Friends and Family Events – Page 10

A Hat Trick Of Seasonal Events, London Cricket Trust Dinner, Ivan Shakespeare Memorial Dinner & Z/Yen Team Lunch, 11, 12 & 13 December 2019

It seems churlish to complain about too many nice events, but this particular week really did include a surfeit of them for me.

I had already enjoyed the Parasite evening at Curzon Mayfair…

Parasite by Bong Joon-hu, Film Preview & Panel Discussion, Curzon Mayfair, 9 December 2019

…and the Z/Yen 25th anniversary party at The Old Bailey…

25th Z/Yeniversary Alumni Function, The Old Bailey, 10 December 2019

…and it was still only Tuesday.

The three events described in this piece were the Wednesday, Thursday and Friday of the same week.

London Cricket Trust Dinner, Three Cranes, Wednesday 11 December 2019

Duncan Jenkinson, Andy Griffiths, Leshia Hawkins, some bloke in pink Middlesex kit photo-bombing our picture, Ivan Thomas and Me, 16 July 2019

No photos from this event, but the above photo and link is from one of the highlights of the London Cricket Trust’s year – A B de Villiers opening our Deptford Park facility in July.

We thought it would be a good idea to have a meal together after the Trustees meeting this time. We have been gathering now since 2017 planning non-turf pitch and net facilities for London’s parks, without ever breaking bread together…until this evening.

The Three Cranes location in the City worked well for me, giving me the opportunity to clear some work at the office (yes, believe it or not I did also do some work in this event-filled week) before the Trustees meeting at the Three Cranes, which was followed by the joyous meal and libations.

This evening was an excellent opportunity to all get to know each other a bit better. Not just we Trustees, but also the England and Wales Cricket Board (ECB) people who have been working tirelessly on our intiiative (and participation cricket more generally), plus Ed Griffiths and his team who have been doing so much wonderful pro bono work on behalf of the LCT over the years.

One of many good thoughts that emerged from the evening is that we still haven’t actually watched any professional cricket together; we’re hoping to put that right during the 2020 season.

A very enjoyable evening.

Ivan Shakespeare Memorial Dinner & Trophy Match, Spaghetti House Holborn, Thursday 12 December 2019

It’s been a big year for anniversaries. Not only the Z/Yen 25th (the alumni party for which is linked again here and at the very start of this “hat trick” piece)…

…but also the 40th anniversary of NewsRevue, which had its alumni event during the summer:

NewsRevue 40th Anniversary Party, Show & Smoker, Canal Cafe Theatre, 18 August 2019

One NewsRevue alum who, sadly, only just made it a few months beyond the 20th anniverary of that show was Ivan Shakespeare. We “Class Of ’92” types who were NewsRevue contemporaries of Ivan meet on an irregular occasional basis, three or four times a year, to keep in touch with each other, eat, trade jokes, share bizarre quizzes and also to remember Ivan. We’ve been doing that since mid 2000, a few months after Ivan died.

In the seasonal version of our gathering, the stakes increase markedly and we play one of the quizzes for The Ivan Shakespeare Memorial Trophy. I am proud to be the donor of the original Memorial Trophy, which was first contested in 2002, about 18 months after the dinners started.

It’s a bit like The Ashes, but for comedy writers rather than for cricketers.

Much like The Ashes, the trophy is a thing of exquisite gimcrackness; it’s absence of taste simply has to be seen to be believed:

Observant readers will see that I won that trophy *once*; in 2004

Some real names from the world of quizzing on there: Hugh Ryecroft for one, Barry Grossman being another.

The problem is, unlike The Ashes, the trophy is inscribed with the winner’s name each year…

…and the original trophy is running out of sensible places for the embazoning of the winner’s name…

…OK, there never were sensible places for the emblazoning, but now we are even running out of silly places to inscribe.

The solution: a new trophy. Acquired through the sort of tenacity that only Graham Robertson could possibly deploy – an eBay purchase which he needed to make twice because the first eBay vendor of tasteless out-of-date royal gimcrack merchandise took Graham’s money and did a runner.

The assembled alums at our new spiritual venue, The Spaghetti House in Holborn, decreed that Mark Keegan, who won the original trophy three times, should become “steward-for-life” of the original trophy.

Mark Keegan, delighted with his original trophy. Graham Robertson looks on, enviously.

Barry Grossman shows off the new trophy…

…then wears one for the team by winning the new trophy this year

As usual I came quite close but no cigar for me in the trophy stakes since 2004. Barry Grossman scooped the glittering prize this year – with sincere commiserations to Barry – he could have been an also-ran, but instead…

It wasn’t all quizzes and trophies; oh no, no, no, no, no, no no. There was plenty of time for eating, drinking, topical humour and some sense-of-irony-sapping politics on what was, after all, an election night.

Moving swiftly on from the will-to-live-depleting topics back to the humour section, John Random produced another set of personalised Christmas crackers this year, based on the BBC Radio 4 programme In Our Time with Melvyn Bragg.

My cracker contained a note posing the intriguing question:

What do you call a deer with no eyes?

