Well ahead of time, DJ invited us to lunch at The Orange in Belgravia/Pimlico. We had been looking forward to the day for much of the summer.
We weren’t disappointed for sure. It is always good to see DJ, Kim & Micky. As it turned out, it was a beautiful late-summer’s day, sitting in a very airy, well-spaced restaurant upstairs.
None of us had eaten in the restaurant there before, although Micky had previously been to the pub. We were all most impressed by the food the wines and the service. Janie and I both majored on the Sunday roast beef with all the trimmings, as did DJ.
Kim and Micky furnished me with a thoughtful bespoke birthday card and gifts, one of which was a tee-shirt emblazoned with the same legend as the card:
DJ, Kim and Micky told us about the Dalmatian coast, which they had recently been exploring. We pondered the lack of Dalmatian dogs in Dalmatia and wondered whether a themed boutique hotel, Villa De Vil, might be a winner. I expect Dodie Smith’s estate might have a question or three to ask about that one.
We didn’t realise that there is a glorious upstairs terrace at the back of The Orange, acting as a sun trap in the late afternoon. But under the guidance of excellent, interesting and kind waiter Gareth, we took up residence out there for after dinner drinks and to carry on chatting.
On learning that there is no house guitar, we tried some a capella singing…very badly.
Gareth was not only a maestro at serving food & drink, he is also a selfie maestro. The photograph below, achieved without a selfie-stick, is clearly the act of an experienced, steady hand.
Gareth also took a few pictures in a more regular or old-fashioned style, with the photographer excluded. A couple of those are shown below.
Many hours passed. It got dark. Eventually (at 21:00), the terrace had to close for regulatory/licensing reasons. Janie and I decided to call it quits at that juncture, leaving DJ, Kim & Micky to have “one for the road” by relocating to the pub’s outdoor seating, by the road.
I have been playing real tennis at The Queen’s Club this September, as the Lord’s court is closed for refurbishment and a few other clubs, such as Queen’s, have, very kindly, offered us MCC tennis types refugee status for the month.
It’s been a somewhat sobering experience at times.
My first gig as a refugee was a singles friendly match against a 12-year-old…
…who absolutely took me to pieces.
To be fair, he is the champion player at his age group and, if “the book” is to be believed, he is even capable of beating the U15 champion now. Here is some film of him winning the French Open:
I’m pretty sure he’ll be an exceptionally good player. Remember where you first heard the name: Bertie Vallat…
…I know, you couldn’t make up a more Wodehouseian name than that…
…he’s the boy in the foreground at the start of the filum.
Anyway, point is, after that ego-bruising episode, I decided that I needed a lesson in technique, so arranged to play an hour-long friendly match with one of my Lord’s chums, then an hour of coaching, ahead of meeting up with Simon in Hammersmith.
I did well in my friendly match – reclaiming the handicap points I had lost to Bertie. Then I enjoyed my lesson too, which I think will help my lawners as well as my realers…am I starting to spend to much time hanging around the arcane language of this game?
Then, after killing some time in a couple of coffee bars along the way, I met up with Simon Jacobs for a relatively early dinner at Brasserie Blanc.
I explained my difficult hour at the hands of a twelve-year-old the previous week, which led Simon to suggest that I might have “done a Serena” and/or resorted to corporal punishment. Neither of these suggestions seemed, to me, worthy of Simon.
But then Simon might well have had other things on his mind. He was very kindly taking time out to have dinner with me just a couple of days ahead of the launch of his latest single; Top Of The Pops. How cool is that?
Well, you can judge for youreselves by listening to and watching the following YouTube:
We discussed without irony the increasingly ghastly political landscape. The absence of irony is not because we have lost our senses of humour – heaven forbid. No, it appears that we never did have a sense of irony, due to ethnic accidents of birth. No point mocking us (we wouldn’t get it), simply pity us.
