Janie and I had planned a day off that Monday anyway, so Brian Eno’s seasonal bash shifting to the Monday worked well for us – a rare opportunity for Janie to join in that fun.
We had been keen to see Japan House in Kensington since we learned of its arrival in London:
It was well worth seeing – many different artists displaying subtle ideas about making art from, or at least enhanced by, paper.
Then on to Brian’s party. I was keen to get there in good time to join in the singing. This is not seasonal singing but it is an opportunity to join in with Brian’s rather excellent a capella choir. A mixture of old and modern songs, carefully honed week in, week out by the regulars, who largely manage to prevent keen irregulars like me from ruining the sound.
Plenty of time for some eating, drinking and chatting – as usual with Brian’s parties, we chatted with several very pleasant and interesting people – before the dancing started in earnest. Janie is never a wall flower when there is a chance to dance and I knew that Brian’s choice of music is mostly right up Janie’s street.
Two very tiring hours later, Janie and I thought we should make our excuses and go – we both had work in the morning and felt we had left it all out on the dance floor by then. Good times.
The Alun Armstrong character is a deputy headmaster, a teacher of 45 years standing, who is due to retire. Maggie Steed is his wife and Nicola Walker is their estranged daughter.
I don’t think it is a spoiler to explain that the central aspect of the controversy in which the central character is embroiled is his use of the cane, until corporal punishment was prohibited in the mid 1980s…
…or is it? The play’s title is The Cane, so it must simply be about that topic. Certainly the cane is a central artifact to the plot…
…yet much of the story doesn’t really add up. Would modern school children really riot against a teacher, days before his retirement, simply because he used to administer the cane 30+ years ago? Surely there must be more to it than that?
Similarly, much of the family’s back story doesn’t exactly add up or reconcile between their memories either. Axe marks on the wall are a visible example throughout the piece.
Janie saw these conundrums (or do I mean conundra?) as signs of weakness in the plot, but I thought the cane was a metaphor for the use of violence as a disciplinary measure generally. I thought the play was a metaphor for power struggles and violence within institutions like schools, within families, between teachers and pupils, between husbands, wives and children.
Still, it was hard to sympathize with any of the characters. In particular, the Maggie Steed character seemed at once pathetically weak and yet hell-bent on making forceful, irreversible decisions in an attempt to assert some element of power. I think Maggie Steed’s voice was failing on our night, which hopefully is a passing issue, but her floundering gestures didn’t really work for either of us. Perhaps she can control and channel those a bit more convincingly between preview and press night.
Janie didn’t find Alun Armstrong’s character sinister enough either, whereas I thought his manner of suppressed violence disguised by a kindly veneer was sufficiently creepy or sinister for me. Vincent Price without the ham.
Similarly, for me, the Nicola Walker character was sinister. We couldn’t get to the bottom of her motivation, even by the end of the play, but I think that air of mystery was the writer’s intention. At first you wondered how this person could be the daughter of those parents – by the end I thought I could see the echoes – a different style of controlling behaviour and a different style of violence – but still those characteristics to the fore.
Personally, I liked the debate about education within the play. In the absence of physical discipline through corporal punishment, how do teachers maintain control. (Answer, in my view, mostly by teaching well.)
There was a fascinating speech from Nicola Walker’s character about discipline the modern way in academy schools – a form of, “eyes front at all times, no talking in the corridors between lessons”. I could imagine that being effective as discipline…but I’m not sure I’d have been any more comfortable in that sort of disciplinary environment than I was/would have been in the old-fashioned “threat of corporal punishment” environment.
Whether that debate would seem as interesting or insightful to those mixed up in the education system (either as parents, teachers or pupils) today I have no idea, but it seemed relevant and interesting to me, sitting (as I do) on the outside of education for several decades.
Before the play we got chatting with a woman in the drinks queue who turned out to be Gaynor Churchward…Minnie Driver’s mum. It would have been interesting to have learnt after the show what she thought about the play; her life experience of schooling being rather unusual and very different from either of ours. But we didn’t stick around to chat with anyone – we dashed off for a shawarma supper and a reasonably early night.
I agree with Janie to some extent that the piece might benefit from a little more naturalism and direct tackling of the issues/story, but I still found the production a worthwhile and enjoyable evening in the theatre, in the hands of some expert theatrical operators.