Frankly, I had no idea and would gladly have said, “no idea”, but for the answer provided, which instead said, in Braggian tones:

With me to discuss what you call a deer with no eyes, I have Ian Harris, Professor of Mammalian Opthalmology at Gresham College and author of In Darkness Let me Dwell – and Professor Jonny Hurst from the University of Manchester, author of Champagne Super Over: Oasis In Popular Culture.

There is sort-of a tradition in recent years for at least one person’s order to go horribly wrong at the festive dinner. This year it Barry Grossman who suffered the indignity of being brought his main at starter time and a starter-sized portion of his chosen main at main course time. The nice waiter did his best to sort things out.

Ironically, Barry went on to win the quiz, as did Jonny Hurst in 2017 when it was his turn to be the brunt of the ritual service humiliation – in those days at Cafe Rogues in Holborn not far from the scene of this year’s crime. That year, 2017, John Random’s personalised crackers had been based on the Moral Maze. He likes his thinky-Radio-4 programmes, does our John.

Anyway, the night of 12 December 2019 will surely be remembered as a great night for NewsRevue alums…and Tories…ironically.

Z/Yen Seasonal Lunch, The Old Bailey, Friday 13 December 2019

Z/Yen team gathered in the Alderman & Sheriff’s apartment

In the world of crime fiction, criminals have a regular, unfortunate tendancy; returning to the scene of the crime. Whether that is true in the real world or not I have no idea. Nor do I have the faintest idea what that point might have to do with this section of this piece.

Anyway, just three days after the Z/Yen Alumni function at The Old Bailey, the current Z/Yen team regrouped in that astonishing building for the staff seasonal lunch.

On this occasion we found ourselves in the smaller function room, used daily for the judges pre-luncheon drinks, after enjoying our pre-lunch drinks in Michael and Elisabeth’s apartment. Once again Sean, their footman, proved his skills as a photographer – thanks Sean.

The meal was a very good one; smoked trout fillet, followed by a posh duck dish, followed by an apple tart-like desert.

The wines tasted suspiciously like those excellent wines we’d enjoyed earlier in the week and seemed suspiciously well food-matched for the lunch, thanks to the combined skills of Gordon Clunie and (in all modesty) me.

Linda produced one of her fiendish seasonal quizzes – let’s not even talk about how badly Simon Mills and I did as a so-called team on that one.

Secret Santa visited (I got some baritone ukulele strings) and Santa also brought everyone a small box of super posh chocolates.

Then the traditional Z/Yen seasonal sing song. Being exceptionally woke for a boomer, I again recycled a previous effort this year, cunningly adding a topical reference ensuring that no-one would realise that it was recycled…

…unless they looked at the copyright years and/or version numbers and/or read this piece. Here is the 2019 version of The 12 Days Of Z/Yen Training. Excellent, was the performance, especially the “Five Forces” motif, which brought tears to my eyes each time around.

It is a fascinating musical phenomenon that this particular song works in so many different keys: C, C#, B, D, D#, A, E, G#, G, F & F#…all at the same time…at least, it did that afternoon.

After the formalities, plenty of informalities with some additional quizzing, singing, chatting and libations until it was chucking out time at The Old Bailey.

Chucking out time at The Old Bailey on a Friday afternoon works remarkably quickly and effectively:

You are welcome to stay on downstairs if you wish…but no-one will be here with the keys to your cell until Monday morning…

…everyone scarpers sharpish at that juncture.

Some ventured on for more libations at a local hostelry, but after five events in five days, all I could think about was getting home and lying down for a good few hours.

25th Z/Yeniversary Alumni Function, The Old Bailey, 10 December 2019

Put out the bunting! Charge the wine glasses. Z/Yen is 25 years old.

Can it really be that long since I formed Z/Yen with a small group of reprobates, not least Michael Mainelli? Yes.

Naturally the event has been reported in Now & Z/Yen, the company’s occasional newsletter/blog, (also now aged 25 and counting), click here for that report.

Preparations for the alumni do started some months before the event. Not least, the creation of a gimcrack exhibition worthy of the Victoria & Albert museum:

An early, experimental attempt some days before the event

Given the sizeable quantities of stock remaining for some Z/Yen gimcrack artefacts, we decided that the alums “deserved” goody bags on leaving this event.

Janie and I got to the location in good time, mostly because I deliberately over-estimated the journey duration for Janie’s benefit.

I showed Janie 20 old Bailey, where Michael and I worked prior to Z/Yen, plus the front of The Old Bailey. Somewhat ominously, 20 old Bailey is now home to Barings Bank & Metro Bank, among others.

While Janie and I were sightseeing outside the building, Linda Cook was busy adding a celebratory touch by putting out bunting based on a very early Z/Yen photo of me, Michael, Steve Taylor and Kate Carty (latterly Kate Taylor) – see headline picture and detail picture below.

I’m a little concerned on Linda’s behalf that the bunting (as seen in the headline picture) seems to be overhanging the portrait of Her Maj a little. There might well be a by-law in The Old Bailey that such disrespect to the monarch constitutes high treason and all that such a crime entrails…I mean, entails.

Joking apart, Michael gave those of us who chose to arrive early a fascinating, but at times somewhat grizzly, history talk about and tour around The Old Bailey.

