Celebrated clinching the deal for the flat with Bobbie on the Friday evening, starting with an early evening visit to the National Theatre to see a platform talk about Kenneth Tynan. I think those Platform things were a new idea that autumn…an idea that is now more than 30 years old. Our first one had been Tony Sher some weeks earlier.
This Kenneth Tynan one was in the Cottesloe and was a really interesting, varied panel: Adrian Mitchell, Jonathan Miller, Edward Petherbridge, Kathleen Tynan and Irving Wardle.
As the diary says (if you can read it) we went on to the Archduke afterwards for dinner.
On the Saturday I collected the keys to Clanricarde Gardens and did some shopping. I remember spending more than a few bob in Tylers (which was up on Westbourne Grove back then) – I probably still have one or two of the items I bought that day – I’m pretty sure I am still on my first clothes horse, for example.
I also bought food for the Sunday, but the crowd that visited that day – John, Mandy, Ali Dabbs, Valerie and Bobbie would all have traipsed to Woodfield Avenue for that meal – I must have shlepped the grub from Notting Hill to Streatham Hill on the Saturday evening – the new flat was not yet fit for habitation.
What did I cook that day? Can’t remember. Bound to have been Chinese and/or South-East Asian food though…just possibly Southern Asian for that crowd. It would have been good, whatever it was, though I say so myself. I must have been knackered by the Sunday, though. What a week it had been.
One factor that nearly prevented me from getting my new job with Binder Hamlyn Management Consultants was the fact that I did not drive. As part of my “deal”, I promised to take driving lessons and try to qualify as a driver as soon as possible.
So, the Monday after leaving Newman Harris, I enrolled at the Hiway Driving School in Streatham Hill and commenced my lessons. 11.15 on 21 November was the first time I ever took the wheel of a real car.
I’d love to report some tales of derring do and/or some scrapes and/or some near misses, but I’m afraid that my transformation from non-motorist to motorist was pretty much an anecdote-free affair.
That week I had a lesson every morning before going on to do something else. Most of that something else was a combination of exam marking for Financial Training and flat hunting. In the matter of flat hunting, I was advised, at that time, to study the classified ads in the London Evening Standard as soon after publication as possible, in order to track what was going on and to jump in to see a place or two if I saw anything I fancied.
Hence, I imagine, the driving lessons mid morning, enabling me to pick up the paper early lunchtime, after my lesson.
On the Tuesday evening, Jilly came over for dinner after work. 6:30ish is the only timing indication in the appointment diary. I cannot remember where she worked at that time (was it already the Barbican Centre by then?) but my diary helps me to recall that she lived in a flat in Nether Street, Finchley. I remember us finding that street name funny.
Nor do I recall what I cooked for Jilly that evening, but I’ll guess it will have been one of my Chinese and/or South-East Asian specials. I do remember that Jilly was full of useful advice for the flat hunting and that her advice was timely, as I had pretty much drawn blanks from my classified trawls those first two days.
I think her advice included “ringing up some agents in the areas I fancied and asking them to get on the case for me” – in other words, to look at agent ads as well as the classifieds. I labour this point because, I’m pretty sure, that is the method that got me to Clanricarde Gardens (and some other places) the next day.
Thanks, Jilly.
Jilly Visiting me At Keele, c1984
Update – Jilly responds:
I found [your diary entry] a little hard to read; when it talked about “dinner” with Jilly, I had to read it three times before it (dinner) stopped looking like “I am vinyl”, but eventually, I realised what I was reading about.
Gosh, that was a long time ago, and yes, I remember living in Nether Street, when, I think, I was working at Green Moon PR Agency.
I must admit, I can’t remember much about the flat hunting advice, except that I probably would have told you to be very quick about going to see something that you liked the look of, especially in those days before mobiles, email, and the like.
So, on the Wednesday, through an agency whose name has escaped me, but I recall it was located above Tootsies Restaurant on Holland Park Avenue, I saw Clanricarde Gardens for the first time and was so taken with it I thought I had probably found what I was looking for first dips. It was only the fact that I hadn’t yet seen anywhere else, combined with the fact that other agents were on my case now and leaving me messages at Woodfield Avenue, that kept me viewing for the rest of that day and the next day.
I shall write a piece about some of the strange places I saw, once I have dug out some more notes, as I am sure I have a note pad on this topic as well as my diaries.
…must mean Bobbie (who was my link with this crowd; Bobbie & Sharani were fellow law reporters). The crowd probably included Ying Hui Tan, Peter (Ying Hui’s then beau), Maria (who ended up living in Clanricarde Gardens years later) Paul McGrath (Maria’s then beau) and possibly some others.
I’m going to guess that the purpose of the gathering was to celebrate Bobbie’s birthday with her. I’m also going to guess that it was a very jolly evening with good food and wine.
I think the meal at Le Caprice was my parents’ idea – to celebrate my qualification as a Chartered Accountant along with Uncle Michael, Auntie Pam, Stanley Bloom and his good lady (Sharit?).