Long ago arranged and long looked forward to, the (ir)regular gathering of old boys from Alleyn’s seemed to be looming as normal (Walrus & Carpenter followed by Rajasthan), when out of the blue we received a missive from our (un)official organizer, John Eltham, with some unexpected changes.
There are 15 people signed up for our festive evening. PLEASE NOTE NEW VENUE – 200 YARDS DIFFERENCE 7.00PM Hung, Drawn & Quartered pub – 26-27 Great Tower Street… 8.00PM Sripur restaurant – 25 Great Tower Street – yes it is next door !
The change would be more than a little discombobulating for some. Let us not forget that Nigel Boatswain, for example, a few years ago, struggled to find a new venue that was described to him as “right in front of the Monument”, because he couldn’t figure out a landmark from which to navigate. Mike Jones, who had been our Geography teacher back in days of yore, must have found his former charge’s geo-spacial shortcomings somewhat chastening.
In fact Mike Jones was one of several people who was listed to attend this 6 December gathering but latterly dropped out. He might have found the name of the pub an affront to his liberal arts background. Not only does the name describe a particularly barbaric medieval form of capital punishment, but a grammatically flawed rendering thereof. In my minds ear, I can hear Mike Jones gently correcting…
…hanged, drawn & quartered, NOT hung. Paintings are/were hung, people unfortunate enough to be executed that way were hanged.
Execution of Hugh Despenser the Younger, …[from] the Froissart of Louis of Gruuthuse (Public Domain picture https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Hanged,_drawn_and_quartered)
That barbaric punishment was reserved for high treason and was abolished nearly 150 years ago, although the hanging bit stuck around a lot longer and treason only (technically) ceased to be a capital offence 20 or so years ago.
In these troubled times, of course, who knows what legislative changes our so-called leaders might make in the crime and punishment department. Further, many of us who gathered have been known to say publicly things that certain tabloid newspapers might deem to make us “enemies of the people”…which is to say, treasonous.
Personally I have far less to worry about than most of my compadres, as I am a Freeman of the City of London. Thus, if I were to be hanged, I could choose to be dispatched with a silken rope, not the common or garden rubbish rope that my co-conspirators would doubtless suffer. I find that thought incredibly reassuring in the present political climate.
But I digress.
In the end, nine of us gathered and a jolly good gathering it was too, although those who were unable to attend were, of course, sorely missed. In no particular order, the nine were: Ben Clayson, David French, David Wellbrook, John Eltham, Ollie Goodwin, Paul Driscoll, Paul Spence, Rohan Candappa, me.
It was an incredibly mild evening, enabling us to take our pre-dinner libations in the street, although John Eltham did complain about feeling cold at one juncture. But then again, John had removed his coat for some reason.
The Sripur Restaurant was heaving and our group of nine was clearly at least one more than the restaurant was expecting. To be fair, the booking for 14 which had descended to “probably 8-10” in some ways deserved its relegation. We all nine squeezed round a table that would have been comfy for six and just about OK for eight. It didn’t really matter.
The food was pretty good. Perhaps not quite as flavoursome as the Rajasthan (he says based on one main dish and some sides), but similar quality.
The Sripur Nine were all in pretty good form. The bants and reminiscences flew around the table like a metaphorical food fight with poppadom-Frisbees.
Towards the end of the meal, Rohan Candappa solemnly announced that he had a sports trophy to award. he noted that most of the people in our group had been pretty sporty at school; only one or two of us had not. But, as Rohan pointed out, there should be sports awards for exceptional performance even when it comes from someone less naturally sporty than most.
Rohan then passed an engraved trophy around the room for everyone to read, much to the mirth, one by one, of the readers…one by one, that is, to everyone except me. Once John Eltham had the prize in his hands, he was instructed to hand it to me.
9 June 1975 – Fives Quarter Final – Ian Harris beat John Eltham
What a moment in my less-than illustrious sporting career. A trophy. Of course, Rohan was right. I had never personally held a trophy for sport of any kind. That quarter-final win remains the pinnacle of my achievement at an individual sport.