Photos are not permitted on the tour. We sat in Court One for much of the talk. Elisabeth sat in the dock, while Janie and I sat in the jury seats. We found Elisabeth guilty on the grounds of looking a bit nervous in the dock…but then who wouldn’t with me and Janie beaming at them from the jury seats?

We also saw Court Six and the very grand main lobby. There is one place on the staircase where photos are permitted. Sean (Michael’s shrieval footman) turns out to be a dab hand at photography and kindly took the following:

By the time we tourists returned to the judges dining room to join the rest of the function, another twenty or so guests had arrived, so the party went into full swing…

…such full swing that Linda and Janie stopped taking photos, so you’ll simply have to imagine the drinks, canapes, bowls of yummy food and revelry.

In the run up to the event, I had been Ogblogging like fury, generating a three-part chronicle of Z/Yen’s conception and birth. Michael and I delivered a brief summary of that chronicle as a double-act on the night – click here for the pdf.

If you want to read the full three-parter, try the links within the pdf or the block links below:

Þe Chronique Of Primordyall Z/Yen: Þe First Part – Sumer Is Icomen In, Spring 1994

Þe Chronique Of Primordyall Z/Yen: Þe Second Part: Mirie It Is While Sumer Ilast, Summer 1994

Þe Chronique Of Primordyall Z/Yen: Þe Third Part: Windes Blast & Weder, Autumn 1994

I also sang the very first Z/Yen song, with the help of the assembled staff and alums who acted as the choir. Click here for a pdf of the lyric.

After that brief interlude, we all returned to eating, drinking and making merry.

It was a really enjoyable event, not least because it was such a well-organised event at such an interesting venue, but more particularly because it was so lovely to see so many Z/Yen folk past and present, all assembled and enjoying spending time together. Moved, I was.

School Dinners Again, Informal Alleyn’s Alums In The City, 28 November 2019

It was about time for another of our regularly-occasional gatherings of the old school clan, so, sure enough, an e-mail came through from John Eltham several weeks ago organising this evening for us.

More than a dozen of us gathered again, most for drinks at the Walrus & Carpenter plus dinner at The Rajasthan, while a handful came to just one or other of the venues.

This felt like a bit of a homecoming to regular City venues, as the last such gathering at this time of year was relocated to different venues, for some reason:

An Award-Winning Evening During Which I Hung Out With The Alleyn’s Old Boys Crowd, Sripur Restaurant, 6 December 2018

Anyway, my need to be in the City this week cunnningly conspired to coincide with this day, so I simply wandered over to The Walrus after work.

The group was already well gathered in the cunningly hidden dowstairs bar. Mostly comprising the usual suspects, the group also included Nick Wahla for the first time. Nick was in my class in the second and third years – here’s some evidence of the former:

My Second Class At Alleyn’s School, 2AK, And Some Nicknames, guessing 1 January 1975

According to the above piece, Nick’s nickname (if you can get your head round the idea of someone named “Nick” having a nickname), was “Gob”. It’s almost impossible to imagine why Nick might ever have been known as Gob. My guess is that the epithet “Gob” was handed down to Nick by our form master, Tony King, rather than an authentic compadre’s moniker.

Mr King, purveyor of synthetic sobriquets

In the Rajasthan, I ended up at the “breezy door” end of the room, next to Nick Wahla and opposite David Wellbrook, who for once in his life was being too polite that evening to promote his latest e-book – click here or the picture link below:

Soon we were joined by Mike Jones, who, coincidentally, had been form master to all three of us in our third year. Simon Ryan enocuraged the whole table to stand up and say, “good evening, Sir” to Mike, which I’m certain caused Mike not one jot of embarrassment.

We did a bit of 3BJ reminiscing at our end of the table…and why not? I particularly remembered Nick Wahla giving “Cyril” Vaughan a hard time in our Latin classes, but Nick claimed not to remember Cyril at all and went all “innocentia effecit imitatio” on the matter of Latin disruption, while admitting to having achieved a record low in his Latin exam. 8%.

Now I’m not saying that Nick was the main or only protagonist in the matter of Cyril baiting. Heaven knows, I personally pulled the “varnishing a stash of chalk and swapping the varnished variety for all the serviceable chalk” stunt…I am now prepared at this late stage to confess to that one…perhaps my best ever practical joke…especially the cunningly hidden addtional piece of varnished chalk waiting to be discovered in the master’s desk drawer…

…but I do distinctly remember Paul Deacon’s impersonation of Cyril, which was excellent vocally, normally comprising phrases such as, “…Wahla, please put that hand grenade down, there’s a good fellow…now Wahla, please don’t pick up that machine gun in place of the hand grenade, be a nice chap…”

If we’re really lucky Paul might chime in with a Cyril voice file to enhance this memory.

Bunch of clowns, we were and I’m sure the masters took great pains at the time to tell us that we wouldn’t be able to make a living in the real world writing silly jokes, speaking in funny voices and/or by having the gift of the gab.

