Travel, Theatre, Music, Cricket, Tennis, Writing, Life
Everything I want to say about this matter is covered in the King Cricket piece that I wrote up in my capacity as Ged Ladd.
Alex “King Cricket” Bowden was clearly taken with the piece, as I submitted it on 21 March 2024 and it went up on King Cricket less than a month later.
Just in case anything ever happens to the King Cricket website, here is a scrape of that piece.
Michael is doing some scientific stuff as part of his Mayoral year, including a piece of work with the National Physical Laboratory (NPL) proving Einstein’s theory of time dilation by dint of measuring time at the top of the City of London’s tallest building (Horizon 22) and the NPL in Teddington.
I’ll let the propeller-headed NPL scientists explain it – click here.
The event on the evening of 15 March 2024 was an excuse for a drinks party to show off this experiment and more.
Janie came too and took loads of pictures.
It was a jolly evening. The time flew by, which is surely what Einstein would have predicted.
A.E. Crawley’s brother, Walter, also a tennis dude.
During the lockdown of 2020 I wrote several pieces on tennis history, starting with a piece pondering the origins of the tennis scoring system.
My research into tennis history has broadened and deepened since the summer of 2020. This week (mid-March 2024) I was burrowing through some old books in the MCC library, like I do, when I discovered an extract from and reference to an article in The Observer, in 1920, by A.E. Crawley, on this very topic.
The content and conclusions were remarkably similar to those I formed myself, over 100 years later.
Being a subscriber to Newspapers.com, I knew that I should be able to find and clip that article easily enough – indeed here it is:
A.E. Crawley Origins Of Scoring System Observer 18 January 1920 18 Jan 1920, Sun The Observer (London, Greater London, England) Newspapers.com
I don’t know whether to be delighted that I reached very similar conclusions without standing on the shoulders of such a giant…or to be irritated that I did all of that research only to reach conclusions that had pretty much been reached 100 years ago. Mostly the former, especially as I enjoyed the journey so much.
The residual irritation is that the Wikipedia entry on this topic persists with the temporally nonsensical theories around floor markings (never standardised) and clock faces (unknown until long after the emergence of the tennis scoring system).
Someone needs to get busy on that Wikipedia page. I might ask Ged look at it if no-one else picks up on this in the coming weeks.
Parenthetically, it seems to me that A.E. Crawley had a particular reason to raise this topic in The Observer in January 1920. Here, his piece from the same newspaper in February 1920 about a “Bolshevik” move by the US lawn tennis authorities to replace the use of fifteens with single unit scoring:
A.E. Crawley Bolshevistic Scoring Observer 15 Feb 1920, Sun The Observer (London, Greater London, England) Newspapers.com
A radical change that would indeed have been.
“Please, we’re desperate…” I get so many telephone calls that start this way these days.
OK, so I have made that first bit up, but I did get a somewhat surprising phone call from Tim Connell a few weeks earlier, wondering whether I might like to be the “guest” speaker for the Gresham Society annual bash this year.
“Keep it to 10 minutes”, said Tim, a man who claims to bring the AGM business bit of the evening home in five to seven minutes, but pretty much never does.
This year the AGM bit ran to over 18 minutes. I know, because I set off my stopwatch at the start of the meeting.
Anyway, it is always good to see the Gresham Society gang and this year we were in the hallowed surroundings of the Guildhall, albeit the modern members wing. The last time I dined in that part of the Guildhall, after the meal, I started a brawl…
…while my most recent prior visit to Guildhall was nerve-wracking by dint of the occasion and costume I was required to wear…
…all of which made this Gresham Society event feel like a doddle by way of comparison. After all, I wasn’t required to sing or play a musical instrument – indeed Tim stipulated that I was required NOT to set my talk to music.
Darn.
But of course, in his attempt to maximise my discomfort, rather than populating the place with a Professor of Music or two, which Tim tends to do when I am making music…
…on this occasion, when I am to speak, he ensured I was sitting within chatting distance of the new Professor of Rhetoric, Melissa Lane.
Joking apart, it was a great pleasure to meet Melissa – indeed the company was all relaxed, interesting and convivial, as always at Gresham Society.
There were one or two false starts ahead of my talk, to ensure that all had their after dinner beverages and that temporarily absent friends were all accounted for.
Fortunately for all concerned, when I speak for “no more than 10 minutes” the resulting talk comes in at eight or nine minutes…
…although I started with my old “I thought I’d been asked to talk for 89 minutes” gag.