Left to right: John Eltham (just in picture), Rohan Candappa, Paul Driscoll & Ollie Goodwin…with MY trophy centre
I proudly took my trophy back to the flat and have placed it in as suitable a location as I can currently muster – in the drinks cabinet section of my built-in book shelves and cabinets, between two personalised krugs (beer steins).
But I am not expecting my sporting awards (belated and future) to start and end here; why on earth should they?
…and who knows what future glories are to come in the world of real tennis, where I have managed quarter final berths (albeit losing ones) in each of the two years I have been playing internal tournaments at Lord’s. And occasionally representing the club:
So, my dear old school friends, especially the sporty ones, I need your help. I mean, obviously the drinks cabinet will do for the time being as a temporary resting place for my trophy, but clearly I need to have built a bespoke trophy cabinet for my current and potential future collection of sporting trophies. You fellows, accustomed to the world of sporting trophies, surely can advise me on the size and shape of trophy cabinet that will serve me best.
But that is about me and the future – this article is primarily about the splendid gathering of old boys eating, drinking, banting and making merry in the City. As usual the time flew by, until several folks with trains to catch realised that their choices were starting to diminish and that the evening should come to an end.
As usual with this group, we managed to avoid the dreaded bodmin, although some suggested that we should play the game of spoof to saddle one “boy” with the whole bill. We decided against, but I note on reading up on that (unfamiliar to me) game, that some play spoof for prizes and trophies. Perhaps I should get into spoof at a competitive level – I was a dab hand at bridge back in the old school days.
It was a great evening – I’m already looking forward to the next one.
Yes, you’ve seen it written here in black and white; we dined in a vegetarian restaurant, Vanilla Black, suggested by John White.
I hope you’re not going soft on me, John…
…I said, when John’s suggestion came in. But John insisted that this Michelin-starred vegetarian restaurant was quite exceptional; he had tried the place recently with one of his daughters, Lydia.
Next it will be veganism and after that John will become an even fussier eater than Kim.
John and I discussed those possibilities early in the evening and concluded that my concerns (and especially Janie’s) were ill-founded. We should have had that early discussion in the Seven Stars pub nearby, but I was a little late and John was running even later, so we agreed that I would abandon the (to be honest, over-crowded) pub and we’d meet in the restaurant.
This enabled John, although he had been running later than me, to get to the restaurant first. We texted each other with some bants while I was walking and when I arrived at Vanilla Black, John was texting away, presumably in my direction. I suggested that we might stop doing “the youngster thing” (sitting in restaurants playing with our phones rather than talking), but John wondered whether conversation by text while face-to-face might be fun. (No.)
Gianduja Chocolate Brownie and Roasted Hazelnut Ice Cream – Tiger Nut Milk, Salted Chocolate and Nutella Powder (John)
Banana Ice Cream, Whipped Toffee and Banana Biscuit – Vanilla Cream and Toffee (Me)
All of the food was genuinely delicious and we both agreed that we were having an excellent meal.
We tried a rather interesting wine from the excellent wine list, which went well with our food, although the staff said that most punters are not brave enough to try it: ORANGE WINE ZERO-GMT, MULLER THURGAU. John and I were sufficiently brave and were rewarded for our bravery.
As usual, we discussed many subjects, ranging from personal, work, through the ghastly domestic politics to international affairs. When the topical subjects of the Uyghur people in Xinjiang and the Chinese Social Credit System came up over dessert, John said that it reminded him of the fate of Citizen Smith. I paused for a moment and suggested,
I think you mean Winston Smith from 1984, Citizen Smith was the Freedom For Tooting fellow.
We had a bit of a laugh about that and I promised to milk the joke on Ogblog.
I imagine a couple of scenarios in which we switch the characters around. For example, a comedic version of 1984 in which Big Brother’s thought police spy on Wofie (Citizen) Smith only to discover how hapless he is so they decide to leave him alone:
Image from https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/File:Citizen_smith.jpg – based on the same fair use rationale as Wikipedia
Alternatively, a dystopian version of Citizen Smith, in which Winston’s parochial attempts to liberate Tooting from the clutches of Wandsworth Council inexorably lead to Winston Smith’s torture and incarceration in the dreaded Room 101, in which dire situation comedies from the 1970s and 1980s are shown on a loop until the victim breaks down and submits to the authorities.
