We’ve known Simon for a very long time. He runs the book stall at the Royal Court while “quietly” (surely he tells everyone who’ll listen, not just us) nurturing an avocation as a writer/director. We’ve been to see a couple of his plays over the years.
He’s been talking about this collection of poetry for a long while; indeed I seem to recall that the original date he had set for the launch/performance was due to be in February while we were in Nicaragua.
We arrived in good time for the 19:00 start, although in fact the performers were rehearsing/warming up at that hour and the performance didn’t really start until 20:00ish. Towards the end of that waiting hour, a very talented singer sang to us for a while. Simon mingled and sold me a copy of the book. We spoke with one or two people and saw the backs of several others as the place got quite crowded.
One or two of the poems were very well performed. Beyond the Bank, for example, by a very eloquent actress. Some might have worked better had they been read rather than performed, especially as the performers were sometimes struggling for their lines. It was, after all, a book launch, so reading rather than performing would have seemed reasonable.
During the interval Janie and I went upstairs to the mezzanine, where it was less crowded and from whence we could make a discreet exit ahead of the pack if we so chose.
We booked the day off, primarily to see the Georgia O’Keeffe exhibition at the Tate Modern.
I arranged to play real tennis in the morning and had also arranged to collect my new super-duper tennis racket when there, which Janie was very kindly buying for me as my birthday present. Janie and I ummed and ahhed about the logistics for the day, eventually landing on the idea that Janie would come to the flat and we’d go to Lord’s in Dumbo together. Janie quite enjoys sitting in the dedans gallery reading and/or watching the tennis. So that we did.
I had a hard game. We watched Chris playing with a very good player for a while after I showered and then went back to the flat for a quick bite of lunch before heading off by tube to the Tate Modern.
On arrival, we had a quick look at the Mona Hatoum exhibition before going to the O’Keeffe. As Janie is a member with a concession for a guest, we effectively have freedom of the place for all exhibitions.
Some of the Mona Hatoum pieces are very interesting, even stunning, but most of her work is quite stark. Janie described it as violent. Certainly dark.
The highlight of our visit was unquestionably the Georgia O’Keeffe. A rare chance to see her work and a huge one-off collection of it too. I particularly liked her more abstract pieces (both the early and late period abstracts). Janie liked the flower pictures as well as the abstracts – indeed Janie liked most of it. Incredible use of colour. The story of her development as an artist, under the wing of Alfred Stieglitz, is also interesting. Afterwards, I bought Janie a book oriented towards that aspect of O’Keeffe’s story.
I wasn’t much taken by the Bhupen Khakhar work. Some of the later works were quite interesting and I like the colours he used, but most of the work seemed very crude to me (artistically I mean, although also, as it happens, in terms of subject matter). Still, glad we took the time to see it.
Then we went to have a look at the Mark Rothko Seagram Murals, which we hadn’t seen before. Neither of us felt the contemplative spirituality promised. But again, glad I have seen them now.
Finally, we went across to the Switch House in search of the macaws (which we missed out on last time) only to be disappointed again. The owners have now withdrawn the macaws temporarily because they don’t seem happy being looked at by lots of people…probably not a great idea to exhibit them at the most visited modern art museum in the world, then.
After doing Shakespeare’s Globe, we thought that 15:00ish would be a good time to see the New Tate – after the lunchtime crowd and before the “knock off work a little early” crowd. We were right; a bit of a queue, but not too bad.
We started at the bottom and worked our way up slowly, having been warned that the lifts would be a long wait. At the very bottom, a few small exhibitions in The Tanks, such as a weird video room where you lie on cushions and look at videos of naked young women screaming and shouting. Another was supposed to react to the noises we made but seemed unresponsive to our noises. Also down there, a musical event (see picture above) of musical instruments powered by air tanks and other geeky-looking gadgetry.
Then we wended our way up, having a quick look at the new exhibits. We were a bit disappointed that we couldn’t see the macaws in the Brazilian exhibit for “animal welfare” reasons, which clearly don’t extend to keeping the birds cooped up regularly per se.
We were especially taken by one exhibit with “lie down in a cage” potential – in my case because I liked the idea of a lie down at that stage; in Janie’s case because she saw it as a big-time photo opportunity.
