Threadmash 5, Rohan Candappa’s Thing Has A Birthday Bash, Gladstone Arms, 5 February 2020

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:

But the very first threadmash was exactly a year ago. The piece I produced for that inaugural event is set out here and below:

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.

Eight of us wrote pieces to Rohan’s brief this time. Mine is published here:

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.

Jan’s piece reminded me of a lovely piece of writing I published recently on Ogblog as a guest piece, by cousin Garry Steel, about a similar incident and the “truth and reconciliation” events that occurred decades later:

This was the first of several unexpected, surprising and in some cases downright weird coincidences in the evening’s pieces.

I went next…

…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.”

The strange coincidence in Flo’s piece was that she described the young man, on reflection, as “her troubadour”, which seemed a strange, coincidental echo of my references to William of Aquitaine and his reputation as the first troubadour.

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.

Dear William, My Peformance Piece For Threadmash 5, Gladstone Arms, 5 February 2020

The event that was Threadmash 5 is written up as an ogblog piece here and the link below

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.

Persona by Ingmar Bergman, Riverside Studios, 25 January 2020

We feel as though we have been waiting for ever to see the opening of the new Riverside Studios.

Word reached us in the autumn that the venue had opened for food and drink, so we looked it up to discover that the first theatrical production was to be a stage adaptation of Ingmar Bergman’s astonishing movie Persona.

Ingmar Bergman – one of my heroes

I don’t do heroes much, but I make a few exceptions and Ingmar Bergman is one of those exceptions. I love most of his films. Apart from the occasional lemon, such as All These Women, which I am prepared to accept is a lemon.

Persona is a bit of a “marmite” movie – some people consider it to be a masterpiece, others dislike it intensely. I have always rated it highly as a movie – not his best but a very interesting piece.

The idea of it as a stage piece intrigued me…and Janie, who does not rate the movie as highly as I do.

Below is a preview video for the Riverside production, which explains how they transformed the piece from a film script and other archival material into the performance piece we saw:

I believe we saw a preview, just a few days into the run. Janie and I very much enjoyed the production. We both thought it worked well on the stage – possibly better on stage than it does as a film.

This version is sort-of narrated by an imaginary film professor (portrayed by Paul Schoolman) who finds himself sick with pneumonia in the very hospital in which Bergman wrote Persona. This fictional character metaphorically unspools the film into a stage piece.

One other excellent feature of this production is the musical instrument the Earth Harp, a huge installation which sits in one corner of the stage and splays out from there above the audience, dominating much of the studio space. It was performed by its inventor William Close.

It is hard to get a true sense from the video below of how this instrument sounds and vibrates through your body in a live performance, but you’ll get a nice tune and a bit of an idea:

Anyway, the performances were all very good and we were gripped by the piece.

We sensed that some of the audience were bowled over by it, others less so. I don’t suppose this production will be quite as marmite as the original film, but I expect it will divide audiences and critics.

Reviews, if/when they come, will be findable through this link.

We thought it was an excellent start for the revived venue. Slightly less excellent is the cold feel of the expanded, large space that is the venue as a whole. Early days of course and work in progress, naturally. But having dispensed with the shabby chic look of the old place, the Riverside crowd need to start developing some character to the space.

The large colourful paintings helped a bit, but with price tags in the thousands, it felt like a shout out to wealthy West London media types and a bit off-putting to us shabby chic returnees and/or to locals who might have been hoping for enhanced community space for real people.

But go judge for yourselves if you are able – you can see Persona at The Riverside until 23 February 2020. We recommend it.

A Reel Good Evening With John White, 21 January 2020

The reel thing

John and I had planned to go out for dinner on this particular evening, but then, a couple of weeks before the due date, John e-mailed me to ask if I still had a reel-to-reel tape recorder, as he and Pippa had uncovered a couple of reel-to-reel tapes when clearing his late parent’s house.

I said yes.

I didn’t say that my machines (by the end I had two by way of insurance/back-up) were in storage in the City.

Anyway, I trolleyed my Sony TC-377 back to Clanricarde and established that it more-or-less worked. So I suggested to John that we dine at mine instead and do some archaeology on his tapes.

I played a poor game of real tennis ahead of our reel evening, followed by a bizarre incident in Waitrose, in which, because I was given an unannounced/unlabelled bargain offer giving me an unexpected £6.50 off my basket of goods, I had failed to reach the magic £50 tally which meant that I could be fined some huge amount (£20? £60? Can’t remember) for parking in the absence of jobsworth at the till letting common sense apply.

