Lots of pleasant events in my diary in one mid-June week:
18 June – MCC real tennis club night;
19 June – lunch with Stuart Harris after session with accountants;
20 June – real tennis follwed by a bit of Middlesex v Surrey at Lord’s followed by Jazz in the Crypt at St John Smith Square…or should I say Sinfonia Smith Square;
22 June – dinner with Simon & Timothy… & Ella.
Club Night
The last tennis club night of the current season – we’ll resume in September – had seven of us engaging in various doubles battles until the last four of us standing were worn out.
Lunch With Stuart Harris
The next day, I met up with my very first former tennis doubles partner – albeit “lawn” rather than “real” – Stuart Harris. (No relation).The tale of our great seminal tennis tournament victory in 1974 can be seen by clicking here or below.
Following a most enjoyable Zoom, we decided to meet up properly for lunch. Fitting that Stuart suggested John Lewis’s 5th floor restaurant, as that location was well suited to Cavendish Square accountants and was also faintly reminiscent of Pratts restaurant at the John Lewis store in Streatham, where my dad used to like to take me for tea on rare, cherished occasions during my childhood.
It was great to catch up with Stuart again after all these years. We had lots to talk about and a couple of hours flew by. Stuart’s jokes have not got better over the decades, whereas mine have. That’s one of my jokes, btw. Why isn’t anybody laughing?
LOrd’s For Tennis & T20
Real tennis was fun. Then I had some time to kill, not least because the T20 match was to be a late kick off due to the football Euros match. I got some reading done on the pavilion sun deck while holding some suitable seats for me and Janie. Janie arrived in such good time for the match that we were able to eat first. Good idea, really, as we’d neither of us had lunch.
Yum
Middlesex did its usual “flatter to deceive” bit, looking good for the first 15 overs of the Surrey innings.
Janie and I were not heavily invested in this match, as we had long-since planned to abandon ship in favour of SJSS and a jazz evening there.
Jazz In The crypt with emma raWicz & Dave preston
Emma Rawicz is seen as one of the brightest young jazz talents around. Saxophone too – Janie’s favourite. She, together with her friend Dave Preston, another bright young thing in the jazz world – guitar in his case – were to do a jazz impromptu set of their latest stuff.
No second innings at Lord’s for us – off to collect Dumbo who drove us across London to St John’s Smith Square.
But wait…
…there are balloons and signs of a party as we arrive. The place is no longer named St John’s Smith Square – it had that very day been rebranded as Sinfonia Smith Square. Get it right.
Thus, instead of the promised St John’s Smith Square crypt jazz concert, we saw a Sinfonia Smith Square crypt jazz concert.
Here is a video of the two of them, plus a pianist on this occasion, playing one of the cool jazz pieces they played for us: Vera:
Emma comes across as a warm-hearted young woman, who spent more time plugging Dave Preston’s latest album, Purple / Black…
…than she spent plugging her own latest material. The album Chroma, seeing as you asked:
We really enjoyed the concert and for sure will now be looking out for Emma and Dave – yes we feel as though we’ve done enough to be on first name terms with them both.
Dinner With Simon, Timothy & Ella at their place
Simon & Timothy have a recent addition to their family: Ella. One of the purposes of our visit was to have dinner and a good chat with Simon & Timothy. But the main purpose, obviously, was to meet Ella and take her the present that we have been accumulating for her since we learnt of her imminent arrival – our spent, balding tennis balls.
“Ella” depicted by a lookalike actress
Naturally we didn’t take photographs of young Ella – Simon and Timothy don’t want her to turn into a vain, lens-loving gal…
…in any case, she’d probably just eat the photos. Apparently Ella will try to eat almost anything. She certainly made a good attempt at one of my elbows while I was eating and made headway with the first of the 15 balls we took for her. That collection of balls is not expected to last long. Janie and I will need to play yet more tennis.
Simon cooked a splendid meal:
asparagus soup;
roast chicken with roasted vegetables;
strawberries and cream.
Very English summer, which, coincidentally, is the way the weather seemed to be turning that weekend. At last.
It was a very enjoyable evening which flashed by all too quickly.
The third event: Streatham BBYO alums gathering at Bill’s Covent Garden
Dinner At Claudia & Richard’s Place, 1 June 2024
Claudia & her pot
The weather didn’t smile on us for drinks & nibbles outdoors – Janie and I had a quick guided tour of Claudia’s lovely garden before dashing back inside to warm up – but the warmth of the hospitality made up for the chilly evening.
Jonathan does the wine waiter bit
Claudia likes to show off her culinary skills and thus chose to serve a coulibiac as the centrepiece of her superb meal.