Nick Wahla is now deploying his gift of the gab in the world of market research; he warned us all that no shopping visit nor even the supposed security of our own homes would make us safe from a possible approach by Nick at unsuspecting moments in our lives. It’s a minor miracle, it seems, that none of us have yet encountered Nick and his clip board in the field.

Meanwhile we ate Indian food, most people drank Cobra beer, while three of us (me, David Leach and Lisa Pavlovsky) braved the Indian Shiraz – I’m not sure we’ll be making that mistake with that particular wine again – my bad idea.

There was lots of chat.

At the end of the meal, it transpired that it was Paul Driscoll’s birthday and so David Wellbrook hurriedly cajoled the waiting staff into arranging a token birthday sweet, with which to embarrass Paul.

David Wellbrook uploaded a video of the resulting merriment onto Facebook – click here if you dare.

In that vid you can see an excitable-looking me (not sufficiently sedated with wine – one glass of that Shiraz was more than enough for me) jumping up to take the following picture:

As always, it was great to see the gang and especially nice to see Nick Wahla again after all these years. Astonishingly, he was too polite to ask a range of questions about the evening, so I shall provide the answers here.

On a scale of 1 to 10, where 1 is “totally dissatisfied” and 10 is “totally satisfied”, I would give the following scores:
* quality of food, drink and service 6/10
* quality of company and feeling of bon-homie 11/10

As always, a great evening. Many thanks to John Eltham who always takes on the unenviable task of trying to herd our bunch of Alleyn-cats for these get togethers.

The Gift, Fourth Threadmash, Gladstone Arms, 6 November 2019

It’s been a while since the last actual Threadmash, although we have had a gathering of the clan at The Glad since the previous Threadmash in May:

(Where Do I Begin?) Love Story – A Performance Piece For TheadMash 3, 7 May 2019

Anyway, this time the brief was “The Gift”, with additional instructions to stick to just one page. I took that to mean “one side of a sheet of A4”, but some took it to mean two sides. No matter. I can write something War & Peace epic length next time to get my own back.

I sensed that Rohan Candappa had mischief in mind when he asked us to bring two copies of our text with us.

Once we started Threadmashing, after several of us had dined on goat pie (or whatevs) and made a start on the libations, I also sensed that there might be a mini riot when Rohan announced that we would each be reading someone else’s work rather than our own. But we soon settled down and knuckled down to the additional challenge.

40 years on, Chris Grant still gets head boy privileges.

Chris Grant, a first time Threadmash writer (although not first time attendee) was excused the additional challenge and thus read his own piece as an opener for the evening. It was a charming short piece.

We had each been given a few minutes to read the piece we had inherited.

Quite early in the evening, David Wellbrook read out my piece, which follows below.

David Wellbrook soldiering through my piece

Coincidentally, I was given David’s piece to read; a somewhat Dahlesque horror story, as Rohan had encouraged David to try fiction this time. I did enjoy reading David’s piece I must say. Rohan has strongly encouraged me to try writing fiction for the next one.

He doesn’t look dictatorial, does he? It’s a deceptively gentle form of throat shaking, Rohan’s dictatorial style – sttrong guidance followed by, “but it’s up to you, of course…only if you want to…”

Anyway, here’s my piece which was so capably read by David:

The word “gift” has two distinct meanings as a noun. A gift means something given freely, a present. But it also means a natural ability or talent, such as, “a gift for writing”. When Rohan suggested “The Gift” as his subject for Threadmash Four, I was drawn to the second of these definitions.
These past few years, I have been spending increasing amounts of my time on activities for which I am not naturally gifted, but they are nevertheless activities that I love doing and pursuing. Specifically, I mean sports, such as cricket, plus music.
My mother came from a supremely musical family. One branch of her family yielded several notable professional musicians, especially violinists. Even my barber grandfather could, by all accounts, instantly play on the piano any tune you might choose to hum at him.
When I started secondary school, my mother gave me every encouragement to take up and play the violin. But quite quickly, the sound of me practicing, which resembled cats being tortured in a pitch-distorting dungeon, led mum to encourage me to give up violin and try something else. Anything else.
Actually I was growing quite fond of sport. Cricket, tennis and fives mostly. I wasn’t very good at sports either, but I wasn’t going to let an absence of giftedness stop me from trying. Nor was I going to let my own shortcomings stop me from becoming a fascinated follower of my favourite sports. And indeed also a devotee of many varied genres of music.
In truth, although I didn’t inherit the family gift for performing music, I certainly did inherit “a love of music”. And it has occurred to me characteristics such as “a love of music” truly are gifts to be cherished and celebrated.
Where I got my gift for loving sports such as cricket is more of a mystery. Neither of my parents had any interest in sport whatsoever. Not professional sport and certainly not my participation in sport; I don’t think either of my parents ever saw me play sport, other than me mucking about at some nonsense game at home.
Yet, my father’s very last birthday treat included a sporting revelation. The only way to treat my dad towards the end of his life…actually for most of his life…was to take him out for a good meal. As it happened, in 2006, dad’s 87th birthday, fell on a day that Middlesex were playing at Lord’s. I booked at table with a view in the Warner Restaurant, which followed an informal pavilion tour before lunch. They loved it. As dad said, “there aren’t many places I can go now and see people of my own age…apart from old age homes”. The England & Wales Cricket Board marketing folk may use that quote for nothing.
At one point that day, dad mentioned that he and his kid brother Michael had been given a set of cricket equipment by their parents as a gift, when the family moved to Clapham Common in the early 1930s and the boys started a new school there. Neither dad nor Michael had shown any interest in cricket before the gift, apparently, nor did that gift inspire either of them to take the slightest interest in cricket. My grandparents; Eastern European migrants with accents from central casting, were perhaps striving to turn their sons into quintessential English schoolboys through the peculiar sport that is cricket.
I wonder whether my grandparents’ intention with that cricket equipment gift somehow skipped a generation but still subconsciously fueled my love of cricket? A gift indeed.