It took me a good 15 minutes to get the “Balsamicgate” incident resolved, by which time I feared being late for John except that…

…John had, in the meantime, texted me to say that he couldn’t get near a tube and would be late.

Chill…

…I texted him, while probably still shaking with heated rage at the Waitrose incident and still feeling that I was running late.

In the end, I had time to prepare a salad and get most of the food ready ahead of John’s arrival with his tapes…

…and what amazing tapes they turned out to be.

There’s John’s parents encouraging a very little John to speak, on a tape labelled December 1963 which we think must refer to the date of that historic recording, together with John’s dad playing the piano and practising a speech to his Cuprinol colleagues around Christmas 1964.

John was a bit disparaging about his dad’s piano playing abilities, but I actually think that he plays very well for an amateur. I bet John’s dad was better at playing the piano than Vladimir Horowitz, Glenn Gould or Daniel Barenboim would have been at managing Cuprinol’s Services Division or selling bottles of Cuprinol Timber Treatment. Here’s a whole load more of dad on the piano (c 30 minutes of the next clip, plus 15 minutes from a radio light entertainment programme):

Image “borrowed” from Sixties City.net – click the pick for a link to that super site and more about Alan “Fluff” Freeman – I’m sure the Sixties City folk won’t mind…or if they do, they’ll request its removal from this piece..

The most interesting material for the general reader are some extracts from very early broadcasts of Pick Of The Pops. The one below, which has been dated as 14 Janaury 1962, was only the second ever Sunday broadcast of that show and seemingly a rarity – a recording thought lost.

Here is another, short Pick Of the Pops snippet, probably early March 1962, including the introduction to the programme. Just the first three minutes, after which is other pop music, perhaps from that programme but probably from a variety of programmes:

One more Pick Of The Pops recording, from late January or early February 1963, by which time John’s dad was editing out Alan “Fluff” Freeman’s voice:

For some reason, John’s dad also recorded a BBC television programme about freemasonry:

There is some more family-oriented material. Here is a three minute snippet of John and other kids, perhaps a party in the mid 1960s, followed by a poor six minute recording of John’s dad having a French lesson:

There is a lot of light entertainment material, much of which is not so well recorded:

But sandwiched between those last two light entertainment blocks is a truly surprising find, which I only myself uncovered a few days after John’s visit, while I was ripping the content of both tapes into digital form.

I have not yet had a chance to discuss this element with John, so I don’t feel entirely comfortable reveling this to the entire world at the same time as I reveal it to John and his family.

But the fact of the matter is, that John’s dad clearly continued to nurture an interest in modern music for longer than John knew about or even suspected. There is a 36 minute section which must date from the early 1970s which I can only describe as “rock”. Some would even describe some of it as “prog rock”. No-one could deny that some of it is even “glam rock”.

My guess is that John’s dad probably wasn’t a clandestine apron-wearing, breast-baring member of the Freemasons, despite the BBC recording about that subject. But we cannot possibly deny his dad’s clandestine rock phase. It’s unmistakably there on one of the channels of the big tape, buried between 50 minutes of light entertainment lounge music and a further 10 minutes of same. Now you know, John, now you know.

Did the way Marc Bolan flipped his hip always make John’s dad weak?

Joking apart, it was a lovely evening in many ways. John was clearly moved to hear this family audio material, probably for the first time ever and certainly for the first time consciously as an adult.

It reminded me so much of some of my own family trove of such material, only some of which has so far found its way to Ogblog:

Dinner In Noddyland With The Jams, 18 January 2020

Jo, Janie & Max admiring the spread before we descend upon it & devour it

We spent a very enjoyable evening with several of The Jams.

As well as those depicted above, Kim was also there, but she did not want to be photgraphed for some reason. Perhaps Kim had told Micky she was going out for a wild night of clubbing and didn’t want him to know that she was, instead, having a decorous evening at our place. Joking apart, Micky was unfortunately unable to join us for the evening. He’d have loved the food.

Actually the central dish had presented us with some logisitcal issues. Janie set her heart on cooking a fusion prawn dish of a part-Peruvian. part-Japanese nature. It required Aji Amarillo paste as a vital ingredient; yellow aji being central to Peruvian cuisine.

To that end, Janie sent me a message on Thursday afternoon asking me to order a bottle of a particular paste through Amazon for her, which I did.

On Friday afternoon I received a message reading…

…arrggh…

…with some photos, one of which is shown below.