Well comfyNot so easy to get in and out of though
Grrr
Then we carried on to the top, taking a quick look at the restaurant (which looked a bit “uti” for its price) and then the stunning viewing gallery.
One viewAnother viewView From The Top
After the Tate, we went on to one of Helen Baker’s Mousse wine tastings. This one was fairly impromptu and well-timed for us as her place is just around the corner from the Tate Modern.
It was mostly roses: Les Mille Vignes Rose 2014 and Domaine Malmont Rose 2015. But actually the highlight was a most unusual white: Les Mille Vignes Muscat Sec 2014 – the most interesting dry muscat I have ever tasted.
As usual some really nice interesting people there – mostly the firm of architects who work in the building. Naturally the conversation turned to the referendum at times. We were unquestionably in with an in crowd.
Janie and I put aside this day primarily for a preview of the new Tate Modern building, as friends were invited for a sneak peek before the general public on the Tuesday evening or Wednesday before opening.
We also wanted to do the tour and exhibition think at Shakespeare’s Globe, which I joined a few months ago and which we would be visiting as audience members that Saturday.
As Janie turned up late at the flat and as I ascertained that we would not see the theatre itself on the tour unless we turned up by 12:30, it was indeed the 12:30 tour we took.
It was good. Our guide showed us around the main theatre itself inside and outside, explaining the background to the project and the extent to which they have attempted authenticity in design and build.
Soon we were thrown out because they were getting ready for the matinee. I suppose the building is all a bit über-mock-tudor, but then we know all about that on the Hanger Hill Garden Estate.
We then went into The Swan (the pub bit, not the fine dining bit), for some light lunch; not bad food – Janie was more impressed with the place than I was. Nice quirky decor though; a mix of arty grunge and traditional/gastro pub.
After lunch, back for a quick look around the exhibition, which I thought was cool. Lots of interactive toys to play with and a lot of stuff about Edward Alleyn as well as Shakespeare (not least the discovery of the Rose Theatre ruins which helped with the Globe’s design of course). Still, this interested me more than it interested Janie, who called time on the exhibition by disappearing.
I found her again soon enough outside the building and we moved on to the Tate Modern, which I shall write up separately.
Janie had kept most of the afternoon clear and I had arranged to play real tennis before the lecture, so we hatched a plan for Janie to join me at Lord’s early and use the dedans gallery for a spot of watching and reading. She was yet to see me play until that day.
The plan worked well; Janie arrived soon after me, so by the time I’d changed she was already in the dedans gallery having a look at the combatants. Meanwhile, I had found out, somewhat to my surprise, that I was to play doubles that day, with Chris Swallow the coach as my partner and a couple of experienced doubles players as our opponents. It would be good experience for me but quite a challenge as I had only played doubles a couple of times before. It all went well enough and Janie said she enjoyed watching it.
I watched the next pair with her for a while, then went to sauna, shower and change before watching the end of that later pair’s game for a while. Then we put my equipment into the car (Janie had found a top spot on the St John’s Wood Road) and then wandered round to the Nursery Pavilion for the event.
The first hour was a drinks reception; very pleasant. We met Ian Lovett as we went in and spent some time talking with him, Mike O’Farrell, his wife Sue (whom we met for the first time that evening), Geoff Norris and a gentleman named Tim whom I’ve spoken to at Middlesex events in the past. Ian also introduced me to Colin Graves, who seemed very pleasant once you get used to his slightly scary grimace-like smile.
We spotted a little late that most people had filed into the lecture area, but I also realised that it was the central block and the near block that had almost filled up. We quickly walked around the front to the furthest block, where we were able to get excellent seats in the second row quite near the podium. I realised how good the seats were shortly after, when I realised that Mike Brearley and Andrew Strauss had taken up seats in the row behind us.
A man with a nose for some good seats
We sat next to a couple of antipodean gentlemen, both named Mike, which was easy to remember as I observed that the podium stood empty except for two mikes awaiting McCullum’s speech. The antipodean Mikes reported that they had been drinking in the tavern before the reception and had shared a jar with Brendon McCullum in there; they showed us photographic evidence which seemed pretty incriminating. The two Mikes were jolly company for the few minutes we waited for the speech.