With thanks to Anthea for taking this picture of the coulibiac on my phone – not all blogs have their food porn pictures snapped by world class fashion photographers, you know.Anthea tries unsuccessfully to encourage these two “kids” away from their phones and towards their dinner. Honestly, kids these days with their phones…Janie’s attempt at food porn photographyMy attempt at food porn photographyJanie’s pud
It wasn’t all about food. It was great to catch up with old friends again (Anthea, Claudia and Richard), plus meet some new (to us) folks in Jonathan and Joanne. Jonathan’s greyhound provided some additional entertainment, not least when it went missing in the house for a while and search parties scattered to find it.
A super evening – thanks Claudia.
Dinner At Maurizio Barca With Simon Jacobs & Graham Greenglass, 5 June 2024
A few weeks before this dinner, I saw Graham Greenglass in person for the first time in decades at the sad occasion of Fran Erdunast’s funeral evening prayers. Graham and I had re-engaged by e-mail and I had even put Graham back together again with Fran, who was a cousin of his, back in 2021. We had every intention of meeting up back then, but I let that ball drop at that time. My bad.
Coincidentally, Graham’s name had come up again a few weeks before the sad Fran news, when I attended and spoke at the Gresham Society annual dinner:
As a small token of thanks for my speech, Professor Tim Connell presented me with the canonical book about The Guildhall – Guildhall: City of London: History Guide Companion: A History and a Guide:
I had meant to get in touch with Graham about that happy coincidence, but in the end it was Fran’s sad demise that triggered the reunion.
While pondering how best to set up a proper meeting, I recalled that Graham and Simon were also good friends back in the day…
Graham and Simon in 1979
…so I e-mailed the two of them to suggest that we three meet again. The idea found favour.
Simon somehow found time to fit us in, despite his sixth album having just been released ‘n’ all:
Graham’s book you may only sample for free, whereas Simon’s album can be heard in full
Compared with the others, I felt a little bereft of relatively recent published materials…apart from the 3000 or so pieces here on Ogblog.
The Scarsdale Tavern was my initial choice of venue, but that place is especially picky about arrival times, which they felt sure we would understand. We did understand that their proposed timings suited the Scarsdale rather than us, so we chose instead to eat when we wanted to at Maurizio Barca, which was a quiet, friendly, local Italian place on the North End Road. Little did I know that Graham’s mum’s family hailed from that part of London, so it was a bit of a spiritual reunion with his family’s ancestors, as well as a reunion with a couple of relics from Graham’s own past.
We had a very enjoyable evening, despite signally failing to put all of the world’s problems to rights by talking them through. Perhaps it will need another get together or two to complete the solving of those.
Streatham BBYO “Annual” Gathering, Bill’s Restaurant, 6 June 2024
David, Linda, Sandra, Wendy, Liza, Andrea (and me behind the lens).
In a break with tradition, we gathered the week after half term holiday this time, but then Sandra is now the last of our clan still working in the education sector and was able to make this date.
Unfortunately Mark was unable to make it in the end for health reasons, but still seven of us gathered, which isn’t bad at all.
Andrea and Wendy were fashionably late, as always. Except that both announced well in advance that they would be late and ended up arriving earlier than we anticipated given that they had said that they’d be late. Does that mean that they were early?
No matter, we all had a good chat over palatable food and a few drinks.
The stuff I have been writing up from my 1974 diaries proved strangely pertinent to much of the chat.
Sandra seems to have forgiven me for needing to be reminded that she suffered along with me and others at the hands of Miss Aaron at Brixton cheder…
…I even seem to be forgiven for bringing back Sandra’s nightmares about those unpleasant experiences.
Andrea and Wendy keenly anticipate me reintroducing them to Stuart (no relation) Harris, through whom all three of us met before the BBYO days and with whom I have recently re-engaged after finding my earliest tennis memories in that 1974 diary.
Long in the planning, this week off was a much-needed short vacation for me and Janie, having had no holiday time for yonks.
Yet we nearly didn’t even get started, as I had some sort of mishap at the start of the weekend before we set off.
Saturday and Sunday 11 & 12 May – Something’s Afoot
I woke up on Saturday morning feeling sore just under the lateral left ankle. Janie said I had been thrashing around, seemingly in pain, during the night. She had assumed cramp. I had no recollection of such thrashing but this felt like more than cramp.
An attempt to run it off playing tennis on Saturday morning (perhaps a foolish move) did not help; indeed I couldn’t even walk by the time we got home. Despite us spending Saturday afternoon and evening doing the RICE routine with the foot, come Sunday morning, I could still take no weight on the foot and was really concerned that our trip might be in jeopardy.