A Prime example of Aji Amarillo, glass and bubble wrap

I ordered another bottle on next day delivery and complained about the first bottle – the latter problem no doubt being a battle to come as the trader in question seems to have no mechnaism for refunds without physically returning broken glass and gunge to them, which I refused to do.

Anyway, a pristine bottle of the requisite condiment arrived about three hours before the guests. Timely.

But it wasn’t all prawns and aji amarillo…

…oh no…

…there were starters of smoked salmon open sandiches together with some cheesy nibbles and raw vegetables.

Neither Jo nor Max had been to Noddyland before, so they got a guided tour early in the evening, during the drinks and nibbles session.

For the main meal, as well as the prawns, there were patatas a lo pobre, cauliflower cheese (for Kim) and a massive tomato & mango salad…

A colourful spread, to say the least

…as well as breads. The latter, together with crackers, went well with the cheeses (thank you for the cheeses, Kim) that followed the main course.

Max Jamilly had just been awarded his PhD in synthetic biology. I made the mistake of addressing him as Mr Jamilly just the once…then, when corrected, as Dr Jamilly. We agreed that I might be the first person to have spoken that mistake and the first person to have addressed him correctly as Dr Jamilly. It’s always good to be first.

Jo and Kim are planning a trip to Jamaica, so we discussed that and I tried to help out with some varied Caribbean music. Kim tried to convince us that Cuba is not in the Caribbean, but on that point (as on a few other subjects) she found herself outvoted for some reason.

In fact we five chatted about all manner of subjects and were shocked when we realised how late it was, at which point Kim, Jo and Max called time on the proceedings.

What a very enjoyable evening it had been and gosh how it flew by.

Scrounger by Athena Stevens, Finborough Theatre, 17 January 2020

Almost certainly not the actual wheelchair involved in the story
Stephen B Calvert Clariosophic [CC BY-SA (https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/3.0)]

What a story.

Athena Stevens, playwright and performer, was born with athetoid cerebral palsy.

And she is ballsy.

But in 2015 she suffered a devastating incident at the hands of British Airways, when the airline accepted her as a passenger on a plane that was too small for her motorised wheelchair, despite having been informed of the chair’s dimensions, causing Athena extreme humiliation and severe consequential harm. Worse yet, her wheelchair was destroyed in the incident.

This play, Scrounger, is a two-hander which makes light and dark in equal measure about this incident and its aftermath; a dramatised true story.

Here is a link to the Finborough resource on this play/production.

In type, it reminded me of Rohan Candappa’s candid piece about being made redundant unfairly by his company.

Athena Stevens starts the piece by “calling the audience out”, as she puts it in the playtext, reproaching us for our enlightened, left-leaningness.

It’s an interesting start.

Then she reproaches a “late-comer”, who the audience might be forgiven for taking at face value. Smug me, I realised this must be the other member of the cast, whereas Daisy, bless her, was taken in until the deceit was made obvious.

A rollercoaster piece ensues. The sense of injustice in the way that Athena was treated is palpable.

Yet, there is something about Athena’s immediate full-on social media and then media attack on BA which seemed, to me, counter productive.

I have only ever been driven to complain about relatively trivial or minor issues. I was reminded of my extensive correpsondence with Garuda Indonesia 25+ years ago:

My method in such circumstances, as indeed was Rohan’s in his rather Kafkaesque situation, is to threaten the faceless bureaucracy with public exposure of their jobsworthiness.

Athena Stevens, by contrast, went straight to the social media (and then the regular media), which I think was always likely to result in the unjust bureaucracy digging its heels in and taking its time over its responses.

Perhaps Athena’s is the modern way with social media and in any case I do sympathise with her very specific and difficult situation. But one part of her story, which adds to the darkness of it, is the way this matter caused a breakdown in her relationship with her boyfriend. She wanted to seek legal advice as well, whereas he wanted her to stick solely with the media campaign; he felt that going to the law was (I paraphrase) “too aggressive”.

My view, for what it is worth, is that a media camapaign is at least as aggressive, if not more so, than asserting formally that the other party has been negligent.

But as a piece of drama, the story unfolds wonderfully well, with some clever devices of deisgn and trickery along the way. Athena Stevens is a very good writer and she wrote this story with great gusto.

There are some great lines in the play. After her humiliation at Heathrow, BA Uber Athena (Scrounger) home.

I wanted the ride home to be quiet, but the driver turns on LBC.