Then the speech, the full transcript of which is available here. Public speaking is clearly not what Brendon McCullum does best. Janie said afterwards that she didn’t think Brendon McCullum was coherent. Actually I think he was both eloquent and coherent in the content of his material, which was scripted, but he was a little garbled in delivery. Whether that was nerves or the Dutch courage he took before the lecture or a bit of both it’s hard to tell. In any case, it was very interesting and it was a privilege to attend and hear the lecture live.
Then after a quick podium change, video malfunction and tie-clip mike malfunction, a round table discussion led well by Mark Nicholas, with Kumar Sangakkara and Eoin Morgan joining Brendon McCullum to answer questions. Interesting, but our tummy’s were rumbling by the end of it, especially as Janie had been led to expect Big Al DeLarge’s veal meatballs with pasta and salad for dinner, which in the circumstances was a relaxing and enjoyable alternative to the grand pavilion dinner which we had considered and rejected.
We discussed Kumar Sangakkara’s erudition, relative to that of Brendon McCullum, but Janie opined that she had heard enough of Sangakkara for now, “we all know how clever he is”, so she awarded higher marks to McCullum for bravery. An interesting echo of their relative cricketing skills/appeal too, perhaps.
Regardless of all that, we’d both had a very enjoyable afternoon and evening at Lord’s.
After an intense afternoon of baking in Borough Market, Janie and I sullied forth to the Curzon Mayfair, laden with bread, cheese and charcuterie, to see Mustang. We’d both read about it and had both agreed that this was a rare “must see movie” for us.
We thought it really was a cracking good movie. It deserves all the plaudits and awards it is receiving. The acting is terrific and the style captivating. Janie and I were both tired, yet we were both gripped and moved from start to finish.
While I can understand why so many people are comparing it with The Virgin Suicides, I think there are so many differences in plot, context and style that the comparison is positively unhelpful.
Not least, I found The Virgin Suicides an eerie, even creepy micro story about mysterious happenings in a small town. Whereas Mustang, to me, is a far more straightforward narrative mirror, reflecting the schism in Turkish society between modern liberal and traditional conservative cultures.
Anyway, don’t listen to me; the only way to judge this film properly is to see it. Then discuss it with your companion(s) afterwards, as Janie and I did at length. In our case, over bread, cheese, charcuterie and some rather jolly red wine.
“What a monumental fougasse, Ged,”…I think that’s what she said
It doesn’t seem like nearly a whole year since DJ, very generously, gave Daisy this birthday present. A couple of half day baking course certificates for the Bread Ahead Bakery School.
By the time we got around to thinking about booking something, then realising that the conjunction of the course that we fancy with the dates that we can do and the availability of places on a course that we fancy on a date that we could do…
…you get the picture. So there we were on a sunny Friday in late May, just a few weeks ahead of Daisy’s next birthday, heading for an afternoon of baking in Borough Market.
Still, we were in good time getting to Borough, but I forgot to take into account Daisy’s excitement at seeing that sort of foodie market. “We’ll be late for school – we can come back and look at the market after class,” I said. That was a wise suggestion for several reasons, not least because later we would be armed with loads of bread in search of yummy stuff to eat with bread tonight.
Our teacher for the day was none other than Aiden Chapman, a self-confessed dough anarchist and bread revolutionary. This man has a passion for artisanal bread-making and a visceral hatred of the sliced white factory loaf. A little reminiscent of the real ale campaign back in the day; indeed he even uses the term “real bread”.
From what we could gather, Aiden Chapman is one of the architects of the Bread Ahead baking courses but he only occasionally delivers them, although he is the very teacher depicted on the promotional picture we were given with our certificates last year:
.
We are in a class of 12 to learn traditional French baking. We are to make a campagne loaf, a baguette and fougasse. We start with the campagne loaf, which takes the longest to bake. Mercifully, we are provided with a small chunk of (one day old) mother dough to use as part of our loaves, otherwise it would have needed to be a two day course.