Anyway, above is an image of part of the talk, which was primarily about The Right Honourable, The Lord Mayor, Alderman Professor Mainelli, who might or might not be the first ever Gresham Professor to become Lord Mayor but he sure as hell is the first ever member of Gresham Society so to do and I can safely say the only business partner of mine who will ever do the Lord Mayor gig. Michael and I have worked together since we met in 1988
The audience laughed a good few times during my talk…one or two of those occasions being at times that I hoped would engender laughter. At the end of the talk, once the stony silence…I mean applause…had died down, Tim Connell presented me with a book as a gift.
One of the book’s authors, Graham Greenglass, I have known since I was a kid, through youth club stuff. I must have met Graham 10 years before I met Michael.
Good book, that Guildhall book of Graham’s. I have been enjoying rummaging in it.
Just as we were leaving the event, Bobbie Scully (another person I have known significantly longer than I have known Michael Mainelli) berated me for wearing a Jackson Pollock tie with a striped shirt. I wonder what she would have made of the Jackson Pollock shirt I wore a few days later:
It was, as always, a most pleasant evening in the company of friends at Gresham Society.
We really enjoyed this play.
It is a simple story about a trio of 50-something fellas who were a band when they were college age, returning to the scene of their exploits in Ibiza 30 years later.
Neil D’Souza not only wrote the play but also plays one of the lead parts, very convincingly – actually all of the actors do so: Catrin Aaron, Kerry Bennett, Peter Bramhill and James Hillier being the other four. Alice Hamilton does a grand job from the director’s chair.
Here is a link to the Hampstead resources page for this production.
The play is a comedy but it has a thoughtful and edgy twist to it too. In particular, the second half starts off full of fun and laughs, but soon “bloke meets woke” in a rather shocking way, changing the tone and bringing the story home in a nuanced way.
We really like comedies that have enough going on that we still have stuff to talk about over a meal or two afterwards. This is one of those.
If you only read one review, I’d suggest Anya Ryan’s from the Guardian which pretty much sums up how Janie and I felt about this piece.
Running until 23 March 2024, if you catch this write-up early enough there’s still time.
“I can’t talk now, darling, I’m performing at the National”
Yes, this was the night that I and several others from Threadmash performed at the National Theatre.
Threadmash is one of Rohan Candappa’s bright ideas. We have been meeting on and off for five years now, writing short pieces to order and then performing them to each other (and occasionally also to invitees). Here is a link to my write up of the first event, which includes my first Threadmash piece:
The idea needed to morph into ThreadZoomMash during the pandemic and now seems to have retained the capital M for mash. If you are a real glutton for this sort of thing, this link here is a tag for all of the ThreadMash pieces on Ogblog, which will include this one.
Anyway…
…Rohan decided to try the National Theatre foyer bars as a venue this time around – cunningly timed with two quite long plays at the Olivier and Lyttelton both starting at 19:30. That gave us ample time to perform in the relative quiet between the start of the plays and the intervals.
The relative quiet was rather noisily broken by the bar staff hoovering up around us, very early in the reading of Geraldine’s piece, but we’ll put that temporary disturbance aside. The venue worked.
And we can all honestly claim now that we have performed at The National Theatre.
Rohan threaded our pieces together, as is his way. In this instance, with the topic “The Phone Call”, Rohan’s thread covered Alexander Graham Bell‘s innovation, the practical telephone. Also the contribution of the lesser known but colourful Florentine, Antonio Meucci, who largely invented that communication method before Bell, but was too polite to patent the critically novel elements of the technology he had discovered.
Geraldine’s piece came first. A charming throwback to 1973, Geraldine recounted her mother’s almost infeasibly regular long-distance calls to Geraldine (who had escaped to New York). Geraldine’s mum persistently tried, in vain, to persuade her daughter to return to “Hicksville” and resume the “normal” life into which Geraldine had, to her mother’s perception, been born.
Rohan then reminded us all that Alexander Graham Bell’s first phone call was to an employee who awaited his call…
Mr. Watson—Come here—I want to see you
…starting the mighty tradition of bosses using such devices to issue instructions to underlings.
Rohan was rather sniffy about my ability to follow a simple instruction – i.e. to write a story about a phone call. I cannot imagine what Rohan’s beef might have been.