There is no level of hell, which cannot sink further…with the addition of an LBC broadcast.

Athena Stevens’s performance is also something to behold, as indeed is the performance of Leigh Quinn, who played a plethora of other parts with great energy and skill.

Janie and I thought this a superb piece and a great start to our 2020 theatre-going. It’s been well received and quite widely reviewed. So you don’t need to take our words for it – click here for the reviews and stuff.

A Gentle Start To 2020, Including Music & Food With The Smiths & The Neighbours, Early January 2020

4 January 2020: The Smiths

Our first outing of the decade was a visit to Mike and Marianna Smith’s house; an opportunity to eat together, make some music together and to see their kids, Eva and Bob, now that they are teenagers.

For those Ogblog readers who don’t know…

…and who are looking for somebody to blame for my music-making…

…it was Mike Smith who got me into the idea of playing the four-string guitar.

Mike makes & refurbishes stringed instruments of many varieties – the picture below depicts Mike playing a mandola, with a cello-like thing made from a half-baked mandolin by his side:

The pictures imply that Mariana did all the cooking and that Mike and I did all the playing, but that would be unfair on Mike (who prepared much of the delicious Mexican meal we enjoyed) and indeed on Eva, who is cultivating pie making skills, as illustrated above.

Bob & Eva chilling in gadget corner

We also spent plenty of time chatting too, about the kids school activities, Mike’s latest initiatives and learning some more about Mariana’s Slovak family and background.

One strange coincidence vis-a-vis the music and Mariana. Amongst other things, I was tinkling the renaissance song Belle Qui Tiens Ma Vie, which I am currently working on with Ian Pittaway, my early music teacher.

A few days after our delightful evening with The Smiths, I read Ian Pittaway’s essay on this piece and its context:

Ian has added an annex to that essay about the Czechoslovakian folk group, Spirituál kvintet, who wrote and recorded a “Czechoslovakian protest” version of this song in the 1960s:

On discovering the coincidental link between the song and Mariana’s origins, I sent the link to Mike and Mariana. In typically subdued language, Mariana resonded:

I was slightly blown away by Spirituál Kvintet’s Pavana…

12 January 2020: Marcena & the Neighbours

As if we didn’t eat and drink enough with friends and neighbours in December, Marcena very kindly invited us in for drinks and nibbles on the second Sunday of the decade.

Coincidentally, Marcena’s centrepiece was also Mexican, a very tasty tacos dish, although there were also potatoes and chicken cutlets which bore the hallmarks of her southern Asian and southern African backgrounds.

Ged, Daisy, Marcena & Isabel
Marcena, Isabel, Joy & Piers

It was a very enjoyable evening. Janie (Daisy) tried to construct an alternative narrative for everyone else’s life…

…in fact at one point I wondered whether the full moon a couple of evenings earlier had got to her…

Any howl you might hear is likely me pretending to be a dog, in a vain attempt to scare a cat away from tormenting our visiting birds

…but in the end the truth would out and we all found out a bit more about each other, over some very tasty food and wine.

Chilled times.

Indeed, to add to the chilledness of the past two-three weeks, I also enjoyed:

  • a couple of music lessons with Ian Pittaway,
  • a jamming evening with DJ on 14 January at my place, with some yummy grub from Speck,
  • several games of real tennis at Lord’s, including club night on 16 January.
Kinda sums it up

A Brief & Personal Tribute To Nick R Thomas, Who Died On 10 January 2020

This piece is a response to the news that Nick R Thomas has died. It culminates with two personal memories, including a sound file of one of my favourite Nick R Thomas comedy pieces.

The above photo is borrowed from Nick R Thomas’s Facebook account; his own choice of signature image.

I met Nick in 1992, when I first started writing for NewsRevue. He was a seasoned comedy writer by then, having been writing News Huddlines, Week Ending and various other stuff of that kind for a couple of years.

Like many of the regular NewsRevue writers at that time, Nick encouraged me and other keen amateurs when we joined the NewsRevue pack. Many of us got involved at that time or, as I think was the case with Nick R Thomas, cemented that collaborative writers friendship around NewsRevue in the early 1990s. We started to describe ourselves as “the class of ’92”.

Most of us had become less actively involved with NewsRevue by the turn of the century, but kept in touch with each other through occasional dinners known as Ivan Shakespeare Memorial Dinners, in honour of the first of our cohort to pass.

Although Nick R Thomas had moved to Bournemouth, he was for some time one of the more regular attendees at those dinners and was great company at those, presumably taking an infeasibly late train home quite often or occasionally staying up in London to join us.