Image from https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/File:Winston_Smith.jpg – based on the same fair use rationale as Wikipedia
John obviously thought my ideas for milking his slip of the tongue were very funny, as he laughingly gestured that he thought I should milk the joke with at least four scenarios:
So, I think it is safe to say that John has not gone soft on me after all.
In fact, the more observant reader (who drills into the menu) might notice that it was me who ate an entirely vegan meal that evening – not by vegan design but simply because the dishes I chose all happened to be vegan.
Even Janie seems to be somewhat of a convert after I showed her the pictures and described the dishes – I can hear her on the telephone as I write telling Kim that she thinks Vanilla Black might be a good place for them to go.
As always, it was great to catch up with John regardless of the food and drink- although we do try (and mostly succeed) in also having great food and drink too. This Vanilla Black and John White evening was great in all of those respects.
Exceptional Schmaltz Herring; the people’s choice as well as the judge’s
Don’t ask me how or why she does it, but Jacquie seemed set on the idea of a seasonal herring fest again this year, despite her (and latterly us) being away for the regular season and despite the stupendous effort that must be involved.
Eight of us gathered for dinner at Jacquie’s place; Josh, Melody, Sonia, Michael, Hils, me and Janie.
We spent the early part of the evening – some would even call it late afternoon – drinking, chatting and (in some cases) getting to know each other. For me and Janie, this was the first time we’d met Sonia (Jacquie’s friend) and Melody (Josh’s girlfriend). Everyone else we’ve known for yonkers.
Hils and Janie on a previous occasion – neither Chez Briegal nor a herring-fest
In truth, to call the meal a herring fest is a bit of a misnomer – or more specifically an understatement – as the culinary delights on show go way beyond herring; smoked salmon, poached salmon, gefilte fish balls, egg-and-onion, cheeses…
…I could go on and very often I do go on.
Talking of which, the talking is as much a central part of the evening as the eating. The conversation covered all manner of subjects, ranging from topical politics, to new media and Cheryl Cole. I must admit I was very weak on the latter subject. I blame The Economist, which seems to pay that pivotal icon of our times ridiculously little regard. I should consider cancelling my subscription.
But I digress.
Jacquie and Hilary set about a concerted lobbying campaign on behalf of the schmaltz herring, in a flagrant attempt to influence the judging.
“Mmmm, the Schmaltz Herring is especially yummy this year, don’t you think?
…and…
The Bismark Herring is very good, but not like the Schmaltz
…and…
The Sweet Herring is not quite a subtle as last time, is it?
…and…
The Swedish you say, Melody? Do you really think so? Nice, but a little bland, no?
You get the picture. My bloody-mindedness gene, which easily comes to the fore in such circumstances (it’s family, I can talk about this openly) was straining to award the coveted prize to anything other than the Schmaltz Herring.
The problem was, though, that this year the Schmaltz Herring really was exceptional in my opinion too. The Swedish, a new entrant this time, perhaps by dint of the event taking place late in the year, was extremely, indeed unexpectedly good – a very well-rounded flavour of herring – but not quite as exceptional.
So, after explaining the rules to the uninitiated (delicacies such as chopped herring and herring in sour cream have lifetime achievement awards, as does Jacquie herself of course, but it is only the unadulterated herrings that get judged in competition) – the results:
Highly Commended:Â Swedish Herring – superb effort from a new entrant
International Herring Award: Schmaltz Herring – utterly exceptional this time
Winners: everyone who attended – it was a lovely evening, as always.
Many, many thanks, Jacquie.
Give it up one more time for the Schmaltz Herring…what little is left of it.
And finally, one more (weirdly-shaped) picture of the smörgåsbord, courtesy of Hils. Thanks Hils.
We’ve been interested in Martin Crimp’s writing for years. Sometimes his plays are a bit too weird even for us, but they always make us think and are usually chock-full of suspense and creepiness.
Dealing With Clair is no exception. One of Crimp’s earlier works this, when he was writing exclusively for The Orange Tree, it is very loosely based on the Suzy Lamplugh tragedy, which occurred a short while before the writing of this play and not too far away from Richmond.
Yet, this play from 30 years ago seems very contemporary and relevant today in this production.
The whole cast was excellent.