Soon enough we have measured and added the flour, salt, water and yeast to make up the complete dough. Then we kneed the dough. All by hand, of course. At this juncture, my fatigue really kicked in, although I didn’t realise it at first. But while all the others, including Daisy, seemed to be getting exactly the texture and consistency Aiden described, I just seemed to be pushing my messy lump of stuff around the table and getting my hands covered in bread-making ingredients.
“Use the heel of your hand and really stretch that gluten,” said Aiden…
…”try standing up and doing it”…
…”like this,” he said, taking over my bundle of disengaged ingredients and with a few swift movements of his hands bringing it together as something a lot closer to everyone else’s lump of dough.
After I spent a couple more minutes emulating the teacher’s firm movements, while mumbling under my breath to Daisy that I didn’t suppose anyone else in the class had exerted themselves to the tune of two hours on the real tennis court that morning, my lump of dough looked pretty much like everyone else’s, although my hands still looked the most anarchic of the lot. Perhaps I was taking the teacher’s ideas about dough anarchy to new hands-on levels.
Next up, baguette dough for both the baguette and the fougasse. The base or “poolish” for this dough is a much easier consistency than the mother dough for the campagne loaf. Also, I suspect that the learning from the first experience helped greatly with the second. This time, I felt the consistency of my dough change in keeping with Aiden’s timings and the look of my fellow pupils’ dough. “I’m proud of you, Ged,” was one encouraging remark from teacher Aiden. “You are a complete master baker”…at least I think that’s what he said.
Anyway, the second dough was for both the baguette and the fougasse – it had never occurred to me before that these two very different breads could come from the same dough – small differences in how the dough is rested, shaped and treated before baking making all that difference to the final result. So we rested, shaped and baked our baguettes and fougasses after rescuing our campagne loaves from the ovens.
At the end of it all, we had all made three mighty artisanal breads to take a way with us and got to try Aiden’s example of each with some strong-tasting country butter and pesto.
Daisy and I then whisked around Borough Market buying some cheese, charcuterie and fruit before heading off to the pictures with all our foodie possessions.
Janie and I arranged to see John and Mandy in their home town of Saffron Walden. They were keen to show off their new Saffron Hall. Luckily, we were able to find a suitable Sunday for all of us, with an appealing afternoon concert scheduled that day.
Saffron Hall Addendum
Janie and I played tennis in the morning at 9:00; an hour earlier than our usual Sunday slot. I was hoping to get away at 12:00/12:15, which didn’t seem too ambitious in those circumstances. Anyway, we set off just after 12:30 hoping the traffic wouldn’t be too bad. It wasn’t.
We checked in to The Cross Keys, where I had booked a luxury room. We parked Dumbo a bit awkwardly on arrival, as a large group of cyclists/diners had taken up one of the few proper parking spaces. When John & Mandy arrived, I managed to persuade one of the group to help me by moving the bikes a little so I could park properly, which she kindly did.
We were warned on arrival that Alice Coote, the intended soloist singer, was ill, so had kindly been replaced at short notice by Ruby Hughes. I think we have heard Alice Coote at the Wigmore Hall more than once; her CV is hugely impressive and her voice superb.
I looked at the addendum piece of paper (see above), half expecting it to say that Ruby Hughes is one of the better singers in the lower sixth, who has almost managed to get through Dido’s Lament without pausing for breath or singing too many wrong notes…
…but actually Ruby Hughes also has a most impressive CV and her voice was also superb. There was a small change to the programme, so we got the pieces shown on the scanned piece of paper above; similar to the original programme really.
It was a bit of a Wigmore Hall outreach gig, as Mahan Esfahani played the harpsichord in the Bach Keyboard Concerto (probably our highlight) and directed the Britten Phaedra (probably our lowlight). Janie and I are seeing one of Esfahani’s recitals at The Wig next month.
We also got two encores:
an orchestral version of a Bartok Romanian Dance
a version of a Chinese Fishing Song, orchestrated by someone who works in the Britten Sinfonia office, apparently.
The Britten Sinfonia had just returned from touring China. Slightly ironic, as John and Mandy were hoping to hear from Yining (their informal protectee) who is currently in Hong Kong trying to get back to Europe from China.