I think the last of his visits to one of those dinners was in October 2017, which was a special Class of ’92 gathering to review old material…

Sadly, Nick was not well enough to join the NewsRevue 40th Anniversary party last year:

But actually I’d like to end this piece with two very personal memories of Nick.

In the autumn of 2016 a friend had a show at the Canal Cafe Theatre (about Brexit of all things), so I arranged to go on a Thursday and did a shout out to the NewsRevue crowd that I intended to stay on and watch NewsRevue that evening as well. Nick turned up unannounced and we spent a very enjoyable late evening together at NewsRevue – it felt like the years rolled back, although of course we were not looking out for our own material in that week’s show in November 2016. Click here or below for my write up of that evening:

My second memory is of Nick as lyricist…but not businessman. In the early 1990s, many of us were approached by the west-country singer/comedian Ben Murphy for material. Ben performed and recorded much of our stuff.

Ben always needed badgering for the money, but (until the inevitable, final small bad debt) always paid me in the end, in order to obtain more material.

I always assumed that everyone else from NewsRevue must have been handling Ben the same way.

But I recall a conversation with Nick R Thomas some years later (probably around 2004 when we had the 25th anniversary of NewsRevue), when Ben’s name came up and Nick told me that Ben had never paid him. Nick had always assumed that no-one got paid by Ben. I’m not sure how often Nick sent Ben yet more material without first receiving (and banking and clearing) Ben’s cheque for the previous batch.

I think this story proves that Nick was a natural for the arts, whiereas I was a natural for commerce.

Anyway, what does survive (something money could not retrospectively buy) is Ben’s recording of one of my favourite Nick R Thomas lyrics; The Bald Song.

Nick R Thomas was a fine comedy writer and was one of the good guys. I, together with a great many others, will miss him.

Baroque Hogmanay, Ensemble Marsyas, Wigmore Hall, 30 December 2019

Ensemble Marsyas, who specialise in baroque music with Irish and Scottish connections, have taken up a short residency at The Wigmore Hall. This is the first of their concerts, which has a Scottish – hence Hogmanay – connection.

Here is a link to the Wigmore Hall resource on this concert, which mostly describes the concert we saw but also includes a short video in which Peter Whelan explains the whole residency.

Only one of the works performed was by an actual Scot; a rather fascinating sounding chap named Thomas Erskine, 6th Earl Of Kellie. We’ll have to call him a late baroque composer I think.

Uploaded from this Wikipedia file as PD-Art.
See also Wikipedia entry for Thomas Erskine, 6th Earl Of Kellie

Indeed, some in the Early Music community might fret at great length if I were to describe the rather charming Erskine Overture (or short symphony) as early music, as it was composed as recently as 1761.

But I contest that it is, by definition, “Early” music by virtue of being music composed by an Earl. Or should I describe it as Earlish music?

Be that as it may, the rest of the concert was music by Arne, Handel and Barsanti.

Francesco Barsanti might be described as an honorary Scot, a gentleman of Italian origin who spent several years in Edinburgh (where he composed much of his oeuvre) and who married a Scottish woman, before returning to London. We heard several of Barsanti’s adaptations of Scottish folk tunes as well as a couple of his concerti grossi.

There’s very little Ensemble Marsyas music on the web, but the following short snippets are charming. I especially commend the seventh, Handel’s How Beautiful Are The Feet from The Messiah, as very suitable for the season…

… and also for Janie’s chosen profession; podiatry (with a fair swathe of her clientele being at least as interested in the appearance as in the health of their feet).

But I digress.

Sadly, the expected mezzo-soprano Katie Bray was ill with meningitis, which is really serious but we were told on the night that she is recovering well.

Our substitute for the evening was Helen Charlston. An aficionado sitting next to us let out a whoop of delight at the mention of her name as the sub. The aficionado informed us that Helen Charlston has recently won a Handel singing award and is an outstanding young performer. Here is a video of one of her award-winning Handel performances:

Apart from substituting in something (I think another Handel aria) for the second of the Arne songs, she sang the same repertoire as we expected from Katie Bray.

The singing was very much a highlight, as was the horn playing of Alec Frank-Gemmill and Joe Walters throughout the concert. Scott Bywater’s timpani playing during the Barsanti concerti grossi was also a special performance.

Peter Whelan led, from one of the two harpsichords, with great charm and beaming smiles. Turns out he is also an accomplished bassoonist, not that we got to see the bassoon side of Peter Whelan on the night.