The food was very good indeed. The wine was also very good. The service was excellent, until we asked our waiter to leave us alone for a short while to consider what to have for, or indeed if to have, desert. Then we complained when the waiter returned because he had neglected us for so long.
The waiter laughed and told us that we were his favourite table of the evening. Poor chap, he clearly thought we were being ironic…he didn’t realise that we really meant it – he didn’t realise that we don’t do irony.
We talked a fair bit about music; not only Simon’s new single but his plans for the album and also the stuff that I am fiddling around with at the moment. Simon set me some homework around “I Only Have Eyes For You” and also “Nothing Rhymed”, the latter of which has yielded faster results than the somewhat tricky former.
The evening whizzed by and I had no idea how late it was until we got to Hammersmith Station. Still, not so late that the tubes get tricky.
As always, it had been a very enjoyable evening with Simon.
The promised deluge mostly dumped its load overnight, leaving a drizzly, mizzly morning.
We’d already rescheduled the Falkland Palace/real tennis outing to Tuesday and/but there was no hope of modern tennis either in the murk, so we had a very pleasent, quiet morning hunkered down with our provisions.
We watched the start of the test match while grazing, then set off to the City to collect our tickets…
…and then go out to Summerhall. There we saw A Fortunate Man, a two-handed play adapted from the book about a rural GP, in the rather apt setting of a former veterinary college lecture theatre. It was a very moving piece.
Then on to Flamenco Global at C. This had been a more serendipitous choice; I simply wanted to find some music (for variety) at that hour when we found that we couldn’t get tickets for Extinguished Things.
We had a glass of wine at the bar before the show, served by the most disengaged, humourless young people we have so far encountered in Edinburgh, which, together with the rather dour queue management at C, didn’t seem to auger well.
But as it turned out, Flamenco Global was a stunningly good act. Ricardo Garcia is a superb and seemingly very sweet guitarist. His playing was accompanied by some fine dancing by Nanako Aramaki.
We chatted afterwards with a nice Scottish couple who were fans of Flamenco and of Garcia in particular.
Then the bus home…
…for a quick freshen up and then off to the Roseleaf for dinner.
Great grub and friendly staff. daisy started with satay prawns & went on to a chunky Cullen Skink (a sort of smoked haddock chowder), while I started with an excellent mushroom soup followed by a trout dish. A fruity Viognier wine. We even had deserts – Janie had affogato (all the fashion I am told) while I tried a banana parfait with ice cream & chocolate named Bananarama.
All the music was similarly late 1970s early 1980s with various retro feels in the crockery and a collection of mad hats around the walls for mad hatter tea parties, apparently. For a short while we had a strange couple next to us – she had no volume control, occasionally speaking so loudly and strangely it was hard nor to look. They ate incredibly quickly and mercifully moved on at pace too.
Quirky place, superb food, excellent service, rounded off our day very nicely.
We rose late by our standards and pootled around first thing. We played tennis around 11:00 – the courts were deserted on a formerly-drizzly, albeit Saturday, morning.
We took some brunch at Mimi’s Bakehouse on Shore, then went off to get some provisions. Found Great Grog for wine & coffee. Then a sports shop for some training troos, then Leith Farmers’ Market for some brunch provisions for tomorrow, as the weather is set very poor.
Then we went in to Edinburgh proper for our shows, both recommended by the nice family in Let Me Eat Too. First up, Harpy – a one woman play with Su Pollard. Very good performance but the play was a bit slow and all over the place. It has been pretty well received though – reviews can be found here.
In need of refreshment and reasonable comfort, we eventually found an Andalusian tapas/wine bar place happy to let us sit outside and drink some wine. There was a curious incident with a pair of drunks and their Yorkshire terrier dog and I got shat on from a great height, literally. Good job I was wearing my vinyl (imitation leather) jacket.
Then on to Wu Song – The Tiger Warrior. The recommendation lady had described it as musicians from North Korea but actually it was an extraordinary mime/dance show from Taiwan.
