farce-oriented comedy than many of his works.
My friend, Michael Billington, clearly liked the play and this production:
After reading that Billington review, I am for some reason (“Dance Of Death played for laughs”, perhaps, or “three sisters in comparison with whom Lear’s daughters look like balanced and beneficent progeny” reminded of one of my favourite Peter Cook quotes:
I go to the theatre to be entertained. I don’t want to see plays about rape, sodomy and drug addiction – I can get all that at home.
Nick Curtis in the evening Standard was less sure about the piece:
The Ridings School in Halifax was labelled Britain’s worst school around this time. I think Mike Ward at the Actors’ Workshop in Halifax might have requested that I write about it, although I might have worked out the relevance of the story for myself.
I think this one was used in Halifax but not at NewsRevue, but it might have made both shows.
The school was subsequently turned around and became one of Britain’s best schools, after which it was only a matter of time before the authorities would close it down, obviously.
WONDERFUL SCHOOL (To the Tune of “Wonderful World”)
VERSE 1
Don’t know much about Ecstasy, Don’t know much about LSD; Never learned how to run amok, Never learned how to pick a lock; But I do know my ABC, And I can count: 1-2-3, So The Ridings School’s no use to me.
MIDDLE EIGHT
Well I tried hard to be an A student, Then my class rebelled; Now maybe by being an A grade student, I could get myself expelled.
VERSE 2
Don’t know much about heroin, Don’t know much about drinking gin; Never had any gonorrhoea, Never drink much but ginger beer; But I know my relativity, So I do know, QED, That The Ridings School just ain’t for me; No, The Ridings School just ain’t for me.
Below is an official lyric video of Sam Cooke singing Wonderful World:
This one is dated 7 October on the face of the letter bt the file is dated 18 November and must have been written then, on my return from the USA:
Mike Ward 7 October 1996
Actor’s Workshop
West Grove Terrace
Hopwood Lane
Halifax West Yorkshire
HX1 5EX
Dear Mike
ADAM / THE RIDINGS SCHOOL / NO JUXTAPOSITION INTENDED
Thank you for putting Adam in touch with me; it was a pleasure to see him at The Harvard Club that Monday. He seems much more settled and in his element in NY NY than he did last time I saw him in London, which is good news. My trip went well you’ll also be glad to learn.
I got your Ridings School plea when I returned from the Big Apple. I enclose a fairly simple romp through the theme but it might just do the trick for you.
Xmas run of News Revue opens this Thursday – I’m trying to arrange a New York – style evening to enable me to complete my earlier evening appointments in time to catch the show!!
Politicians wear their ethics on their sleeve, And in politics that’s dead hard to believe; They pretend that they are worthy, And that they believe in God, Deep down, we know, each one’s an evil sod.
CHORUS 1
So here it is, moral Christmas, Major, Blair and Ashdown pray, Here’s to the public, Who just wish they’d go away.
VERSE 2
When the politicians try so hard to please, You can bet they’re on the make or deep in sleaze; They might ride a red nosed reindeer, Not a sexual delight, They’d do anything when told the price is right.
CHORUS 2
So here it is moral Christmas, When hypocrisy’s a smash, Pay for your questions now, With Barclaycard or cash.
CHORUS 3
So here it is moral Christmas, When MPs seek the high ground, Here’s to the future graft, In Euros not in pounds.
Below is Merry Christmas Everybody by Slade with lyrics on the screen:
Marjory Proops was a very well-known agony aunt, said to bear an uncanny resemblance to my mum. Frankly, I think it was just the cruel spectacles combined with some ethnic stereotyping.
Anyway, point is, Proops died in November 1996 so I wrote the following lyric for NewsRevue, which, I think, went down well.
MARGE PROOPS (To the Tune of “High Hopes”)
VERSE 1
If you want vice at a newspaper price, There was lots to be learned from Proops’ advice. Just what made that agony aunt, Want to write with a sexual slant; Editors thought an old aunt can’t, Make their readership pant.
CHORUS 1
But she was Marge Proops, She was Marge Proops, She was back of a barge, nose too large Proops. If you’d a dud relationship, ‘jaculation’s quick, Or you’d done a Hugh Grant. You’d tell all to Marge the agony aunt, {You’d tell all to Marge the agony aunt,} You’d tell all to Marge the agony aunt.
VERSE 2
If you gave head or were no good in bed, She was not too much help and now she’s dead. Just what made that agony aunt, Make folk think her advice was extant?; Anyone knows an old aunt can’t, Do much other than rant.
