A mikvah (or mikveh) is a Jewish ritual bath (the picture above is a modern example).
It is rather an orthodox thing and mostly a female thing, so, in truth, I’ve not had much truck with mikv’ot (mikvah, plural) personally. I do remember my father saying that he wanted to apply for the job of lifeguard when they opened a mikvah in Streatham, but he was joking and I am digressing.
The closest I’ve got to actually dipping in a mikvah-like manner personally was my visit to the Fukinomori onsen bath in Japan 18 months or so ago:
The Orange Tree team has made an excellent short video explaining the play, embedded below:
It had a short run at the Orange Tree’s Director Festival 2019, which was very well received by the reviewers, but not seen by many people, so the Orange Tree has, wisely, brought the piece back for a full run with a proper set, including a “bad boy of a pseudo-mikvah” on stage.
Janie and I were both really impressed by the writing, the production and the directing. The performances of both Alex Waldmann & Josh Zare were top rate.
At one level it is a slight piece. Just over an hour; a simple and somewhat predictable plot. It made me think of My Beautiful Laundrette, but without the heavy political and inter-racial overtones.
Yet the play works extremely well. It is a charming piece that shows two young men in semi-detached North-West London suburbia who are semi-detached from their roots and from the expectations their community places upon them.
Janie and I like short plays of this kind; entertaining, thought-provoking and well-produced. Another big tick in the box for The Orange Tree.
If you are reading this during March 2020, we recommend that you go and see this piece; it runs at the Orange Tree until 28 March.
So I am not describing this year’s Gresham Society annual bash as “long” because the formalities took longer than promised.
But in truth, deploying the sort of barefaced nerve that might even make our current Prime Minister blush at the missed timescale, Tim Connell’s perennial boast that he would keep the AGM to within five minutes (or die in a ditch attempting it?) was blown once again this year by more-than-doubling the time to 11-and-a-half minutes.
No, the reason this evening should be remembered by all Gresham Society folk as The Long AGM & Dinner is because Ray Long CB was the guest speaker.
I am certainly not suggesting that the formal elements of the dinner were too long. The grace, toasts and Ray Long’s address were all delightfully short and well-directed. Ray, who is currently Master of the Information Technologists’ Company and a Past-President of BCS, spoke in part about artificial intelligence (AI), outlining the potential risks but also the monumental benefits that such technologies might bring.
Did Ray use AI to help compose and edit his charming address? We can only guess. Perhaps Ray himself doesn’t even know for sure; that would be spooky.
Yes, most of the evening was spent eating, drinking and enjoying conviviality, as always.
The Gresham Society crowd and their guests are such a warm and friendly bunch; this event is a great opportunity to catch up with Gresham friends. I always go home from such evenings feeling happy and uplifted.
As it turns out, fortunately, Jeremy Summerly is an early music expert with a sense of humour and a sense that there is no such thing as poor performance – in common with my early music teacher, Ian Pittaway:
Anyway, the point is, Jeremy Summerly and I had enough time chatting to realise that there should be some early music fun to be had at the next soirée, not least with a little “piece” I already have up my sleeve in readiness.
Basil also, very kindly, tipped me off to Jeremy Summerly’s superb guest lectures, the first two of which I missed but both of which are now available on YouTube (copyright issues having been overcome, it seems), so I passed a couple of very enjoyable and informative hours the next evening watching those:
I have also made a diary note to attend the next one on 2 April.
Another noteworthy element of the evening was the wine. I tried the white, a Bacchus from New Hall Vineyards in Essex, more in hope than in expectation, but I thought it really very good; as did Bobbie, who spent quite some time trying to persuade Iain to try it. The La Linda Malbec was also excellent – we should consider it for Z/Yen events, especially when our Linda (Cook) is organising them.
I’m rambling – and in danger of making this piece the only exceptionally long aspect of the event.
It was a lovely evening, as always with Gresham Society.
Saturday 8 Feburary, Janie and I went to Boston Manor for an early game of lawn tennis. It was a bit chilly but the sun was shining and the weather was set dreadful for the next couple of days.
So although I was due on court for a real tennis match that afternoon, we both needed some exercise and both fancied some of the outdoor variety.
We had a good game. I thought I played well and hoped my timing would be as good that afternoon as it had been that morning. In the end I think it was.