I thought I should inform Alastair Robson, one of The Doctors Of Leamington, who had organised the tennis and luncheon aspects of the trip: Leamington on the way up on the Monday and Moreton Morrell on the way home on the Friday.
Me & Alastair, no doubt talking balls, at Leamington in 2023
I regret to inform you that I have done myself a mysterious mischief around the ankle…Janie heard me scream out in pain during the night Friday (I have no recollection of it) and/but I had some sensitivity below my lateral ankle yesterday. I thought I could “shake it off”, as the young folk say, but by last night and this morning I was more or less completely non-weight bearing.
We suspect the anterior talofibular ligament, which is utilising its right to remain silent but is looking more than a little guilty this morning.
The upshot as of this morning is that I cannot weight bear on that leg again yet, let alone run. I am hopeful that my condition will improve quite rapidly but I don’t suppose I’ll be properly balanced/mobile again for a while.
I am happy to present myself at the tennis courts Monday and Friday to do the best I can, but the best I can might not be much good. Janie and I would love to lunch with you if the friendly games and lunches go ahead, either with me or without me playing the tennis.
Alastair sent a quintessentially retired-doctor’s (or more accurately, a quintessentially Alastair Robson) reply:
Aargh! But never dismiss the power of prayer (the Dr using irony as treatment – lost on some of the patients)…
There will be a pro knocking around in both clubs on the days in question, so we could always rope him in as a fourth, if need be…
Anterior talo-fib ligament?- a very flash diagnosis: going for Honours, I presume.
A small sacrifice – a goat, say – to Jupiter might speed healing rate.
‘Better soon’ – as I also used to say a lot –
We did consider prayer and/or goat sacrifice – after all, the doctor had recommended it and you should always listen to the doctor, but decided to persevere with the RICE method. Within a few hours, I detected improvement and wrote again to Alastair:
When you have a podiatrist in the house, the phrase “sprained ankle” is simply not specific enough. I’m certainly not aiming for yet more flashy honours at my age and stage!
Janie and I are neither praying to God, nor gods, nor sacrificing any beasts in hope rather than expectation. But elevation yesterday evening, immobilisation overnight, ice this morning and the more meaningful sacrifice of the hour of lawn that Janie and I should be playing this morning, is, so far, paying significant dividends. I’m still hobbling but can weight bear again now and the intense pain has subsided.
Your Plan B regarding the pros availability as substitutes sounds ideal in the circumstances. Given the trio of talent that would remain on show if I were to need to stop, the pros will no doubt be resorting to prayer and caprine/ovine sacrifice for the next 24 hours/few days respectively.
See you tomorrow as planned.
Monday 13 May – Leamington For Tennis, Then On To Stratford-Upon Avon
By the Monday morning my left foot felt much better and I was happy to drive (which mostly works the right) and give the real tennis a try.
John Yarnall & I partnered well, I felt
Remarkably, I was barely hampered at all and I thought played pretty well, John Yarnall & I partnering well against Alastair and Norman Hyde. The latter two, me and Janie went to lunch at Cote, then Janie and I set off for Stratford.
We got to our Airbnb cottage around 17:00, which gave us time to dump our things and go off to the local Waitrose to get some provisions, before getting ready to go out to the theatre.
Our lovely cottage was located to the south-west of the centre, being about 10 minutes walk from the central shops, restaurants and theatres.
It was a bit wet in the evening, but still we strolled to The Other Place for our show, English, which I have written up separately – click here or below.
The weather relented into a very pleasant late afternoon.
On our way to the talk, we stopped at Marcos, which I had assessed as “the deli most likely” for our trip. I was a bit short of the sort of coffee I like so we bought a pack of cafetière coffee. We showed interest in the food too, but I suspect Tony was not expecting to see us again when we departed on Tuesday, as he greeted us so warmly the next morning when we returned for bread and lasagne.
The talk about English was very interesting – described in the above piece about our visit to the show…or click here for that link.
After the talk, but before our dinner at Lambs, we had a drink in the garden of The Arden. This was a nice treat for us, as we stayed at The Arden last time we stayed in Stratford, in 2019, but the weather had not smiled enough for us to take a drink in the garden that time.
We enjoyed ourselves at Lambs so much Janie forgot to take “food porn” photos of our dinner. Take our word for it, it looked as good as it tasted. We ate:
Crispy Sweet Chilli Duck Salad with watercress, beansprouts and cucumber
Pan-fried Calves Liver with creamed potato, wilted spinach, pancetta and crispy shallots
Pork Chop with grilled hispi cabbage, creamed potato, crispy shallots, cider and bacon sauce
Bennett’s Farm Ice-cream
Yum.