We probably wouldn’t have booked it had it been described to us more accurately but we really enjoyed it, so that lady’s confusion proved to be our friend. It was pretty well received in formal reviews too.
Home for a wash/change and then on to Ship On The Shore for dinner. Excellent fish meal.
We shared a crab salad starter. Daisy tried lemon sole while I went for seafood linguini.
Massive portions but superb food. We got home before the rain started…just.
We rose quite early, to be greeted by the sight and sound of miscellaneous gulls outside our window and even a bevy of eight swans, which graced our view daily throughout our stay. They even came to say goodbye just as we were leaving, a week later.
We found our way to Leith Links on foot (less than 10 minutes walk away) and played tennis there. Three courts in good condition; quite similar to our regular arrangements at Boston Manor.
Then we returned to the flat to wash, change and sort out bus/tram passes. Once we were “appy” with that, we set off into Edinburgh. First stop, to collect our tickets for today at the High Street Fringe ticket shop.
Then we headed towards Underbelly, to get our bearings & find some lunch. An Underbelly usher recommended Let Me Eat Too, where we had giant “Balmoral” panini wraps of chicken, haggis & cheese. There we met a nice English family – the son was in a show & the parents had some good ideas/suggestions for us.
We subsequently decided that places like Let Me Eat Too and their portion sizes were a bit “over belly” for us at lunchtime ahead of shows at Underbelly and the like, so we lightened up our subsequent post-tennis/lunchtime arrangements.
We saw the only play I had pre-booked for the trip: Angry Alan by Penelope Skinner. It was a superb piece, very well acted by Donald Sage Mackay, whom we had seen quite recently in White Guy On The Bus at the Finborough. Angry Alan has been very well received, on the whole, in formal reviews. By chance, we got to meet Donald Sage Mackay & Penelope Skinner afterwards in the Underbelly cafe.
Then we hunted down tickets for the shows that nice family recommended, &/but took sanctuary in the Checkpoint cafe on Bristo Place. I went on a bit of a fool’s errand from there to try & get tickets in person – app/collect works much better and cheaper it seems.
Then we strolled on to George Square to see NewsRevue; the other show I had pre-booked before we set off for Edinburgh.
I have been hanging around NewsRevue since the early 1990s and had material in the show, including the Edinburgh “best of” shows, for most of that decade. Of course I had often seen previews of the Edinburgh show at the Canal Cafe, but this was the first time I had ever seen the show in Edinburgh. The show has a different vibe in a 500-seater auditorium with the performers miked up and the audience in “early evening Fringe” mode rather than “late night cabaret” mode.
But it is still a very good show, as it has always been; and oh boy was it packed the day we saw it; probably the case every day. NewsRevue really has become an Edinburgh Fringe institution now.
Then we strolled back to High Street to collect those appy show tickets for tomorrow. Then back to Cowgate for quick drink at Underbelly & then on to Three Sisters (Free Sisters) to see Michael Keane (a friend of mine from the real tennis community) & his pals in a comedy improv. show named BattleActs.
Not really our sort of thing; improv. shows, but this one was done very well and had packed out a fairly sizeable room at the Free Sisters.
We bussed back to Leith, stopping for dinner at Chop House Leith for some excellent aged steaks and a couple of glasses of very quaffable red wine.
After a morning’s work, I played tennis and then drove out to Noddyland for the rest of the afternoon. Janie went over to Kim’s to do some gardening or what-have-you, while I followed the Wimbledon tennis quite avidly:
Clarke & Dart v Murray & Azarenka (short and a bit disappointing);
Draper v Mejia (boys semi – absolutely compelling to watch);
Isner v Anderson (almost failed to resolve until after I left for the restaurant).
Meanwhile Janie called me to instruct the closing of windows about 5 minutes after I had closed all the windows. It was already bucketing down in “The Suburb” whereas in Noddyland it was just starting to look ominous.
In fact, I got to the Uber while it was still just spitting, but by the time we got 100 yards down the road it was proper rain and by the time we got to Gypsy Corner there were surface water flash floods starting.