Chris Grant remarked that he found it really weird hearing words that were so clearly mine coming out of David Wellbrook’s mouth. We have all known each other for over 45 years, so I suppose that is understandable.

All of the pieces were excellent, as usual. I also thought everyone made a good job of reading out someone else’s work, especially as most of us had not started the evening expecting to read something other than one’s own piece.

I caught myself categorising this Ogblog page as both “writing” and “friends and family events” this time. This reflects the fact that Threadmash has become, in my mind and I think those of others, a community of friends who, as it happens, like to gather to read and write together. It’s more than just “a writing thing” now. For all of it, I am grateful to Rohan for innovating and stewarding the ideas.

This time John Eltham came along to be part of the evening, as did Ben Clayson, although the latter arrived after the readings. It became, as always, a convivial gatheirng of interesting and interested people.

I took a few more pictures – all 10 pictures can be found on Flickr by clicking the picture icon below:

The Amsweetyville Horror, Halloween Night In Noddyland, 31 October 2019

It’s been a while since I joined in the Halloween fun in Noddyland. Last year Janie and I, instead, had fun in Osaka on Halloween…

Japan Day Twelve: One Heck Of A Halloween Day In Osaka, 31 October 2018

…while the previous year, I went to a Rohan Candappa riot in Marylebone while Daisy the Witch took care of the local kiddies in Noddyland without my help:

Nightmare In Noddyland, Halloween Night, 31 October 2017

In any case, this year, 2019, our Government had promised us something truly horrific for 31 October and then let us down. So I decided that Janie would need some help this year and booked out Halloween night for an evening in Noddyland.

Once again, Flossie Pom-Pom, our pink flamingo, started her witchy preparations early…

…but she hadn’t counted on me nicking her hat this year. She was not well pleased.

Actually the traffic was so bad that early evening that, despite my early getaway from the flat, I arrived in Noddyland after the door-knocking had started, although it was not yet anything like in full sway.

Mostly small groups of little ones with their folks at first

Our local Japanese community turns out in force for Halloween. Indeed I saw a huge posse of Japanese kids with their parents heading up Princes Gardens as I drove past the road on arrival. I guessed that they’d get to our place within 45 minutes to an hour.

More or less on schedule, the larger groups arrive

There’s always one embarassing dad who goes over the top…

…at least I deploy my “dad dancing” in the privacy of our own home…& blog

Daisy conks out at the end of a busy evening…

…or has she been spellbound by one of Wizard Ged’s fiendish potions???

The horror is to be continued, hopefully, next year.

If you want to see all the pictures, the Flickr link below delivers those:

International Herring Fest And Awards, Jacquie Briegal’s Place, 9 October 2019

It is a well-known fact (amongst regular Ogblog readers and members of one particular branch of the cousinhood) that Jacquie Briegal’s place is the centre of international herring fest activity.

Briegal table c2016, thanks to Hils for the photo

Less well known is that Jacquie Briegal’s place is also the centre of international netball when Clare Briegal has federation matters to transact in London.

This year, unusually, Mark and Clare joined in person rather than via video link. It was great to see them both as it had been a while. Regulars Hilary, Michael, me and Janie were there, as were latter-day regulars Sonia, Josh and Melody.

Josh established a new tradition for the herring fest; hailing in the festival with a lengthy blow of the rams horn. I only captured the last 10 seconds or so of the blow, but it was a longer blow than that:

Michael arrived fashionably late, as usual, being the only one amongst us who actually observes Yom Kippur. But this year Janie was last of all, as she was on a reiki course that day.

Soon after Janie arrived, we discussed cricket and discovered that Clare knows David Kendix well through his involvement with netball rankings as well as cricket ones.

Clare was suitably outspoken in the matter of my Championship tie

But let us get down to matters herring.

Jacquie had promised not to overdo it this year, but her underdone spread seems quite similar to her overdone spread.

Only four herrings competed for the coveted prize, though.

They were supplemented by chopped herring, egg and onion (Mark’s favourite food for the purposes of denigration rather than eating), several smoked salmon plates, fried fish balls, several salads and plentiful bread, including Mark’s home made challah, which was superb.

[Insert your own joke/pun on the theme of Mark being the bread winner in the Briegal household here]

Melody was concerned that I wasn’t writing down the results of my herring tastings, which, she said, gave her the lack of confidence she usually reserves for waiters who write nothing down and then mess up your restaurant order.