Le Caprice was a trendy place even then – I’m not quite sure what would have made mum and dad choose it. Perhaps to show off a bit. Perhaps because they had heard that it was a restaurant that was able to cope with fussy eaters…we had at least one in our party that day in Auntie Pam.
Roll the clock forward 30 years and I note that Kim likes that place, perhaps for similar “trendy but able to cope with a fussy eater” reasons.
I don’t believe any photos were taken that evening to mark the occasion – such meals were not seen to be the thing of photos necessarily back then. But it is just possible that I’ll stumble across some pictures when I delve into dad’s “late works” box of negatives and prints, which still awaits my trawl.
“Kates” means Kate (Susan) Fricker’s place. I’m pretty sure Kate was, at that time, living in a pied-à-terre flat in Hampstead, part of the house that had been the family home before her family moved to York.
Evenings with Kate were always pleasant. We both enjoyed cooking and eating good food. We both liked decent wine and we would always have interesting conversations. I’m sure that Saturday evening would have been such an evening.
I’m guessing that we would have both been in celebratory mode, work-wise, at that time – Kate was called to the bar around the time I qualified.
Wednesday 16 July – Fairly hectic day at work – met Annalisa for lunch. Met Bobbie after work – had meal at Mayflower & went on to Woody Allen Film after – v nice.
Mayflower was one of the better Chinese restautrants in Chinatown – now (writing in 2020) resurrected as New Mayflower.
The Woody Allen film in question would have been Hannah And Her Sisters, which went on general release in the UK a couple of days later. No doubt we went to a preview at the Curzon West End (just opposite the Mayflower).
I still think Hannah And Her Sisters is a great movie. But gone are the days that I’d complain about a hectic day at work in which I had lunch with a friend and left work early enough to have a meal and then see a movie. Such a snowflakey-sense-of-entitlement-youngster, I was.
Pretty busy at work today. Went to LC [Laurence Corner] etc.
Met Graham Watson for a drink – Mike came too (is leaving office).
(Met Jon Graham on way home).
Earlyish night.
I hasten to add that Laurence Corner was, for me, work – not a fun outing at lunchtime. Mike (he who was leaving the office) must be Mike King, who, by that time, I think was doing much of the work on the Laurence Corner account and who was, presumably, handing over some of the reins to me.
Graham Watson was an old friend from school. I vaguely recall running into him in London and thus meeting up. Coincidentally Jon graham was also a friend from school and (if I recall correctly) I didn’t realise he was still hanging in Streatham until this chance encounter. Jon and I met up again more than once, IIRC. I’m not sure whether Graham and I did. Perhaps Graham gave me the bumps…again!
Several years earlier, Graham Watson & Paul Deacon giving me the bumps, Tim Church feigns a lack of interest, picture “borrowed” from Paul’s facebook posting with grateful thanks.
Saturday 28 June – Worked hard today – went to Levinsons briefly – [squiggle] etc. Mainly work.
Sunday 29 June – Did exam in morning – went to G [Grandma] Jenny in afternoon – watched cup final early evening – went for drink with Andrew after – met Mary etc.
I was working hard at that time, doing my accountancy exams (presumably that Sunday morning thing was a self-administered mock) while working full time and helping to bring dad’s business (he had sold the shop in Feburary) to a graceful closure with the tax authorities.
This was still less than a year after I left Keele; my diaries suggest that I almost exclusively spent my spare time with old friends from Keele apart from my work crowd and some of my old BBYO crowd.
This reference to spending time with Andrew Levinson is the first reference to an old friend from the street or school in 1986 (unless I’ve missed saomething on the skim).
“Mary etc.” I think must be a lovely young woman I knew at Keele named Mary who kept popping up wherever I happened to be in that first year after I left Keele. I remember bumping into her when I was doing accountancy courses in Latimer Road and also that she ended up in Streatham for a while.
I dread to think where Andrew and I went for that drink and therefore where Mary etc. were also hanging out back then – our end of Streatham was not great for pubs and I doubt if we wandered far. Horse and Groom most likely – it’s had a makeover fairly recently (he writes in 2020) but was well grimey back then.
Here is the typed up version, scanned from what I think must be carbon copies. Is there anyone else left on the planet who remembers what carbon copies were?
I guess I prepared these for our glorious return visit in January 1986 for the traditional UGM/AGM thingie.
On top of my Hackgrass reveal antics on our last morning in office, it seems we held some sort of bogus committee meeting later in the afternoon. More a symposium than a mere meeting, by the looks of it.
It looks as though I completed the minutes that December, ahead of our January 1986 appearance at the UGM I shouldn’t wonder, so I’ll publish the typed version at that date. The hand-written version that follows must have been part-written on the day and then concluded later.
Experts at handwriting analysis forensics might be able to work out exactly what went on. John White – I suggest you might choose not to apply for this role, if your attempt at the Hackgrass cypher is anything to go by.