Still, feast your eyes on this – an earlier incarnation of Ensemble Marsyas with a good shot of Peter Whelan and isn’t that the boy Thomas Dunford of all people on the lute there – I do declare it is:

In short, they come across as a happy ensemble, does Ensemble Marsyas, enjoying making music together and delighting the audience.

The irony of an Ensemble named Marsyas having its bacon saved by a music competition winner was not wasted on me. The Greek mythological character Marsyas, from whom the ensemble takes its name, came a cropper in a particularly gory manner when he was foolish enough to enter a music competition against Apollo.

Have another lug-hole full of Helen Charlston singing competitive Handel – this time an Italian aria, in similar style to the singing we heard in the concert:

I think she probably sounds even more assured now than she did when she won that 2018 competition.

In short, Baroque Hogmanay was a super concert on which to end our year – indeed our decade – of concert-going.

Blood On The Cobbles (And Other Stories) by David Wellbrook, E-Book Review, 29 December 2019

Last time I tried to review one of David Wellbrook’s e-books on Amazon, my attempt there was thwarted…

…the subsequent chain of, what can only be described as a Wellbrookian, events, led to me, in effect, self-publishing that review (above).

Never one to duck a challenge, me. Having just finished reading David Wellbrook’s latest e-book, Blood On the Cobbles (And Other Stories), I thought long and hard about how best to punish Amazon for its ludicrous semi-automated, semi-jobsworth response last time.

Then it dawned on me.

I’ll ignore them completely and just self-publish my review. That’ll show them who’s boss.

So take that, Amazon, you twats. I said that I wouldn’t post reviews on your site any more and I’m still sticking it to you. So there.

Now, where was I? Ah, yes. David Wellbrook’s latest e-book, Blood On the Cobbles (And Other Stories):

It’s rather good.

If you liked the previous book,  My Good Friend, then I can thoroughly recommend it as a continuation and progression from that book, with a couple of actual My Good Friend stories (i.e. stories about the self-same friend); Day Tipper and Xenon. Also there are a few My Good Friend-like stories, about other friends…

…cripes, Wellbrook has more than one friend?…

…such as Edinburgh Fringe (hello John), Fancy Dress (hello Leigh) and Fashion Fail (hello chaps).

Actually, you can read a sample of the new book on this very site, as David kindly granted me permission to publish an earlier version of Fashion Fail, on this very site earlier this year – click here or below:

That earlier version of Fashion Fail was the first of several pieces that David piloted at Rohan Candappa’s Threadmash, which is described in the foreword to the above piece.

It is at this juncture that I can promise those who didn’t much like My Good Friend, that many of the stories in Blood On the Cobbles (And Other Stories) are very different in style and tone from the first e-book.

There are several autobiographical pieces in this new book, ranging in tone from the gently touching Metempsychosis through the black comedy of Blood On The Cobbles (both about the aftermath of David’s father dying) to the profoundly heartfelt and moving God I Owe You One, which David bravely recited with terrific effect at the second Threadmash.

A personal favourite of mine in this new collection is Crèche; far less momentous and dramatic than the other autobiographical stories, but I thought it beautifully written and very charming.

In addition, David is broadening his scope in this collection with some pure fiction, playing with genres away from his comfort zone. To my taste the best of those is The Gift, which I had the honour to recite at Threadmash Four in November (if you click that link you’ll find my The Gift, not David’s).

David’s story, The Gift, is more Dahlian than Wellbrookian; a sort-of horror story with twists.

In the two-part story The Visitor, David again plays with twists and weirdness, while ultimately (in my view) reprising some of the themes from his personal stories when he returns to conclude the Visitor story and also the book, right at the end of the collection.

I also very much enjoyed Ennui, which is a spoof absurdist play by a spoof obscure absurdist playwright within a story about going to the theatre with his wife. I’m not sure what the Trafalgar Studios ever did to upset David as I’m sure that place does not deserve to be the only genuine thing named in the story. Perhaps Trafalgar Studios refused to publish one of David’s on-line reviews…

…which brings me neatly back to Amazon, the place I am still boycotting in publishing reviews terms but of course am not boycotting from the point of view of them selling David’s (nor my, nor anyone else’s) books.

Go to Amazon through the following links to buy David Wellbrook’s latest e-book, Blood On the Cobbles (And Other Stories):

Amazon is THE place to buy the book; indeed it is the only place. £2.99. You know you can afford it.