Our hearts sank a little when we saw that the designer had gone for one of those “behind a screen” designs, which we tend not to like, but actually it worked extremely well for this production, not least because the screen is removed at a telling moment in the play.
By gosh the play is creepy. We were talking about it a lot, for ages, after the evening – which is usually a sign that a play/production has really affected us – which this one surely did.
There are plenty of review snippets on the above links to the Orange Tree, but click here for links to the full reviews – mostly very good ones which the production thoroughly deserves.
I keep saying it, but the Orange Tree is doing great work at the moment – I hope they keep it going.
One of the great things about being friends with someone like Rohan Candappa is that you get to see some of his creative pieces while they are works in progress.
…but not so far back that the term “back in the day” didn’t even exist…
…Rohan told me about a short performance piece he was working on, working title “The Last Man Cave”, which was about going to the barber’s. That idea would sound like complete rubbish coming from most people, but coming from Rohan, I guessed that he was onto something eentertaining.
Rohan also asked me to look at a short fragment of a female performance piece he had worked on with the actress Lydia Leonard, which he had given the working title “Pigeons” and had filmed:
I thought there was real merit in that fragment.
Rohan agreed and told me that he had expanded it into a complete but short work, working title: ‘And You Are?’, which he planned to have performed alongside his comedic barber’s piece.
Don’t be put off by the title “Trailer long” in the above trailer – it’s 74 seconds long.
That’s not long.
My hair is long…
…but that’s because I have an aversion to going to the barbers – an aversion formed when I was very small – a story for another time. Rohan’s barbers and bars stories are far more interesting than mine.
Based on the preview I, together with a few other lucky people, saw at the Gladstone Arms in November, One Starts in a Barber’s. One Starts in a Bar. is a really good show. It’s funny, sad and thought-provoking in equal measure.
We’ve been fans of the Bush for yonks and have become especially enamored with the Studio there, since it opened eighteen months or so ago.
This short play, Lands, is exactly the sort of thing we like to see at a place like the Bush Studio.
It is really quite a strange piece. One young woman is obsessively, slowly working her way through a massive jigsaw puzzle while the other jumps up and down on a trampoline throughout most of the play.
Much is left unexplained, but the pair might well be a couple; at the very least there are strong hints that they know each other well and have done so for a long while.
In one early coup-de-theatre, they perform a wonderful synchronized dance to Ain’t That Terrible by Roy Redmond…
…a great track btw, that Daisy and I both remember dancing to in the clubs way back when. It had both of us wracking our brains (unsuccessfully) in our attempts to identify the record.
Ellie at the Bush kindly put us out of our misery with the song title and artist, which helped us to avoid our own domestic the following Monday. Thanks Ellie – otherwise I might have obsessively blogged and Daisy might have obsessively pole-danced non-stop for a week. Not safe.
But I digress.
There were some very funny moments in the play – not least that dance – but also several very poignant scenes. While the play is, in many ways, an absurdist piece, there is enough realism in the scenario and the manner in which the drama pans out to be very affecting.
Both Leah Brotherhead and Sophie Steer perform their parts extremely well; the switches of mood – a couple of times turning on a proverbial sixpence, very deftly done.
In some ways the nub of the play is the domestic drama about the obsessions that seem to be pulling these people apart from each other, but in other ways it is about the causes of such obsessions. Towards the end of the play, the Leah character rants about all the things she doesn’t care about. But of course she must care about those things to some extent if she feels motivated to rant quite so viscerally about not caring. Perhaps Leah’s obsessions (or both women’s obsessions) are ways of shutting out the world because they cannot cope with caring about so much that is wrong.
In truth we weren’t expecting a piece quite as challenging as this one but we agreed that we were very glad to have experienced it once we got home and started chatting about it over our supper.
Janie booked us in to a late night Friday slot for the Klimt/Schiele exhibition ages ago – it seemed like a good idea for a show we wanted to see as soon after our return from Japan as possible.
The following little video explains the thinking behind the show.
What we had both forgotten, of course, is that the days of “late night Friday at the RA” being one of the best kept secrets in London are now over. Instead of it being an opportunity to see the exhibitions in a relatively relaxed and congestion-free atmosphere, late night Fridays are now “a thing” and the place is more crowded than at other times.