Wednesday 15 May – Tennis, Town & Terrace
The weather was lovely on this day. We resolved to get some bread and some portions of lasagne from Marcos, which would enable us, together with the provisions we had already procured, to self-cater that day.
Problem was, we resolved to get to Marcos reasonably early to secure bread, but hadn’t taken into account the fact that the pasta dishes are not ready that early.
Had we phoned in advance…
Still, no hardship having a couple of hours to kill in Stratford. We decided to wander around town and also wander across the bridge to the Sports Club, to investigate tennis possibilities in person.
We bought some doggie gifts in the dog shop for Kim’s pooch. Then some sandals for me and shoes for Janie in the shoe shop. Then we strolled by the river and across the bridge to the sports centre.
The Sports Club people were friendly enough – they let us look at the tennis courts and informed me that I could register as a guest and pay to play if we wanted to. The courts are mostly carpet, with three being “euro clay” -i.e. synthetic clay (sand-like stuff) on a matting base. We thought we’d like to try the latter.
We strolled home via Marcos, where our lasagne and bread was waiting for us. Then we booked our tennis and readied ourselves for battle.
It took us both a while to get used to the clay-like bounce and/but we had a very good game on that surface, so we resolved to return the next morning, weather permitting.
After a light, late lunch of bread and prawn cocktail, we enjoyed the rest of the afternoon on the lovely, sunny terrace of our cottage. Then a restful evening in, enjoying our lasagne with salad and wine.
Thursday 16 May – Tennis, Coffee Shopping & Theatre
So taken had I been with the coffee I bought from Marcos (PNG Fire Dance from Monsoon Estates Coffee) I did some Googling and discovered that the company was a local importer/blender. I called them on the Thursday morning and they said that we could visit their place. I had booked a 10:00 tennis court so we agreed to visit Monsoon at 11:30.
We had another really good game of tennis. Glad I booked 10:00, as the threatened showers started soon after we finished playing – indeed while we were on our way to Monsoon.
Monsoon Anne
Anne and Chris at Monsoon were super friendly and helpful. We left with 3kg of coffee beans and the wherewithal to order more from them on-line once we need more.
Me, ready to make off with the stash
We stopped at Waitrose on the way back to get some cheeses and grapes for our lunch. We figured that those, plus some smoked mackerel we had procured on our first visit, would get us through this day.
A splendid late lunch of cheeses followed by some rest before the evening show made for a very enjoyable day. Plenty of time to get the salad ready for our post-show nosh too.
We saw The Buddha of Suburbia that night, which I have written up separately – click here or below:
A light supper on our return was just the ticket, as we didn’t get home until 10:00ish. It rounded off a great day very nicely.
Friday 17 May – Home Via Moreton Morrell & The Antelope Lighthorne
We said goodbye to our lovely little cottage in Stratford, setting off a little too early for our appointment at Moreton. We had ordered some more of Marco’s bread so stopped there on the way out of town, then went and had a quick look at the Welcombe Hills Obelisk/monument.
Been there, seen it, done it.
Then on to Moreton, where I was to partner Alastair this time, against the combined forces of Peter Mason and Bernie Spratt. For some reason Janie only shot video of this epic match. Fortunately for you, only a few seconds of “footage” survived.
The Moreton floor has been completely redone since my last visit. I found it hard to adjust to the new surface at first, but played reasonably well towards the end. The pairings worked well to make a good game.
The Antelope Lighthorne was a very pleasant country pub in which to take lunch and decompress after our efforts. Peter was unable to join us on this occasion but the four who remained, me, Janie, Alastair and Bernie, had a thoroughly enjoyable lunch.
An event-free drive home – how come I can drive 90+ minutes out of London without incident, while the London driving seems to be close to an incident or near miss every 90 seconds? – enabling us to unload and enjoy a relaxing Friday evening at home.
It had truly been a fun-packed and enjoyable break.
It’s been a while, what with one thing and another, since John White and I have had a dinner and catch up…just the two of us.
It was time to put that matter right and through the trusty services of this Ogblog, which some consider to be a fifth emergency service, we ascertained that it was John’s turn to choose the restaurant and my turn to burst into tears when the bill is presented.
We washed that down with a bottle of Austrian Riesling (absent from the on-line wine menu, I notice).
We nearly chose the oysters, but as we were just one day away from the months with no Rs in them, we thought better of it.
All was going swimmingly well, until the portion of dumplings arrived.
Three dumplings to be precise.
Three absolutely succulent, delicious and tempting-looking dumplings.
The following dialogue ensued:
JOHN: Oh dear! Typical! A portion of three for two people to share.