Quite right, Melody, for the results of the herring fest have totally escaped my mind this time and are therefore lost to all posterity…

…only kidding. I wrote down the results when Melody wasn’t looking.

Silver Herring 2019: sweet cure;
Gold Herring 2019: for the second year running, shmaltz.

As always, the evening was a lovely opportunity to catch up with the cousinhood and have a fishy, festive gathering. Jacquie, you’re a star!

Middlesex End Of Season Stuff, Lord’s, 30 September & 4 October 2019

With thanks to Colin Short for this and many of the photos.

The cricket season once again seemed to be over in the batting of an eyelid. Some wags might argue that Middlesex couldn’t even have batted an eyelid in the county championship towards the end of this season. But I’m not that sort of wag.

For both the members’ forum on the Monday and the end of season lunch on the Friday, I was able to secure suitably timed real tennis sessions, hopefully gaining lots of useful practice with my doubles partner, Dominic, ahead of our quarter-final appearance next week.

The Monday evening forum was a surprisingly civilised affair, with members expressing their disappointment with the championship season but little of the bile that some thought might emerge.

Chatting with several of the regulars at the post forum drinks, the mood was mostly quite optimistic for next season, hoping that the progress made this year with the white ball might filter through to the red ball cricket next season. It was also good to hear about several really promising youngsters coming through the seconds – I didn’t get to see any second team cricket this year.

Friday 4 October 2019

I was shocking at the tennis this morning – hopefully getting my bad match out of the way ahead of the proper match next week – whereas Dominic was terrific – hopefully going from strength to strength and then next week yet further strength.

Janie was fashionably late for the Middlesex event although mostly for the unfashionable reason that she had a power cut at Noddyland while doing the washing, which set her back time-wise. Then her cab didn’t show up.

Undaunted, Janie arrived ahead of the meal while Gus was doing the introductions.

Our table included Westy, Brigit, Geoff Norris, Charles Robbins, Jane Saxton and David Kendix – only the latter escaping Colin and his new iPhone camera towards the end of the event:

Colin showing off his *new phone/camera* to Ged (or should I say Ian?)

Geoff Norris coaching Stuart Law, while I look on and Daisy looks away

But before we got to the point that there was all that detritus on our table, we dined on this:

With awards and stuff being done between courses

Dawid Malan was Players’ Player Of the Year AND Player Of The Year

David Fulton presents the Youth Player Of The Year award to Josh de Caires, via his helicopter dad, Michael.

The Women’s Squad pay tribute to retiring stalwart Beth Morgan (in bright red).

After the awards, we were entertained by a highly skilled and entertaining magician. Some wags would suggest that he must have used magic to get our cricketers consistently to catch his deck of cards as it was thrown around for one of the tricks, but I’m not that sort of wag. The magician did somehow manage to extract a £20 note from Angus for his last trick – that could only possibly have been done by magic – the rest of that outstanding trick paled into insignificance after that initial piece of sorcery.

It seems to me that this event, only recently revamped as an awards lunch in this style, is going from strength to strength each year. The tone of the event is a superb mix of professionalism and clubiness; very much in keeping with Middlesex’s ethos.

Bound To Appear At The Old Bailey, 30 September 2019

Following Michael Mainelli’s admission as Aldermanic Sheriff of the City of London the previous Friday…

A Shrieval Day, Michael Mainelli’s Admission And Breakfast As Aldermanic Sheriff Of The City Of London, 27 September 2019

…I was bound to appear at the Old Bailey sooner or later. But it wasn’t until a few days before Michael’s admission that I was asked to join Michael and the judges for lunch on his first day as Sheriff, which I thought a very nice request and one that would be hard to turn down, despite the day not being overly convenient for the purpose.

The done thing is to stay on after lunch and watch the afternoon sitting of a case unfold for an hour or so; something that would interest me a great deal, but my itinerary for that day would not allow that post lunch hour. The kind administrators at The Old Bailey have arranged for me to return on another day, a few weeks hence, to observe a post-lunch sitting.

Anyway, I got to The Old Bailey in good time, which was just as well because security gave me a fairly thorough going-over. Try as we might, we couldn’t seem to find everything about my person that was making their gadgets go bleep.

I had visions of being taken down the cells and that the “phone-battery-gate” incident, as it would doubtless become known, which led to my (Michael’s business partner’s) arrest on his first day as Sheriff, becoming a legendary smear on Michael’s Aldermanic career.

But no, security eventually gave up on me, accepting that my cuff-links might be causing the relatively mild residuary bleeps. I was allowed in.

It was a relatively light day for The Old Bailey, with a minority of the courts sitting. The cases are a matter of public announcement and record – here and below is a link to the listing for the day of that visit.

What’s on at the Old Bailey, September 30

I was one of five guests that day and five judges dined. Before lunch, we guests were hosted by Michael and Elisabeth in their Old Bailey apartment for drinks. This was an opportunity for Michael to explain the workings of the Old Bailey to us and explain the protocols for the rest of our visit.