Micky and Kim were on good form. Janie and I both ended up eating the same dishes; calamari followed by a veal and mash dish.
For afters, I fancied ice cream. The gelato of the day was nougat. I asked what type of nuts were in the nougat (due to my walnut allergy), which kicked off a precautionary sequence of events, even when I relented to a simple choice of vanilla and chocolate.
“Out ice cream might contain traces of nut”, I was told. I explained that my allergy is mild and that I have no concerns about “might contain traces of nut” warnings…
…at which point Kim told the waitress that she should get me to sign a disclaimer…
…which the waitress duly produced and indeed insisted that I should sign.
This was all done in a gentle and friendly spirit…
With thanks to the waitress for taking the picture
…but I’m pretty sure that I’d have had no pudding without the form filling. I considered explaining that I am very allergic to form filling…
…but in the end decided that I wanted my ice cream.
I think that covered the necessary waiver comprehensively.
Readers of a nervous disposition will be delighted to learn that I suffered no ill effects from eating the ice cream.
It was a fun evening with Kim and Micky. The staff at the restaurant are very charming and friendly, which more than makes up for the quirky aspects.
I turned up to play him in the morning. On arrival he greets me with the phrase:
I ran into someone who knows you the other day. Knows you from the gym or something. When real tennis came up in the conversation, he asked if I knew you.
But the really strange coincidence about that encounter was that, John told me, it was at Grace Road, Leicester, at a Cricket Society bash…
…do you mean day two of the Leicestershire v Middlesex match?…
John and I fought out a tough, some would say bitter, battle, which ended in a draw, once the nonagenarians, who were next on court, separated us combatants who, by that time, were (naturally) screaming, punching, wrestling and biting. It’s a gentleman’s game, real tennis. In fact, I stayed on for the nonagenarian doubles that day and almost managed to keep up with the oppo for an additional hour.
Later that day, once I had recovered from two hours of combat (and done a spot of work), Janie and I took dinner at Delamina in Marylebone, ahead of a rather unusual-looking late night concert at the Wigmore Hall.
We thought the food in Delamina was superb – I had a seriously posh kofta dish while Janie had a seriously posh take on turkey shawarma – but the place was very noisy on a Friday evening and the service, while admittedly delivered by universally sweet staff, was poor.
We stretched our legs and got a chance to have a conversation that we both could hear, by walking the long way round to the Wigmore Hall. While strolling, I told Janie about the strange coincidence that John Thirlwell (whom she had met at the Middlesex University Real Tennis match) had been in the next room to me all day at Leicester.
Before entering the concert hall itself, I popped to the Wigmore Hall loo. There I saw a gentleman who looked remarkably like John Thirlwell. No, he wasn’t a gentleman who looked a lot like John Thirlwell; it WAS John Thirlwell.
“This is bonkers”, I said, “you’re blooming everywhere” – to which John could only smile and agree. Thus Janie and I chatted with John and his charming companion Maggie before and briefly after the concert. John is not a Wigmore Hall regular – he had simply seen this concert listed and thought it looked interesting and different.
I often say that Lord’s and the Wigmore Hall are the last remaining places where I get addressed as “young man”. I wonder whether that sort of thing was the causal link for John Thirlwell visiting both places on the same day as me. Joking apart about fierce combat; it turns out that John is actually jolly good company, both on the tennis court (which I knew already) and also in the concert hall.
A collaboration much like the fusions in Delamina’s food, now I come to think of it.
Here is one of the pieces, from the latest David Orlowsky Trio album, which they played for us at the Wig:
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=jrDBrUkv0Qw
Or try this tiddler, which the Wig used to promote the concert we attended:
We thought the music was wonderful fun; a mixture of smooth jazz and the sort of dance rhythms that central and eastern European music does so well, not least when klezmerised.
Janie and I sat next to an aficionado of the group who told us, sadly, that the trio is due to split soon after a mere 20 years together. Perhaps they feel it is time to pursue other projects. They are all virtuoso musicians; David Orlowsky himself utterly exceptional on the clarinet but really all three were excellent.