WAITER: You’ll just have to fight over the third one.
ME: Do you have any boxing gloves?
WAITER: I think so, I’ll check at the back and bring them with the rest of your dishes.
Matters took a darker turn when the portion of three Black Tiger Prawns arrived -[did you see what I did there?]
WAITER: A portion of three prawns.
ME: Have you found the boxing gloves?
WAITER: No, can’t find them.
John and I were then briefly and thankfully distracted by the need to sing “Happy Birthday To You” to the nice Filipino gentleman at the next table to us, having been set up for the performance by the Irish partner of the birthday-nik.
This is exactly the sort of thing for which I have been taking singing lessons with John’s daughter, Lydia, for the last four years:
John & I talked about many things, not least our very different experiences of revising for our finals 40 years ago…or in my case finding extraordinary ways to avoid doing so. John basically put his head down for 12 weeks after being elected as a sabbatical, whereas I…didn’t. I only mentioned two of the three pieces linked below over dinner, as this first of them – relevant to John and other friends for many other reasons, was un-writ until the next day:
All too soon it was time to pay. It was at this juncture that matters took a potentially violent turn. While reaching into my pocket to get out my gadget…
…the smart phone which doubles as a payment card for goodness sake. What did you think I meant? And stop sniggering at the back…
…I dropped John’s new business card (or should I say card for his new business) on the floor. These days, contact details are mostly exchanged through QR codes and links like this one, but never mind.
John was apoplectic with faux rage and challenged me to a duel in Hanover Square.
I had visions that I needed to say yes in order to prevent the beautifully appointed Dania restaurant ending up looking like the scene below.
I realised afterwards that John’s Hanover Square challenge was merely a device to encourage me to walk in that direction with John, after dinner, where he could pick up the Elizabeth Line and I could pick up the Central Line.
In any case, surely John knew that there is a clear sign on the boundary of Hanover Square that reads, “no duelling, unless it is the first day of the month, with an R in it”.
Health and safety gone mad, but don’t get us old gits started.
John sometimes struggles with multi-clause rules, so I am reliably informed that he turned up at Hanover Square the next morning, 1st May, with his second, expecting me to do likewise and duel with him.
Naturally, I’ll now live in dread of 1st September for the next four months. Still, hopefully we’ll get together before that. If our next get together includes Mandy and Janie, I expect that the duelling challenge will be long forgotten by 1st September.
Last year all four of us at peace in Pahli Hill
Joking apart, it was a really enjoyable (and peaceful) evening, as always, with John.
But somewhat out of the blue, a few weeks ago, Teresa got in touch to say that she would be making a rare visit to London and the timings worked for her to visit Noddyland for tea.
How very civilised.
Janie went to work immediately on the matter of home baked cakes…
…she called Cafe 11 up the road and ordered a huge chunk of lemon cake and a huge chunk of pistachio cake.
Top method for ensuring that you offer the highest quality of baked cakes.
It was really lovely to see Teresa again, after all these years. There was a fair bit of catching up to do on where life had taken us all, but we were soon able to move on to trying to put the world to rights:
One afternoon wasn’t quite enough to solve all of the world’s problems
The afternoon whizzed by, then Teresa went off to have an early evening meet up with her son John. As Teresa said in her note this morning, which Janie and I echo:
Totally genuine picture taken on the night in question
I needed to get one more Ogblog piece in before the end of the 2023/24 tax year, obviously, so have chosen briefly to write up the Ivan Shakespeare Dinner which took place on 4 April 2024.
These gatherings of former NewsRevue writers (most of us relics from the 1990s) are a source of great joy. As Graham said at the end of the dinner,
I laugh far more at one of these evenings than I would if I paid to see almost any comedy show in town.
We’ve been enjoying these events for decades now – a couple of examples below:
John Random is our ringleader for these get togethers. In real life John might not be the most organised person I know, but oh boy is he better than all the rest of us put together in the matter of organising these gatherings.
As the years have gone on, it’s not just been Ivan we have been memorialising but several other “fallen” from our ranks. On this occasion, Barry brought a little memorial photograph tribute, which was lacking a picture of at least one of the fallen and which lacks room for any additional pictures. Either hope way in excess of expectation, or Barry plans to cram in some smaller pictures when the time comes.
John deferred on the quizzing this time, allowing Colin and Graham to confound us with some good quizzy offerings. Graham’s revolved around hit song lyrics, which he (and Sue) expected me to smash [did you see what I did there?] but I came up well short on that game, failing similarly on Colin’s quiz. I don’t think I am much of a solo quizzer to be honest. I work better as part of a team…
Anyway, Ivan Shakespeare dinners are not primarily about the quizzing, they are about mirth and convivial dining. I think I’m reasonably good at that.