A quick scrub up and then off to Lord’s in Dumbo for the MCC v Dedanists match.
Parking Up Dumbo…Outside Moreton Morrell in this photo as it happens
The MCC v Dedanists match has been reported extensively on the Dedanists Society and MCC websites. Your truly has written the report. Here is a link to the Dedanists’ Society site.
Carl Snitcher in “thinker” poseSam Leigh keeping an eye on the guests, no doubt
Below are some of the spectators, rapt with attention, hanging on every shot:
Here’s me, John Thirlwell and my partner Martin Village (grabbing a coffee) as we came off court.
Here’s a link to all the stills that Janie took that day:
Janie took a few video clips, the first of which illustrates the famous Harris serve followed by the infamous Harris grunt…
…this next one shows some relatively classy play by our standards…
…and this next one includes my incisive calling, an all-time favourite string, “switch…up yours…well played”:
For the uninitiated, the phrase “up yours” is not a petulant expletive in the direction of one’s partner. Heaven forbid. “Up” indicates that the ball will land on the penthouse above the dedans gallery, thus telling one’s partner that there is no need to volley. “Yours” means that the ball, once it descends, is for one’s partner to play.
Considering that Martin and I had never even seen each other play before, let alone played together, I thought we got a lot more of that sort of stuff right than might have been expected.
I have scraped CCTV video evidence of the match highlights from all five of the rubbers, which can be seen in silence but glorious colour, through the following embedded links. We join Tony Friend & Paul Cattermull v Yuri Kugler & Julian Sheraton Davis in the second set with the score at 4-4:
We join Sam Leigh & Simon Martin v Simon Webster & Rodger Davis in the second set with the score at 3-3.
We join Giles Stogdon & Carl Snitcher v James McDermott & David Enticknap in the second set with the score at 2-3.
We join Peter Dean & Giles Pemberton v Johnny Saunders & Linda Sheraton Davis towards the end of the first set with the score at 4-4.
If you are a truly in search of passing some time (nearly an hour), you can watch both sets of the Sebastian Wood & John Thirlwell v Ian Harris & Martin Village match below.
As if that wasn’t enough drama for one day, Janie and I went on to the Royal Court to see All Of It after Lord’s. It was a wonderful 45 minutes of theatre, reported on here and below:
On Sunday morning the wind was howling at 40 mph plus and the weather forecast looked increasingly terrible. But the rain didn’t start first thing and Accuweather suggested that it wouldn’t rain until 11:00, so we decided to brave our regular 10:00 slot.
Just a little bit crazy – picture from some daftness a few years ago
Strangely, there was no-one else around in the park, apart from Linda Massey who was battening down the hatches of the pavilion.
Linda briefly came across to the tennis courts to tell us:
Ok, I am now officially declaring that you two are mad.
Strangely, once we got used to the wind, we had an exhilarating, fun although not exactly classic, game of lawners.
We played on Court One on Sunday, whereas we had played on Court Two (Centre Court) on Saturday. So those two, plus the Lord’s real tennis court and the Royal Court theatre add up to four courts in 25 hours.
Don’t tell Linda Massey, but we went back to Boston Manor Park again on Monday morning in similar weather – again no-one else around – and had another game of lawners. We’re not mad…we’re just a bit mad on tennis.
…we wondered whether we’d done the right thing booking this – especially as the Royal Court rubric on the piece was vague, even by Royal Court vague rubric standards. Click here for a link to the unhelpful material.
The little videos in the Royal Court information resource on this production really do not do justice to the piece or to the production’s creators.
We’d also been impressed by Kate O’Flynn when we’d seen her perform.
This production of All Of It is only running for eight performances over the next few days, so change your plans, beg the Royal Court to find you a ticket, do anything to get to see it. It is 45 minutes of theatrical delight.
Actually, it is 42-43 minutes of theatrical delight. For the first two or three minutes we were both thinking, “oh-oh”, until we realised what was going on and how the piece was going to unfold.
Then we could relax and enjoy a virtuoso performance of a rather brilliant piece of writing.
The piece is basically a short, lyrical monologue about an ordinary woman’s life. All of it.
Just take our advice and get to see it, but you’ll have to be quick. If you miss the next few days, start nagging the Royal Court to transfer it or put it on again because this production really deserves to be seen by lots of people and should give pleasure to far more people than eight-Royal-Court-houses.