We don’t go out so much anymore. Not since the pandemic. It’s not a fear of infection or anything like that. It’s just that we have got out of the habit. It now takes something especially interesting or unusual to lure us back to the theatre or concert hall. One such interesting concert caught our eyes recently – a concert of African chamber music at the Wigmore Hall, led by Tunde Jegede, who is both a virtuoso kora player and a classically-trained cellist. The kora is a large West-African 21-stringed plucking instrument, sometimes described as a cross between a lute and a harp. Janie and I like the Wigmore Hall. It is one of the few remaining public spaces where we still normally bring down the average age of the audience quite significantly. But we soon saw, on arrival at the Wigmore Hall for the kora concert, that this audience was different. Only sparsely populated with “the usual suspects”, the average age of the audience was, horror of horrors, below ours. The front row still had a comfortingly senior look. Next to Janie was a beaming, white-haired woman you might have got from central casting had you requested “a left-over hippy”. The woman was very friendly and chatty – clearly not part of the regular front row mafia. Familiar with the kora – she had spent time in West Africa when younger – she was a fan of Tunde Jegede’s playing but had not previously managed to see him play live. She was, as the young folk say, super-excited. The first half of the concert was truly magical. Tunde had brought with him a posse of chamber musicians from Lagos, together with a wonderful percussionist. We were transported by the music, not least the entrancing sound of Tunde’s kora-playing. During the interval, our friendly neighbour said that she was delighted with the live music experience and thrilled that we had enjoyed it. She recommended and wrote down the names of a couple of Tunde’s albums for us to follow up, which we did. I wondered what those silky-sounding kora strings are made of. Our otherwise-expert neighbour didn’t know. More or less at that moment, Tunde came on to the stage to rearrange the setting for the second half of the concert. As he was standing, with his kora, about three yards away from me, it seemed only polite to ask him about the strings. I was expecting the answer to be something along the lines of, “skin from an antelope’s anus or a sitatunga’s scrotum“. But instead, Tunde simply said, “Nylon”. “Just Nylon”, I asked, hoping for more enlightenment. “Just Nylon”, said Tunde, gently. The second half of the concert was also good but less to our taste. Tunde didn’t play his kora – instead he demonstrated his skills as a cellist. The fusion theme was retained, as the pieces were arrangements of traditional African music, but to us the real magic had been the kora. I tried to work out the common theme in Tunde’s unusual choice of devices for his multi-instrumentalism. I concluded that Tunde likes making music while holding his instrument between his legs. 525 WORDS
I smiled to myself as I hit the save button and e-mailed my piece to Rohan Candappa for review.
Ninety minutes later, my iPhone buzzed.
It was Rohan.
“Ian, old chap”, said Rohan. “A charming vignette, but it has nothing to do with the subject and title – The Phone Call”.
“I beg to differ”, I said. “The piece is absolutely about The Phone Call”. The introductory story about the kora concert is a MacGuffin. The main story is about the phone call.
“Well”, said Rohan, “I did consider e-mailing you, but then…”
“…never explain”, I interrupted. “You and I have collaborated on and off for over 50 years now, Rohan. Many things don’t need to be said.”
I pressed the “end call” button.
It seemed that everyone else was able to understand and obey a simple instruction from Rohan…even Jan.
Strangely, Jan, like Geraldine, had set her story in 1973. Without conferring. The central conceit of Jan’s story, which revolved around an uprooted little girl whose family had recently moved to a different town, was a troubling phone call aimed at one or both parents, inadvertently picked up by the little girl.
Similarly strange was the structural similarity between Jan’s and Julie’s story, which was also about a troubling phone call picked up by someone other than the intended recipient of the call. Julie’s was not set in a particular bygone year, but the details within the story suggested 1970s as well.
David’s story was about a character who bought a vintage GPO rotary telephone through the internet and, as a result, got a phone call more than he had bargained for.
All of The Phone Call stories were charming, thought-provoking and enjoyable to hear. It was also very pleasing to spend time with the ThreadMash gang again, even though we were a somewhat depleted group on this occasion.
Sadly, Kay, who was going to join us, was unable to attend due to the recent death of her mother. Yet Kay made a charming contribution to the collection of stories by e-mail a couple of days later:
They say a picture is worth a thousand words and my goodness that picture of Kay’s is worth at least that many. But Rohan had instructed us to limit our stories to a maximum of 800 words. Honestly, some people can’t comply with the simplest of instructions from the ThreadMaster.
There’s something gloriously quaint about the Finborough Theatre. Even by the standards of pub theatres, it seems gloriously wedded to the past.
In part, that’s because The Finborough is, at least at present, a few rooms above a corner building that used to be a pub, rather than an actual functioning pub.
But also, it is the sort of place that clings to its roots, even in the matter of archaic ticketing practices. These days we receive, when booking The Finborough, a very modern style e-mail ticketing with a QR code for each e-ticket. On arrival at The Finborough, though, the ticket office still asks for your name and digs out the old-style paper tickets, just like the old days.
Don’t you have a gadget that goes beep and reads our e-tickets?
I asked the nice young woman on the desk.