Before we went to Japan, I had spotted that the RA also had the Oceania exhibition on still in November and had made a mental note that it would be good to see that show on the same evening…
…but I didn’t make a pen or pencil note and had plain forgotten about it…
…until Janie, helpfully, sent me a message on the morning of our visit, suggesting that we get to the RA early enough to take in the Oceania exhibition ahead of the Klimt/Schiele.
In many ways I enjoyed the Oceania more than I enjoyed the Klimt/Schiele. I have long been fascinated by people of the South Sea Islands, not least the Melanesian archipelago. That fascination dates back at least as far as 1974:
Daisy became convinced, quite early in the visit, that I resemble some of the figures depicted in the Oceania exhibition and took several pictures in an attempt to prove it. Don’t see it, myself:
Probably the highlight for us was the panoramic, sort-of 3-D, sort of CGI film, In Pursuit of Venus – the still in the link cannot do justice to the clever effect of this filmscape.
Between Oceania and Klimt/Schiele we still had a bit of time and I was in need of a sit down after two hours on the tennis court this morning. We attempted to go to the members bar, but it was heaving with people – including my real tennis friend Bill Taylor and his entourage. Coincidentally, Bill, comfortably seated, was also still aching after two hours on the tennis court the day before.
We then tried the public bar, which was less crowded (yes there was seating) but Janie observed both servers coughing and sneezing. When they both admitted that they were poorly with flu, we thought best to forego refreshments on their patch. Ironic, given that, we learnt later at the Klimt/Schiele, that Egon Sciele and his wife both died tragically young, in 1918, of flu.
The Klimt/Schiele was a little disappointing in truth. You cannot really look at drawings easily when a gallery is that crowded – you’re almost better off looking at the best of them in the on-line gallery – click here.
Also, I think such work makes more sense when you can also see the major works that were inspired by or started their life as such drawings. This exhibition is all drawings which, especially in the case of Klimt’s work, does not make all that much sense in isolation.
Schiele’s work on paper is more complete/stark and thus makes more sense:
We had hoped to eat in The Senate Room after the Klimt/Schiele but had been misinformed about the availability of food in that space in the evening; so we had a quick drink there and returned home for some Chinese food which we took back to Noddyland.
In short, I think it was well worth a trip to the RA to see these two exhibitions on one day, but we’ll almost certainly be avoiding late night Fridays from now on.
To some extent I was still basking in the glory of last night’s real tennis match, in which I had played a small but decisive part in the MCC’s recovery from near defeat to eventual victory against Middlesex University by three rubbers to two. In truth it was the incredibly exciting fourth rubber which turned the contest – our pair had some five match points against them in their rubber before turning it around. I played in the deciding fifth rubber.
The original plan for this SJSS lunchtime concert had been to go with John Random, but he had to pull out of this one. So I even considered missing out myself.
Wild Gypsy fiddling, Jewish and Greek music, and tango, alongside interpretations of Japanese, Polish and Sephardic songs…
…was just what I needed before going to the office on a Thursday afternoon. Not least because we have just returned from Japan, where we came across very little actual Japanese music…
Anyway, I’m very glad I made the decision to go to SJSS that lunchtime and see the Kosmos Ensemble perform.
They are three very talented young musicians who met while studying at the Royal Academy of Music and formed this ensemble as a vehicle for their shared interest in world music.
Actually I don’t think we got any “Sephardic Songs” as promised, but we did instead get a Serbian lament and some Scandinavian music, plus even some Scottish and English themed music.
Some pieces worked better to my ears than others – one or two of the pieces inserted phrases from well-known works at a level of subtlety that might even make PDQ Bach blush. I sense that all three of them are most at home with Eastern-European melodies and rhythms – but their virtuosity and curiosity help compensate for those elements of the programme that were not quite to my taste – I pretty much enjoyed the whole set.
For me the highlights were:
the Japanese-style piece Sakura (Cherry Blossom):
a version of Piazolla’s Libertango with a sort-of Klezmer cadenza at the end, which they have nicknamed “Liberklezmango”:
All three of the musicians: Harriet Mackenzie, Meg-Rosaleen Hamilton and Miloš Milivojević are clearly embarking on highly successful careers and I wish them well individually and as an ensemble.