I’d long wanted to see Concentus Musicus Wien. I also see so little Telemann listed these days and am a sucker for his stuff. So this concert caught my eye.
Janie really didn’t fancy this one on a Thursday evening, so I booked just the one ticket for myself.
Earlier in the evening, I went to LSE to help the LSE100 team celebrate their 10th birthday. I made a small contribution to the course in 2018, which, it seems, qualified me to join the party. I stuck to water at the LSE and indeed stayed dry at The Wigmore Hall too.
Word reached me that Dominic (my real tennis doubles partner) and his wife Pamela would be there that evening. Double-coincidence, because I learnt that i would be partnering Domnic again in a one-off game the next day.
Anyway, the music.
First up was some Biber. Are Heinrich Biber fans known as Belibers? They should be.
I can’t find a decent Concentus Biber on line, but the following performance of Battalia will give you a decent idea:
Next up was the Telemann, which I thought super special, not least the oboe and trumpet parts. Telemann fans are known as Telemaniacs in some circles, that i know for sure.
Again, you’ll need to make do with a different orchestra but this recording will give you a reasonable feel for it:
Then the interval, during which time Dominic, Pamela, a few of their other friends and I had a natter.
Then on to Vivaldi. Autumn. Nicely done.
Below is Julia Fischer playing it. Different style to Erich Höbarth, who led on the evening, but just differently lovely.
Finally, a bit more of a rarity, Purcell’s complete King Arthur Suite. Very good, it was. I only recognised odd snippets of it; for sure I hadn’t heard it in its entirety before.
To complete an evening of coincidences, I ran into my friend John from the health club as I was leaving the concert hall, so we travelled home together.
John is not so familiar with early music and original instruments – he said he found it hard at first to adjust his ear to the period instruments. It made me realise how much i have become accustomed to them – I don’t even think about the sound being “different” any more; it’s pretty much the way I expect to hear music of that period.
A shame the Wiggy wasn’t full – perhaps only 2/3rds or 3/4s full.
How does one describe Threadmash? It is sort-of a writing club, where people write and recite pieces, often being encouraged outside their safe places, by ringmaster Rohan Candappa.
But it is not so much about what we do as it is about how it makes those of us who participate in it feel. I probably described that for the first time at the end of the Ogblog piece in which I set out my second threadmash piece:
Rohan is not one to let a birthday or anniversary go unmarked…
…nor is he one to miss an opportunity for a party of sorts.
So Threadmash 5 was cunningly scheduled for the first anniversary of Threadmash. Well played, Rohan.
There were several new faces this time, observing the readings and whole-heartedly participating in the party atmosphere. Several of them had “Sh” names, such as Shirani, Shivangi, Shazia and Rowan.
Terry went first. He wrote a job application letter, to become a taster for Mr Kipling cakes. He used the application as a mechanism to tell us all about is “work experience” as a youngster. It was very amusing and touching in parts.
Jan then read us a letter to a plate of food that she was forced to “study” outside the headmistresses office for the whole afternoon, when five years old, because she had the audacity to abstain from eating the ghastly gunk that was her school dinner. This too was a very funny and touching piece.
…followed by Chris who wrote a letter to his own testosterone, explaining how their relationship had changed and was likely to continue changing over the decades. Not only funny and engaging, this piece was also moving and quite risky in the level and nature of its confessional humour.
Flo’s piece was the fifth one. A letter, decades later, to a youth with whom she had enjoyed extended correspondence and an unfulfilled dalliance “back in the day”, probably because she was less ready for romance at that time than the young man. As with all of the pieces, there was a mixture of drama and humour; this one especially bittersweet because the mismatch was one of those timing things that so many of us probably, if we put our minds to it, experienced one way or another when we were in the early stages of romance. I probably wasn’t the only man in the room thinking, “crickey, I never, ever put THAT much effort into wooing a girl. Poor chap.”
Next up was David Wellbrook, who wrote a very moving letter in the part of a soldier on the front line in WW1, writing home having just killed a man in hand-to-hand combat. David is a very versatile writer. To a greater extent than most of us, he is able to pick up on Rohan’s entreaties to stretch ourselves beyond our safe zones and make that stretch comprehensively.