Do we look like the sort of place that has a gadget that goes beep to read tickets?
She asked in repsonse.
Not really. Except that you did send us -tickets with QR codes on them.
I persisted.
We have no idea why they do that.
The nice young woman thus closed that discussion.
Anyway…
…the reason we go to the Finborough is not to admire the ticketing system. We tend to see consistently good small-scale theatre there.
Jab was no exception. A very good two-hander set during the Covid-19 pandemic, about a marriage that disintegrates during the crisis…although you sense that the marriage had been doing a fair bit of disintegrating prior to the pandemic.
Here is a link to the Finborough Theatre production stub for this show.
Very well acted and directed. Kacey Ainsworth, Liam Tobin & Scott Le Crass take a bow…well, the first two named actually did.
Just 80 minutes long, if you like your shows two hours plus this type of play is not for you. Janie and I have really acquired the taste for shorter plays. Never mind the young folk having short attention spans, we older folk have short buttocks-stuck-in-one-small-space spans these days.
Lots of good reviews for this one and deservedly so. Here is a link to a search that should find many such reviews.
We went home thoroughly satisfied, theatre-wise. After collecting and then, once home, eating our Mohsen dinner, our appetites for food were also thoroughly satisfied.
Kora up front, with percussion instruments behind
Janie and I loved this unusual concert at the Wigmore Hall, especially the first half during which Tunde Jegede played the 21-string kora.
Here is a link to the Wigmore Hall stub for this concert, which includes the programme. If by any chance something dreadful ever happens to that website, you can find the programme here.
Everything else I want to say about our experience of this concert is contained in my ThreadMash (or should I say in this instance NashMash) piece, entitled The Phone Call, which you can find here or through the link below:
Jilly, Mandy, John, Janie & Me, in The Punch Room
Long in the planning, unfortunately Annalisa got her weeks mixed up, but the rest of us found our way to the appointed places at the appointed time.
John is keen on cocktail bars these days and was keen to try the Punch Room in the Edition Hotel, which is suitably close to our chosen restaurant, Pahli Hill Bandra Bhai. Ogblog fanatics might recall that John, Mandy, Janie and I went to Pahli Hill relatively recently…
…and so taken with it were we, that we all agreed it would be a suitable venue for this slightly larger gathering. Which it was.
But first the Punch Room, which had a really good early evening ambiance – good music but not too loud – other trendy people, but not too many and not too loud. Interesting cocktails list. Nice waiting staff.
Strangely, I realised a week or so ago that this weekend is the fortieth anniversary of Jilly’s visit to Keele in February 1984:
The waiter took a lot of pictures of us (see headline example). We realised that the gathering included two whites, a black and (in maiden name terms) a browning. I thought we should go for a sepia version of the group photo in recognition of this colour palette.
Then a five or six minute stroll through Fitzrovia to the restaurant, Pahli Hill . When you book, they say that you cannot dictate where you would like to sit, but I requested downstairs, where we had previously enjoyed the ambiance before and they e-mailed back to say that they would be able to comply with that request as ours was an early evening booking. John has been back there himself upstairs since our previous visit and concurs that upstairs has less atmosphere to his taste, so I’m especially glad I did that.
No pictures of Janie in the restaurant, sadly, as she took the following photos, while the rest of us focussed on eating and drinking.
As with our previous visit to Pahli Hill, by the time we’d finished with small plates and grills, we had no space for big plates, although we did find space for desserts.
It was a really lovely evening. Great food and drink, but most importantly very enjoyable company.
It’s been a while since I attended a Gresham lecture live. In Janie’s case, probably not since the most recent of mine…
…which took place before we met James Larkin in 2013 in the most stressful of circumstances, as Janie had a dismal diagnosis/prognosis of melanoma at that time.
The worst did not come to pass, against the odds.
We had been impressed with James Larkin and were keen to see what he had to say about developments with immunotherapies since our formal interactions with him on that topic.
Here is a link to all of the resources from this February 2024 Gresham lecture. Or if you just want to watch the vid, you can click the vid below:
A few of the usual suspects were at Barnard’s Inn Hall that night, including Basil and Lesley from the Gresham Society.
There was a drinks reception after the lecture, which gave me a chance to speak briefly with James. He hadn’t recognised us, unsurprisingly (just one consultation more than 10 years ago) but the dismal nature of that consultation clearly returned to his mind as we spoke.
So, she’s alright? Completely well?
James asked, looking at Janie with a slightly bemused expression on his face. Perhaps I was reading too much into it.
Anyway, fascinating talk.
There’s a panel discussion on this and related topics as part of the same series on 12 March – we’ve registered to follow that one on-line.