CHORUS 2
But she was Marge Proops, She was Marge Proops, She was light brigade charge, specs too large Proops. So now if you are cryin’ she’s, Not replyin’ cos, She’s a stiff so she can’t; Oops there goes another agony aunt, {Oops there goes another agony aunt,} Oops there goes another agony aunt.
Ker plop!
Below is a video of Frank Sinatra and a chorus of kiddies singing High Hopes with the lyrics on the screen:
Michael and I had been commissioned to do a bit of work for Bloomberg. Janie and I decided to enjoy a weekend in New York ahead of my assignment. Janie flew out with me on the Friday, returning to London on the Sunday redeye. I then joined up with Michael and we worked in New York for several days.
Janie and I stayed at the Waldorf Astoria, scoring a manageable price at that time – especially as expenses was picking up five of my seven nights.
We chose to eat at Smith & Wollensky’s (see headline picture) the first night, having read a rave review about it in one of Janie’s travel mags. What that review didn’t teach us was the extent to which a high-end steakhouse in NYC was a “jacket & tie more or less assumed” place, which I discovered only after we arrived in smart casuals.
One local asked Janie if we were Irish as he was leaving, perhaps based on Janie’s physiognomy but perhaps also our casual look. One friendly but drunk gentleman, while walking past us as he departed, stopped and asked me if I realised how expensive the restaurant was. I told him I did. Thing was, back then, an expensive New York restaurant seemed quite modest in price by London standards.
Museum Of Modern Art (MoMA)
Janie and I did some culture-vulturing on the Saturday, spending quite some time at MoMA, partly looking at the excellent general galleries but also taking in some special exhibitions, e.g. a Jasper Johns retrospective.
We went on to a Nan Goldin exhibition at The Whitney, which had been much heralded on both sides of the pond:
By mid-late afternoon, we really were both wilting, so we returned to the hotel for siesta, before venturing out again, this time for dinner at the 2nd Avenue Deli:
Actually we eschewed the popular “salt beef on rye” style of deli food depicted for a more traditional Jewish deli meal, harder to come by in London, including a truly excellent cholent, which Janie, now a self-appointed aficionado of such dishes, claims to be the best she has ever tasted. I believe it was accompanied by (or perhaps we separately ordered) a kishke or helzel, which, obviously, will have helped the fatty-gooiness of the occasion make an especially strong impression. We also tried p’tcha (calves foot jelly), which is one of those mistakes people tend to only make once.
Still, it was a very special evening and I am pretty sure we slept off our endeavours/over-indulgence at length that night.
The next day we took it easy, simply strolling and finding a suitable-looking mid-town eatery for a traditional New York Sunday brunch, before I helped Janie get a cab to the airport for her “red-eye” journey home that evening.
New York cabs were still a hit-and-miss affair, probity-wise, back then. The authorities had fixed the price of a fare from Manhattan to JFK, so I gave Janie the appropriate fare plus a generous tip, explaining to her that she could and should simply exhaust her supply of dollar money on that journey. The cabbie tried to enforce some monstrous sum showing on his meter, which was the very thing the authorities had sought to prevent with the flat fare rule. Janie simply explained what had been explained to her and the initially angry cabbie relented. Janie has not sought a rapid return to New York City since.
I have a feeling I met up with Michael at the Harvard Club that evening. I recall having some superb sashimi with him there – for some reason (perhaps brainiacs tend to like sashimi) the place had employed a top sashimi chef at that time, which didn’t go with the decor but did go down very nicely indeed.
Then for several days it was mostly work.
I recall one midweek evening being entertained for dinner at John Aubert’s elevated apartment on the New Jersey side of the Hudson Bay with a glorious view of Manhattan.
One midweek evening comprised an early evening cocktail party at the Harvard Club, organised by Michael for his wider circle of friends and acquaintances, followed by dinner with a closer-knit small group. Very New York.
On my last night, the Thursday, Bloomberg arranged a dinner for us and several of the seniors involved in our project at a seriously up-market, kosher restaurant in mid-town. Several of the attendees had such dietary needs. It was, to date (25 years on), the one and only meal I have ever had that might be described as both haute cuisine and glatt kosher.
Not a pickle in sight
Michael stayed on Friday for an audience with Michael Bloomberg himself, while I took the wimps (daytime) flight back to London, arriving late evening to find that Janie had, in my absence, changed all of the carpets in Sandall Close. Let’s tread carefully around that one.
Family Circles Billington 10 Dec 1996, Tue The Guardian (London, Greater London, England) Newspapers.com
Family Circles Nick Curtis Standard 12 Dec 1996, Thu Evening Standard (London, Greater London, England) Newspapers.com