Quite a day; I hope John Thrilwell enjoyed his day as much as I enjoyed mine.
Occasionally something really rather special emerges as a result of Ogblog. One such emergence, some months ago, was an e-mail out of the blue from Jon Gorvett, a friend from Keele University, who had stumbled across Ogblog and thus reconnected with me and with Simon Jacobs.
Anyway, subsequently one thing led to another, Jon eventually acquiesced to grace Blighty with his presence, so we (including Jon’s good lady, Stefanie) arranged to meet up for a meal together.
We settled on 35 New Cavendish, which I recalled from my previous visit with Janie, Chris & Charlotte, was pretty quiet. I thought our reunion would benefit from us being able to hear each other, which it did. The food is good at 35 New Cavendish, without being exceptional; the service is passable; the location worked well for all of us.
Thank you, Mr Waiter – top photographic work. L-R: Stefanie, Ian, Simon & JonQuestion for advanced students: identify Jon, Simon and Ian from this 1982 visual
The years seemed to peel away rapidly and easily. Lots has happened to all of us (and to the world) in the 30+ years since we last gathered, but it felt like a natural and familiar get together, despite the magnitude of that time interval. I certainly sensed that none of us have changed our world view or re-oriented our moral compasses.
As Simon said in a subsequent e-mail:
Inevitably, there was a sense of only scratching the surface as it’s an impossible task to meaningfully fill in the blanks of 30 plus years in an evening. But you’ve got to start somewhere.
Simon also expressed concern for Stefanie in all this:
I do hope Stefanie wasn’t too bored or bewildered… She didn’t appear to be, but then I’m not really in a position to know whether she was just being monumentally polite. It was very nice to meet her!
I echo those sentiments.
On learning that many people have Ogblog monikers – for example, Simon is known as “Awesome Simo” – Jon and Stefanie expressed an interest in acquiring Ogblog monikers of their own. I did offer them the opportunity to apply with their own choices of names, but the only thing that has been forthcoming so far is this super picture (below) of Jon drinking a pint in the Sneyd Arms at Keele, a couple of days after our gathering.
Later that same week, Jon sent us this snap from the Sneyd
So Ale-jar Jon and Sneyd Steff it is, unless or until they supply more suitable nicknames of their own.
Coincidentally, The Sneyd Arms does seem to have become a magnet recently for those nostalgia visits and photos amongst my old friends. Ashley Fletcher sent me this just a few months ago:
But I digress.
It was a very enjoyable evening at 35 New Cavendish with Jon, Simon and Stefanie. I very much hope, as Simon suggests, that we get a chance to do more than just scratch the surface of renewed acquaintance in the near future.
Janie and I were fascinated by the descriptive rubric about this play, so booked to see it as soon as the tickets went on sale, as oft we do for the Hampstead Downstairs.
A few weeks before our booking, I got a message from Dot to say that “they” would be in England the weekend of 23/24 June and wondered if I could recommend a show for them to see and/or it would be nice to meet up. In the event, there were still tickets for this play available and Dot seemed keen to join us.
“They” turned out to be Dot (who came to Z/Yen from the USA as a summer intern a few years ago, recruited by me while I was experimenting with recreational on-line poker using my first ever smart phone – that is certainly an Ogblog story for another day)…
…plus her beau Randy. Randy came to England on this occasion primarily for work purposes, whereas Dot was in transit, on her way to watch some football World Cup live in Russia.
Anyway, it made a change for me and Janie to go to the theatre with some other people – it is years since we last did that. Dot and Randy made excellent company too, bringing a different perspective to the themes raised in the play and indeed interesting perspectives on the current geopolitical maelstrom on both sides of the Atlantic pond.
Before the show, we had a chance encounter with Ollie Goodwin, who was also at the Hampstead but he was watching the upstairs show…so it proved to be a brief encounter. Still, always good to see Ollie.