Strangely, Kay’s letter was to her late Grandfather and talked a great deal about his active service in WW1.This seemed like a particularly coincidental echo, coming immediately after David’s WW1 story and also in relation to mine, which was also a letter to a dead relative of the grandfather generation, albeit “grandfather-in-law” in my case. Kay’s piece was very touching, not least because clearly her grandfather had been unable to communicate feelings very much when Kay knew him and also because it is clear from the letter that Kay feels she might not have communicated with him sufficiently either.
Geraldine’s letter was directed by Rohan to be a letter of resignation, but Geraldine cleverly and delightfully twisted the idea to make it a letter of resignation to her former husband, explaining why she felt she simply had to escape the drudgery of the “American dream, American housewife” role in which she found herself cast as his wife. It was a beautiful piece of writing, full of love combined with a steely determination to explain herself and not to apologise. As with all of the pieces, the letter was probably the right length for such a performance piece but (and because) it said so much while leaving me wanting to know more.
After a short interlude, Rohan took us through a 10 point agenda. Is this is all getting a bit business-like?
…not as business-like as it looks, once you read the items
The brief for Threadmash Six is to write about an unknown woman named Charlotte Thomas. All we know of her is that Rohan managed to acquire a cheap moleskin-like notebook that had been customised with her name but never collected from the shop. Our job is to write about whosoever this person might be.
It did cross my mind to recycle my Theadmash One story, which is about a youthful dalliance with a young woman who I only ever knew as Fuzz, thus not even knowing her real first name, let alone her second name. She might very well be (or have been) Charlotte Thomas…
…but that would be cheating – I won’t do that. I think I have already decided on my Charlotte Thomas idea – it will be a bit of a stretch but I guess it is meant to be.
There was an awards ceremony, during which Rohan’s Edinburgh nemesis Rowan presented Adrian (in absentia) and Julie “Croissanita” with awards which, given their origins from the same stable as the Charlotte Thomas moleskin-type thing, I suggested should henceforward be known as “Charleys”.
It was a birthday party so of course there was cake…
…and goody bags.
Even the awkward silence was superb.
Then Rohan performed a new piece of his own, a very evocative piece which the agenda claims to be a collaboration with a top musician. But Rohan actually confessed that Brian Eno is…was unaware of the collaboration. I’m hoping Rohan will tell me which ambient piece he used to back up his words, at which point I shall update this piece with the information and possibly (with Rohan’s permission) let Brian Eno know how well he did.
Update: Rohan reports that the piece used was Neroli. You may hear Neroli on-line by clicking here or the embedded thingie below:
Rohan’s new work, about 15 minutes long, is a lyrical, poetic piece named Park.
Rohan was so pumped for his recital that he even felt the need to change for his performance:
Not only was Park a very charming and thought-provoking piece, it was, in a way, the third coincidence on the topic of troubadours. Of course, we will never know whenether the troubadour tradition was one of singing the lyrical poems to tunes or the dramatic recitation of lyrical poems with musical backing…almost certainly a bit of both depending on the piece and the troubadour. In any case it occurred to me that Rohan’s piece was very much of that 800+ years old troubadour tradition.
As always, the very act of gathering and spending an evening with such super people is a huge part of the Threadmash thing. I have known several of the people for just shy of 50 years now, whereas some of us have just met in the last year and about half the people at this anniversary evening were new to the thing. All were great company.
I’ve written too much already. It was a cracking evening. Thanks as always, Rohan.
The brief was simply to write a letter, although Rohan Candappa gave me some additional guidance suggesting that I try fiction this time. Here is the piece I performed for that event.
Dear William
Hi. It’s Prince Harry here. The sun is streaming in through my window here in France. It’s late morning; 1152 to be precise and you should know…indeed I want everybody to know, that I’m in love, William, I am in love!
Look, I know it isn’t going to be easy. She’s several years older than me, she’s a divorcee and she’s from across the pond. She might not be accepted by the great British public as “one of their own”.
She’s also a bit of a crusader. One tough cookie who doesn’t mind putting up a fight for the stuff she believes in. I like that about her.
William; she is SO beautiful. Not just how she looks in the pictures – those media types can make any old minger look special – but she really is a stunner. Real hotty totty, eh what?
But I’m not marrying her just for my own selfish reasons. Hell no. I’m getting married for the good of my country. We are in such a political mess at the moment. Near anarchy, I’d call it. Britain needs a royal wedding right now.