As it was his first one, Michael has also written it up, although he has gone for an extremely quirky angle on the matter – click here or below:

Piper The Puffin

I should perhaps explain that Michael has opted for a puffin as the animal atop his crest. Michael’s puffin is playing the bagpipes…obviously. You can read more about Michaels’ chain and crest by clicking here. The punchline, for those who choose not to click, is the motto: ordo ex χάος. Order out of chaos. Welcome to my world.

Then we guests were led into a reception room where we met most of the judges who were joining us for lunch. The traditional pre-lunch drink is a very flavoursome tomato juice.

There I learnt that coroners know how to have a good time when they gather for a convention, at least in the matter of witty after dinner speakers, such as John Spence.

Then the lunch itself, which was a light but very tasty vegetarian Indian meal.

There I learnt that judges don’t always pre-read the mini cvs that each guest is required to submit ahead of the lunch…but that judges can catch up pretty quickly on the content of five single paragraph cvs – who’d ‘ave thought it? The judges were excellent company. We discussed theatre, music and the Price Of Fish as well as their interesting cases.

There I also learnt that the knife crime epidemic is certainly manifesting itself in The Old Bailey schedule and that even genteel parts of London, such as my walking route twixt Notting Hill Gate and Lord’s, is not immune from such events. A slightly chilling thought ahead of my making that very walk later that very day.

But before braving the edgy, mean streets of Notting Hill Gate and St John’s Wood, I needed to say goodbye to the judges and my fellow guests, all of whom were sticking around in The Old Bailey.

After I descended the staircase to find myself back in the hands of the security team, I was much relieved to be shown the door rather than the next flight of stairs downwards for involuntary retention.

A very interesting lunch and I look forward very much to my return to see part of a case unfold.

A Shrieval Day, Michael Mainelli’s Admission And Breakfast As Aldermanic Sheriff Of The City Of London, 27 September 2019

Well, who’d have thought it? My business partner, Michael Mainelli, Alderman & Sheriff of the City of London. Fancy.

Actually, this shrieval office is one of the most ancient offices in all humanity that remains in continuous use. See helpful blurb from the back of the breakfast menu below.

From my point of view, it was a great opportunity to catch up with old friends, acquaintances and of course Michael’s family from across the decades – Michael and I have now worked together for over 30 years and this event falls on the eve of the 25th anniversary of Z/Yen (or soon after it, depending on how you look on these things.)

Z/Yen, The Very First Z/Yen Seasonal Song Lyric, 9 December 1994

Anyway, point is, from the moment I arrived at the Guildhall, I found myself running into and chatting with folk I have known for ages; Michael’s brother Kelly and sister Katy, Elisabeth’s brother Marcus, Chris Smith, Robert Pay… also several of Michael’s high-profile friends, such as Neal Stephenson and Faisal Islam, who for once were in circumstances where they were perhaps less well known than me!

But today was about Michael Mainelli and his partner in crime (I mean in controlling crime of course) Sheriff Christopher Hayward, CC.

First up was the admission ceremony. It is explained on the following page.

This is not a ceremony that one films or photographs, but its ceremonial look might be gleaned from the following Pathe film from 1949 which claims to be the Mayoral Election but its title also claims to be a shrieval occasion, which I think might be an error:

Medieval ceremonial and an uber-historic look to many of the garbs there, from so long ago that the world was in black and white.

The ceremony in the Great Hall was a solemn affair; the Common Cryer and Serjeant-at-Arms broke the silence by commanding silence, so startlingly that several people made audible gasps before falling silent once more. I especially liked that bit.

After the ceremony, a reception downstairs in the Old Library – an opportunity to catch up with many people before going upstairs for the banquet.

At the reception, downstairs in the Old Library

I was too timid to take any pictures that day, but Rupert Stubbs, another of those good friends met through Michael and Elisabeth from decades back, took loads and sent me quite a few; many thanks Rupert.

I have often joked with friends from the North of England about the word dinner, meaning luncheon in the north and evening meal in the south of England. But here is an instance of a lunch-time (or do I mean dinner-time?) banquet being described as a breakfast. Indeed the breakfast invitation says…

the breakfast does not usually conclude before 3:30 pm

…which some of us might mistake for tea-time.

The term breakfast in this context, of course, like a wedding breakfast, has the ancient connotation of being the meal after a solemn ceremony before which, in days of yore, the main participants would be so engrossed in prayer ahead of the ceremony that the after ceremony meal would be, for them, the breaking of a devotional fast.

Amazing grub too:

After the repast, the speeches in that glorious Old Library setting

I especially enjoyed Professor Jo Delahunty’s speech, during which she placed great emphasis on diversity and the rule of law; this year’s shrieval theme. Some around me seemed to find her speech, which seemed to me to be the voice of moderation, a bit edgy for the occasion. Apparently it is “the done thing” to restrict that particular speech to “pomping up the incoming sheriffs” (my choice of words for the gripes I heard).

Actually, my only beef with Jo Delahunty’s address was the selection of terrible mustard puns she made at the end of the talk, somewhat apologetically, as she had been told that it was compulsory to end on a joke.

That type of joke is a crime against hilarity in my book and the sheriffs should have done something to restore good order…except that I have a dreadful feeling that one of the sheriffs might have been the sauce of the puns [pun intended].