In those days (2015) the Downstairs studio eschewed official reviews, but the Hampstead’s policy has changed, so you will find official and unofficial reviews through this link – click here. The official reviews are good but not rave reviews, whereas some of the unofficial noise is unequivocally complimentary. My take on it is that the play has its flaws, not least the rapidity of the scene changes and the amount of walking on/walking off that goes on in short scenes, but that the flaws do not detract from the drama, tension and fine acting within the piece. This production is well worth seeing.
It’s not ideally suited for the very squeamish – it is mostly set in a post mortem lab – but I was able to cope with it which means that most people should be OK – the grizzly bits were mostly done with sound rather than visuals. I glanced at one grizzly point to see if our entourage looked OK and assessed that Randy might be as squeamish as me, whereas Janie and Dot were lapping it up. Indeed the two girls looked as though they might, had they lived in late 18th century Paris, have sat in the front row of the guillotine execution sessions, knitting.
After the show, Janie, Dot, Randy and I went to Fora in St John’s Wood for a very tasty Turkish meal and a chance to chat about the issues some more. Randy generously picked up the tab at Fora – he can visit again 😉 – so Janie insisted on dropping the young couple back at the Hotel Intercontinental, bringing a most enjoyable evening to an end. Yes, come to think of it, both of them most certainly can visit again.
Now that’s what I call a theorboQuintessentially French Baroque
This ensemble was recently involved in a French TV series about Versailles – said to be the most expensive ever made in France – here is a short musical extract from the TV programme:
Mercifully for the down to earth SJSS audience, Fuoco E Cenere did not ponce about in 17th Century wigs and outfits for our concert.
Here is a more down to earth vid and interview about Les Folies d’Espagne by Marais, which they did play on the night:
The highlight of this concert, for us, was the singing of the young guest soprano, Theodora Raftis. She has an outstanding voice and tremendous stage presence. She seemed a little overwhelmed by the occasion at first, but it was great to see her warm to her work and become the highlight of the show by the end of the concert. She was clearly well appreciated by the audience and her fellow performers. Remember the name: Theodora Raftis. Not much of her to be found on-line, but here is some Donizetti – trust us, she’s upped her game big time since this vid was recorded:
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=sszddZG0cEQ
The Platters
No , we didn’t see a 1950s vocal group, but we did eat charcuterie and cheese platters with salad and a glass of wine between the concerts. I won’t dwell on the shenanigans involved in booking a table and arranging the platters – let’s just celebrate the fact that waiters David and Ramon did us proud and that we thoroughly enjoyed our twixt concert supper.
Paris-Madras
It was this second concert that really inspired me to book the evening – the notion of a fusion of French Baroque and Indian raga music. How on earth might that work? Well, it pretty much did.
Le Concert De L’Hostel-Dieu provided the baroque element. In truth, we got more out of the ragas than we got out of the Leçons de Ténèbres. The wonderful weather of the previous week had turned to miserable cold weather that day, so neither of us was much in the mood for the lamentations of Jeremiah. More seriously, we’d seen the Leçons de Ténèbres quite recently and didn’t realise that the concert would pretty much give us the whole lot un-fused with the ragas…plus ragas unfused with the lamentations.
…artefacts from the raga element
On the ragas, in particular, we liked the bansuri flute and the sarod. Soumik Datta, the sarod virtuoso involved, is far more rock’n’roll than the rest of the performers on show that night. Here is his showreel:
Below is the explanatory vid in French about the Paris-Madras project, in which you can hear Ravi Prasad sing and Patrick Rudant play his flute, as well as the baroque players of course:
The absolute highlight of this concert for us was the few passages when the musicians segued between the two styles and the ending when they all played together. Perhaps they judged the fusion to be risky, so they minimised its use, but to our mind it was a risk that came off big time and the fusion was the reason we went to see the concert.
Anyway, we came out the other side of the evening feeling very pleased with the whole occasion.