Colin commented that we don’t often take pictures at these events, which I realised is true. The six of us who gathered this evening: Barry, Colin, Graham, John, Mark, and me – might never again comprise the exact group of an actual Ivan Shakespeare dinner. So obviously the event needed to be commemorated with a picture – see headline and below.
Proof…not that proof should be needed…that we are all absolutely fine.
There is no reason for anyone to question the veracity of this picture. My plea, should the gutter press start to delve deeply where they are not wanted, is to scream, “leave us alone FFS”.
…Janie needed surprisingly little persuading to do it again. We are not getting away much at all at the moment, not least because of “The Duchess’s” frailty, which makes this type of long weekend away…but not too far away…an attractive propsition.
This time I managed to secure us, via Airbnb, a cottage in Petworth itself, which proved a far easier and more attractive proposition than the “village nearby”, Fittleworth, last time, which required us to use the car and taxis a fair bit.
Before West Sussex, we first we went to Brighton and Hove for a bit of clothes shopping at Pendulum and then a visit to Cousin Sidney & Joan.
The weather was less than special on the Friday, but Dumbo was in fine form (i.e. the car worked properly this year) and we got to do the things we intended to do within the timescales we had intended them.
After checking in to our Airbnb cottage and resting up briefly, we returned to Basmati, where we had dined last year, for an Indian meal on that first night. It was a treat to only have to walk five minutes to get there. Indeed everywhere we went in Petworth we only had to walk five minutes to get there. It’s that kind of town.
Janie-style picture. I look like Clement Freud’s dog while Janie cunningly removes the worst excesses of my bald patch by cutting off the top of my head.
We probably slightly overdid the choosing of blander options at Basmati – I had forgotten that this is a place where they understand “not too hot” and can adapt accordingly. Still, a tasty meal.
On Saturday, we mostly relaxed in our lovely cottage.
In the morning the weather was bright but very cold. We used that as our opportunity to stroll the town, do a little shopping (Janie only bought one item in Tallulah Fox this time, which is a bit of a record), including some grub for smaller meals at The Hungry Guest and a wander around Petworth’s Saturday Farmers Market.
Choosing the morning for our wandering made sense as the heavens opened for most of the afternoon – really heavy, wet, cold rain. We enjoyed the snug warmth of our cottage.
Then the rains topped, allowing us a pleasant stroll to E.Street Restaurant for an excellent dinner.
Janie took an infeasibly large number of pictures of me eating there, which remind me of the pictures “The Duchess’s” carers take every day to prove that “her grace” is eating.
No-one really wants to see that.
Here, instead, is one the maître d’ took of us both.
It was an excellent meal.
On the Sunday, to Petworth House Real Tennis Court, where I met with triumph and disaster…and tried to treat those two impostors just the same.
Handshakes all round after the triumph of my first goPeter Brunner and I, showing stoic resolve to no avail in my second go
Lunch and chat after my second go, after which we watched and cheered Peter’s second go, which was the final rubber and a nail-biter, through which he and his partner prevailed, to level the fixture and enable all to go home satisfied.
In truth, the purpose of fixtures such as these Dedanist matches is more the social and fun of it than the result. Robert Muir and his wife, Carol, expertly organise such days to be maximally convivial; competitive only to the extent that we all have fun playing the game we love.
In the evening, tired but happy, Janie and I supped on some of the cheeses we had bought the previous day, before taking an early night.
Naturally, we celebrated the end of our long weekend on our return to London on the Monday with a game of lawn tennis at Boston Manor, as oft we do.
“Please, we’re desperate…” I get so many telephone calls that start this way these days.
OK, so I have made that first bit up, but I did get a somewhat surprising phone call from Tim Connell a few weeks earlier, wondering whether I might like to be the “guest” speaker for the Gresham Society annual bash this year.
“Keep it to 10 minutes”, said Tim, a man who claims to bring the AGM business bit of the evening home in five to seven minutes, but pretty much never does.
This year the AGM bit ran to over 18 minutes. I know, because I set off my stopwatch at the start of the meeting.
Anyway, it is always good to see the Gresham Society gang and this year we were in the hallowed surroundings of the Guildhall, albeit the modern members wing. The last time I dined in that part of the Guildhall, after the meal, I started a brawl…
…all of which made this Gresham Society event feel like a doddle by way of comparison. After all, I wasn’t required to sing or play a musical instrument – indeed Tim stipulated that I was required NOT to set my talk to music.
Joking apart, it was a great pleasure to meet Melissa – indeed the company was all relaxed, interesting and convivial, as always at Gresham Society.