But, William, I would really like to know what you think. I know you can’t really give me answers, but you really know your pussy. Heaven knows you’ve played the field more than I have, more than most people. Droit du seigneur and all that.
So I wonder if you think my proposed marriage will work? I really could do with some familial advice and frankly I have no-one else credible to turn to in matters of the heart…
…just a second, all hell seems to have kicked off outside the Château. Bloody French, what the hell’s it about this time? They’re always revolting about something or another. Got to go, I’ll finish off this letter later on.
LATER ON
Hello again, William. It was 1152 when I started this letter; it’s 1173 now. Crumbs – when I said that I’d finish this letter later, I didn’t have “21 years later” in mind. Doesn’t time fly when you’re having fun? Heck, how should I know; I’m not having much fun. Frankly, things haven’t gone swimmingly well since I wrote the first part of this letter.
It’s not all bad news. I’ve been King of England now for 19 years, which makes me a pretty important bloke, especially when you also take into account all my Dukedoms and Counties in France, including your old Dukedom of Aquitaine. Nice place. Decent weather.
So I did marry your grand-daughter, Eleanor. Wow, she really is a goer. Boof. We’ve had loads of kids. But therein lies the rub. It is nigh on impossible to keep all the kids happy with lands and castles and stuff. Eleanor doesn’t help because she insists on interfering – you know what women are like.
To be honest with you, I have fallen out with rather a lot of people lately, including Eleanor…and all of our kids…and my former best mate (now late mate) Thomas Becket… the Scots, the Irish, the Bretons, the Flemish, most of the French nobles, many of the English Barons…and the Pope.
But you know what, William? I know it might be hard for you to believe, but NONE of this revolting business is my fault. None of it. Heck, I’m just trying to do my job, establishing some sort of order out of the political mayhem I inherited.
You of all people will understand what I’m going through. You too fell out with your wife and had a ruction with the church. At least I haven’t been excommunicated; twice. But history will look kindly on you, William. It already does. You’ve not even been dead for 50 years, but already you are remembered as a bon viveur, a great lover and especially as the first troubadour. Heaven only knows how I’m going to be remembered.
How did you get away with all that stuff, William? Your behaviour…and the language you used in your songs – I’ve never seen the “F” word and the “C” word used so much in all my life.
Times have changed, though, William. The younger generation are prudes and snowflakes.
In truth, I don’t see much of Eleanor these days. Heck, I’m a busy fellow with loads of revolts to quell and I cannot bear being nagged. Anyway, Eleanor permanently stays indoors at the moment; I have security see to that. But I do still love her, in a way. A chivalric way. You of all people will understand that.
In fact, it occurred to me that, as you were the very first troubadour; the chap who established the tradition of secular performance song which will endure for centuries if not millennia…
…I thought I should end this letter with a song that explains exactly how I feel about your granddaughter Eleanor.
Sincerely yours,
Your devoted grandson-in-law
Henry Plantagenet
ELEANOR
VERSE ONE
You’ve got a thing about you; Grandpa was a troubadou, I really want you, Eleanor legally;
Your power intoxicates me, though all the French folk hate me;
There’s no-one like you, Eleanor, regally.
CHORUS ONE
Eleanor, you of Aquitaine, as they speak in Northern Spain, Southern France and parts of Italy;
Eleanor, can you be more kind, I want you to change your mind, try to reign beside me prettily.
VERSE TWO
Sometimes I think your hassle, treating me like your vassal,
Seeking advance for you and the offspring;
Don’t suppose you envisioned, that I’d have you imprisoned,
When your coup failed with Henry The Young King
CHORUS TWO
Eleanor, you of Aquitaine, you’re a right chivalric pain, all our sons will not forgive me;
Eleanor, can you be more kind, I want you to change your mind, at this rate you’ll way outlive me.
OUTRO
Eleanor, gee I think you’re hell, ah-hah; Eleanor, gee I think you’re hell, ah-hah…ha-ah.
Not that they had chords in the 12th century, but for those who might be interested in the chords I used, the image below will help you. Aficionados might note the devils intervals I used to conclude the “musical piece”.
Performed on my Roosebeck baroq-ulele, tuned DGBE. Thus A4th is fret 2 on the G&B strings, D4th is open D and F# on the E string. Not very 12th century but a bit medieval…or just evil.