In any case, Jo did plug The Price Of Fish at the start of her talk, so I would forgive her pretty much anything.

Three hours after we sat down to breakfast, it was all over. Except that, before heading home, there was time to mill around and chat with some of the people I’d missed out on before the event. It really was lovely to see those people again.

The grandees departed in grand style…

…while the likes of me departed on the Central Line straight back to Noddyland and our little mock-medieval cottage:

West Acton, Chester Court, Monks Drive, W3 - geograph.org.uk - 217751 — One of the grander buildings in Noddyland, dwarfing our cottage

So what does a new sheriff do on the weekend after his admission? Why, of course, he drives sheep across London Bridge. What else? Here’s a little film of the very thing that Michael is doing right now as I type (film from the previous year of course):

While the only thing that is driving out here in Noddyland, as I write, is the driving rain against my window pain.

Here is a link to Michael’s own take on the big day…by which I mean Admission day, not Sheep Driving Day.

Truth And Reconciliation 55 Years After A Dastardly Custardy Battle: Guest Piece By Garry Steel

I keep in touch with many people through Facebook these days; cousins Garry & Janice Steel being no exception. They are the Essex branch of my extended cousinhood:

Canvey Island, Leigh-On-Sea, Westcliffe & Southend to See Garry & Janice Steel, 3 October 2015

Point is; Garry wrote a very touching reminiscence piece on Facebook the other day, which is very much in keeping with Ogblog. I asked him if I might publish it as a guest piece here. Garry said yes.

I have played fast and loose with the headline above (publisher’s prerogative) but the words below are reproduced verbatim. I think it is a lovely piece.

My 100 Year Old Dinner Lady
======================
It can be uncanny how a chance meeting, in my case acrimonious tussle with authority, can lead to a lifetime connection and create a dear friendship.
I go back to a day in 1964; I was a 7 year old schoolboy at Hamlet Court Road primary, long since replaced by a car park. On this day, mum decided I was to stay for school dinner.
For those of us over the age of 50, maybe younger, there is no need to describe the culinary obscenities of school meals in the 60’s. Needless to say, they wouldn’t meet Jamie Oliver’s standards.
Having managed to keep the main course down I returned to the hatch for dessert. Since infancy I have had a medical intolerance to milk. I asked the server to omit the regulation portion of thick-skinned custard but was told the serving was mandatory. All diners had to eat it without option to decline. Shock, horror. Was I about to project the custard?!
Here comes the dinner lady from hell. I was not allowed to leave the dining hall until I had consumed that congealed mass in the bowl. Just me and her left in the hall. The other few hundred or so kids had already returned to class. Ms dinner lady accompanied me to my classroom, bowl in hand. Strict instruction was given to my teacher. “He is not allowed home until he eats his custard”.
Come 4pm, just me and the teacher, staring at this solidified mass in the bowl on the desk. I didn’t give in.
Here’s a thing; mum had been waiting for me at the gate since half past three. No one told her I’d been held “prisoner”. Eventually there was a door slam and in comes mum faster than an Exocet missile. Her arm was cocked ready to give me a thick ear, or worse and I was willing to take the pain rather than eat that custard.
Thankfully, mum noticed the plate on the desk before making contact. She quickly put 2 + 2 together. I can’t repeat the language directed at the teacher. Let’s say I had the last laugh. I never met Ms dinner lady at school again.
Move on fourteen years. Janice and I got engaged and her parents threw a party for us. Mum-in-law beckoned me over. “Let me introduce you to my best friend, Alice Fraser”. (Got it yet?)
Arghhhh……There she was, Ms dinner lady. Our eyes locked. Despite the transition from boy to man of 21, she instantly recognised me and vice versa. “You forced me to eat custard”, I said. She retorted, “it wasn’t me, the headmaster made me do it.”
We had a laugh. I got to meet Alice and her husband Ralph many times over the years. They came to my wedding and many family events. I realised Alice was a sweet, intelligent lady.
Sadly my in-laws have passed, The Frasers retired and moved to London to be near their children. Alice has kept in touch by phone many times and continues to do so. She is compassionate and her tone conveys genuine interest in our wellbeing. On the last call she mentioned to me that she had a birthday coming up. “Guess how old I’m going to be”, she said. I thought it had to be an amazing achievement but feigned my reply. “You must be in your eighties now”. “I’m going to be A-hun-dreddd”, she said. “Wow, can I come and see you?” “Oh, I’d love that”, she said.
A few days later an official invitation arrived from Alice’s sprightly young septuagenarian daughter inviting us to Alice’s 100th birthday party. Janice and I went last Sunday. Ralph has passed on but it was an honour to meet up with Alice again. Also to meet her extended family including eleven great grandchildren.
And what did she say to Janice? “He’s never forgiven me for that custard”! Oh yes I have.

London Cricket Trust Dinner, Three Cranes, Wednesday 11 December 2019

Ivan Shakespeare Memorial Dinner & Trophy Match, Spaghetti House Holborn, Thursday 12 December 2019

Z/Yen Seasonal Lunch, The Old Bailey, Friday 13 December 2019

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