There were one or two false starts ahead of my talk, to ensure that all had their after dinner beverages and that temporarily absent friends were all accounted for.
Fortunately for all concerned, when I speak for “no more than 10 minutes” the resulting talk comes in at eight or nine minutes…
…although I started with my old “I thought I’d been asked to talk for 89 minutes” gag.
AI is now capable of reading the charred remains of scrolls found near Pompeii. but apparently my handwriting is beyond the capability of any artificial intelligence yet developed or even imagined.
Anyway, above is an image of part of the talk, which was primarily about The Right Honourable, The Lord Mayor, Alderman Professor Mainelli, who might or might not be the first ever Gresham Professor to become Lord Mayor but he sure as hell is the first ever member of Gresham Society so to do and I can safely say the only business partner of mine who will ever do the Lord Mayor gig. Michael and I have worked together since we met in 1988
The audience laughed a good few times during my talk…one or two of those occasions being at times that I hoped would engender laughter. At the end of the talk, once the stony silence…I mean applause…had died down, Tim Connell presented me with a book as a gift.
One of the book’s authors, Graham Greenglass, I have known since I was a kid, through youth club stuff. I must have met Graham 10 years before I met Michael.
Good book, that Guildhall book of Graham’s. I have been enjoying rummaging in it.
Just as we were leaving the event, Bobbie Scully (another person I have known significantly longer than I have known Michael Mainelli) berated me for wearing a Jackson Pollock tie with a striped shirt. I wonder what she would have made of the Jackson Pollock shirt I wore a few days later:
At Horizon 22 a few days later
It was, as always, a most pleasant evening in the company of friends at Gresham Society.
…Rohan decided to try the National Theatre foyer bars as a venue this time around – cunningly timed with two quite long plays at the Olivier and Lyttelton both starting at 19:30. That gave us ample time to perform in the relative quiet between the start of the plays and the intervals.
The relative quiet was rather noisily broken by the bar staff hoovering up around us, very early in the reading of Geraldine’s piece, but we’ll put that temporary disturbance aside. The venue worked.
And we can all honestly claim now that we have performed at The National Theatre.
Rohan threaded our pieces together, as is his way. In this instance, with the topic “The Phone Call”, Rohan’s thread covered Alexander Graham Bell‘s innovation, the practical telephone. Also the contribution of the lesser known but colourful Florentine, Antonio Meucci, who largely invented that communication method before Bell, but was too polite to patent the critically novel elements of the technology he had discovered.
Geraldine’s piece came first. A charming throwback to 1973, Geraldine recounted her mother’s almost infeasibly regular long-distance calls to Geraldine (who had escaped to New York). Geraldine’s mum persistently tried, in vain, to persuade her daughter to return to “Hicksville” and resume the “normal” life into which Geraldine had, to her mother’s perception, been born.
Rohan then reminded us all that Alexander Graham Bell’s first phone call was to an employee who awaited his call…
Mr. Watson—Come here—I want to see you
…starting the mighty tradition of bosses using such devices to issue instructions to underlings.
Rohan was rather sniffy about my ability to follow a simple instruction – i.e. to write a story about a phone call. I cannot imagine what Rohan’s beef might have been.
The Phone Call by Ian Harris
We don’t go out so much anymore. Not since the pandemic. It’s not a fear of infection or anything like that. It’s just that we have got out of the habit. It now takes something especially interesting or unusual to lure us back to the theatre or concert hall.
One such interesting concert caught our eyes recently – a concert of African chamber music at the Wigmore Hall, led by Tunde Jegede, who is both a virtuoso kora player and a classically-trained cellist. The kora is a large West-African 21-stringed plucking instrument, sometimes described as a cross between a lute and a harp.
Janie and I like the Wigmore Hall. It is one of the few remaining public spaces where we still normally bring down the average age of the audience quite significantly. But we soon saw, on arrival at the Wigmore Hall for the kora concert, that this audience was different. Only sparsely populated with “the usual suspects”, the average age of the audience was, horror of horrors, below ours.
The front row still had a comfortingly senior look. Next to Janie was a beaming, white-haired woman you might have got from central casting had you requested “a left-over hippy”. The woman was very friendly and chatty – clearly not part of the regular front row mafia. Familiar with the kora – she had spent time in West Africa when younger – she was a fan of Tunde Jegede’s playing but had not previously managed to see him play live. She was, as the young folk say, super-excited.
The first half of the concert was truly magical. Tunde had brought with him a posse of chamber musicians from Lagos, together with a wonderful percussionist. We were transported by the music, not least the entrancing sound of Tunde’s kora-playing.