After the concert, we went on to The Tickell Arms for a really pleasant early dinner. Really good food and an interesting Languedoc-based wine list. A great opportunity to have a proper catch up and chat. Highlights were a pea and rocket soup and a superb roast pork dish. Mandy started with scallops and had room for some cheese as well; good for her. John was supposed to be on an alcohol holiday but the smell of the beer in The Tickell soon tempted him to break his fast.
After dinner, we showed John and Mandy our super room at the Cross Keys, then parted company reasonably early (perhaps 21:00 or so). I played Benjy the baritone ukulele briefly and then put on some 60s music, at which point Janie and I both fell asleep. I woke up at gone midnight to realise, to my horror, that the rather loud music was still playing. Just as well that luxury room of ours is quite isolated from the other rooms.
Monday morning, we had a superb breakfast at the Cross Keys and then, following John and Mandy’s advice, took a stroll around the stunning Bridge End Garden to walk off our breakfast. We even succeeded in entering and escaping the maze. What a pair of troopers. We won’t mention that the maze isn’t at all difficult, nor that we had to ask a couple of gardeners the way to find the maze in the first place. I admitted to one of those gardeners that needing directions to the maze is not an ideal qualification for a budding maze explorer. He replied, with a smile that “where is the maze?” is the most frequently asked question in the garden.
Enough excitement for one day – we headed back to London and spent the rest of the day picking up some items we need and sorting out some things that only seem to get sorted when you have a day off.
Janie and I don’t like public meetings. We really, really don’t. We went to this one, because of our involvement in the Hanger Hill Garden Estate (HHGE) wheelie-bin campaign. So, we felt more or less obliged to attend, despite our near-allergy.
The committee provides a small incentive for people to attend; some half-decent wine to help the time pass. That pleasant gesture only helped us to a limited extent.
The opening act was supposed to be our local MP, Rupa Haq, but her arrival was delayed, so the opening act instead was a local copper explaining crime (or lack thereof) in our neighbourhood. The unfortunate spokesperson wasn’t really “our main copper”, although he is part of the local police team, so he didn’t seem completely on top of HHGE issues.
After the quintessential AGM business of accepting accounts, nominating committee members, etc., eventually Rupa Haq arrived on the stump, making much of the fact that she is a local lass, but mostly being party parochial rather than geographically parochial. I suspect and hope that public speaking is not what Rupa does best.
Eventually the meeting got round to the wheelie-bin debate; arguably the biggest deal on the agenda. Many people wanted, understandably, to have their say and raise questions and issues. But basically, when it came down to the vote on whether people wanted the service road collection idea (the idea I had advocated and helped get the Council to agree to do, if the local people want it), the vast majority of people voted in favour of the idea. Hooray.
It had been a long 135 minutes in the community hall, but basically a successful meeting, from a rubbish point of view.
Janie and I won’t be putting up our hands to attend public meetings again in a hurry. But I shall certainly be putting up my hand for the amazing pasta Janie had prepared for us to eat when we got home; a venison and veal ragù that defies description beyond a big adjective; tremendous.
I wouldn’t normally post about a movie we watched on TV, but we so nearly went to see this one at the cinema last month – only missing out because we returned from Nicaragua just as the movie came off the Curzon documentary screens.
So we resolved to try and catch Janis: Little Girl Blue, “when it finally comes around on the box”, so I was really surprised and pleased to see it listed for the Easter weekend. That’s “coming around” pretty quick in my book.
So, we set the Tivo on Good Friday and gained redemption of the recording on Easter Monday.
In truth, Janie and I both found the movie a bit disappointing. A little bit of Janis Joplin’s music goes a long way for both of us, but we both thought that a documentary about her life and early demise would be very interesting to us. As it turned out, a little bit of Janis Joplin’s back story goes a long way for us too.
In contrast with Amy, which left us feeling far better informed about Amy Winehouse’s back story and increasingly sympathetic, we both found Janis Joplin’s story surprisingly one-dimensional and even rather irritating.
In short, we’re pleased we’ve seen this movie but are equally pleased that we did so at ease, in the comfort of our own living room on the day and time of our choosing. It wouldn’t have been worth the schlep to Bloomsbury or wherever.