During the interval, our friendly neighbour said that she was delighted with the live music experience and thrilled that we had enjoyed it. She recommended and wrote down the names of a couple of Tunde’s albums for us to follow up, which we did.
I wondered what those silky-sounding kora strings are made of. Our otherwise-expert neighbour didn’t know. More or less at that moment, Tunde came on to the stage to rearrange the setting for the second half of the concert. As he was standing, with his kora, about three yards away from me, it seemed only polite to ask him about the strings.
I was expecting the answer to be something along the lines of, “skin from an antelope’s anus or a sitatunga’s scrotum“. But instead, Tunde simply said, “Nylon”. “Just Nylon”, I asked, hoping for more enlightenment. “Just Nylon”, said Tunde, gently.
The second half of the concert was also good but less to our taste. Tunde didn’t play his kora – instead he demonstrated his skills as a cellist. The fusion theme was retained, as the pieces were arrangements of traditional African music, but to us the real magic had been the kora.
I tried to work out the common theme in Tunde’s unusual choice of devices for his multi-instrumentalism. I concluded that Tunde likes making music while holding his instrument between his legs.
525 WORDS
I smiled to myself as I hit the save button and e-mailed my piece to Rohan Candappa for review.
Ninety minutes later, my iPhone buzzed.
It was Rohan.
“Ian, old chap”, said Rohan. “A charming vignette, but it has nothing to do with the subject and title – The Phone Call”.
“I beg to differ”, I said. “The piece is absolutely about The Phone Call”. The introductory story about the kora concert is a MacGuffin. The main story is about the phone call.
“Well”, said Rohan, “I did consider e-mailing you, but then…”
“…never explain”, I interrupted. “You and I have collaborated on and off for over 50 years now, Rohan. Many things don’t need to be said.”
It seemed that everyone else was able to understand and obey a simple instruction from Rohan…even Jan.
Strangely, Jan, like Geraldine, had set her story in 1973. Without conferring. The central conceit of Jan’s story, which revolved around an uprooted little girl whose family had recently moved to a different town, was a troubling phone call aimed at one or both parents, inadvertently picked up by the little girl.
Similarly strange was the structural similarity between Jan’s and Julie’s story, which was also about a troubling phone call picked up by someone other than the intended recipient of the call. Julie’s was not set in a particular bygone year, but the details within the story suggested 1970s as well.
David’s story was about a character who bought a vintage GPO rotary telephone through the internet and, as a result, got a phone call more than he had bargained for.
All of The Phone Call stories were charming, thought-provoking and enjoyable to hear. It was also very pleasing to spend time with the ThreadMash gang again, even though we were a somewhat depleted group on this occasion.
Sadly, Kay, who was going to join us, was unable to attend due to the recent death of her mother. Yet Kay made a charming contribution to the collection of stories by e-mail a couple of days later:
“Here is my belated contribution to “The Call”. In the endless process of clearing out my mum’s house, we found the tin in which I used to save my phone money when I was a kid. Like many others, I was expected to pay for my calls!”
They say a picture is worth a thousand words and my goodness that picture of Kay’s is worth at least that many. But Rohan had instructed us to limit our stories to a maximum of 800 words. Honestly, some people can’t comply with the simplest of instructions from the ThreadMaster.
…and so taken with it were we, that we all agreed it would be a suitable venue for this slightly larger gathering. Which it was.
But first the Punch Room, which had a really good early evening ambiance – good music but not too loud – other trendy people, but not too many and not too loud. Interesting cocktails list. Nice waiting staff.
“Cheers!“, says JanieA cheery smile from Jilly, who said that she hadn’t seen John & Mandy for some decades
Mandy also looks cheery, while John is seriously choosing cocktailsDid somebody say British Gas?
The waiter took a lot of pictures of us (see headline example). We realised that the gathering included two whites, a black and (in maiden name terms) a browning. I thought we should go for a sepia version of the group photo in recognition of this colour palette.
We all go back so many years…
Then a five or six minute stroll through Fitzrovia to the restaurant, Pahli Hill . When you book, they say that you cannot dictate where you would like to sit, but I requested downstairs, where we had previously enjoyed the ambiance before and they e-mailed back to say that they would be able to comply with that request as ours was an early evening booking. John has been back there himself upstairs since our previous visit and concurs that upstairs has less atmosphere to his taste, so I’m especially glad I did that.
No pictures of Janie in the restaurant, sadly, as she took the following photos, while the rest of us focussed on eating and drinking.
As with our previous visit to Pahli Hill, by the time we’d finished with small plates and grills, we had no space for big plates, although we did find space for desserts.
It was a really lovely evening. Great food and drink, but most importantly very enjoyable company.