Most of my fellow committee members didn’t know that I was Hackgrass. Indeed the only person on the committee who did know was Pete Wild, as the only people still at Keele who did know my identity were my remaining former Barnes L54 flatmates (hence Pete), Petra Wilson and Annalisa de Mercur.
For the last day of our office as sabbaticals, I wrote a final Hackgrass one-pager and revealed myself to the lovely Pat Borsky in the print room. (As Hackgrass, I mean; please retain some decorum and concentrate, dear reader). Pat agreed to print the one-pager as a publicity circular (pub. circ.) special and the rest is history.
The one-pager caused more than a bit of a stir that day in students’ union circles. I thought best to lie low in my office.
Soon enough, John White plonked himself in my office with pub. circ. and a copy of the February Concourse, saying that he wanted to break the code.
I said that I didn’t much care who Hackgrass was and that I wanted to finish off some work, as I was still very busy.
John laboured with the puzzle for some time in my office, concocting some highly convoluted theories such as:
a=1…z=26, reverse the number series and rework the letters
Once I got irritated enough, I suggested to John that whoever Hackgrass was, he or she probably wasn’t that sophisticated a cipher-wright, so John might be better off trying something really simple like the initial letters of the words in the sentence.
About 10 seconds later, I received an unrepeatable (indeed forgettable) stream of invective from John. I have forgiven him for the invective and I believe he has forgiven me for keeping my identity as Hackgrass a secret during our sabbatical year.
The Theatre Royal Hanley wanted to encourage Keele University students to attend their theatre. They offered me a pair of free tickets to see any show I fancied over the summer. I was a new Student Union sabbatical and it was a new (or I should say revived) venue. I suppose they thought people like me might have some influence over the “yoof” audience.
I spotted what looked like quite an interesting play – with Tom Conti in it if I’m not mistaken, which I thought Bobbie and I would both enjoy when she was up for a long weekend at the end of August/start of September.
Problem was, I chose the Sunday evening (probably because we were otherwise engaged on both the Friday and Saturday evenings) and failed to check whether the Sunday evening show was the same show as the Monday to Saturday show.
It wasn’t.
You cannot blame the box office – they had been instructed to issue me with comps for whatever evening I chose…and I chose the Sunday evening.
The Life And Music Of Rodgers And Hammerstein. I am 95% sure that the show we saw was Hella Toros and her ensemble. A grande dame by 1984, widow of John McLaren, who had been in the original cast productions of Rodgers and Hammerstein shows in the 1950s…
…here’s how she looked and sounded in 1940, before sadness and illness struck her life for some while:
Correction: it wasn’t Helen Toros’s ensemble, it was the Newcastle Amateur Operatic Chorus. The following clipping from the Evening Sentinel confirms why/how I got the “They’re Playing Our Song” offer (Peta Toppano and Barry Quinn, not Tom Conti) confused with Rodgers and Hammerstein, plus confirms exactly who performed:
It was the most stilted show imaginable. Imagine a heavy European accent dramatically stating
Rodgers and Hammerstein, the most wonderful musicals in the whole world…
…I bet she said that about all the composers of such works in all of her shows…
…Ivor Novello – the most wonderful writer of musical shows in history…Sigmund Romberg, the most exquisite operettas ever written…
Between numbers, Hella gave us bits of her life story tentatively connected to Rodgers and Hammerstein. Her late husband’s involvement in the original stage productions of the musicals was bigged up to the extent that one might have imagined that John and Hella were round Oscar and Richard’s places all the time back in the 1950s.
In short, Bobbie and I had turned up at the theatre expecting to see “our sort of play” and found ourselves instead watching a static recital of songs from musicals, delivered in an exceptionally old-fashioned style.
The audience was almost as stilted as the performances. Not that everyone in the audience was about three times our age. Dear me no. Some of them were at least four times our age.
Bobbie and I didn’t know where to look. Actually we did…not at each other, lest the giggles get the better of us.
To be fair, we mostly won the struggle to keep straight faces for most of the first half of the recital…
…until the rather elderly and minimally mobile grande dame of the show, Hella Toros, attempted to sing Happy Talk with appropriate movements…lifted from the movie…
…our struggle with retaining our composure was lost. For good.
We felt we owed it to the audience, who were, after all, our elders and betters, to withdraw during the interval, ahead of the second half of the show, rather than inflict the inevitable giggly disturbances on the audience throughout the second half.
The exact nature of the Hanley-based Indian meal we devoured in place of the second half of the show is lost in the mists of time. It was probably quite good food and reasonably priced – there were some decent Indian restaurants in the Potteries by then.
Is it possible that, but for my choice of night/wrong show error, I might have been able to influence the student body to frequent the Theatre Royal Hanley and helped turn around the disaster-prone institution? Unlikely.
On reflection, Bobbie & I probably shouldn’t go to any theatre with “Theatre Royal” in its name…I recall a peculiarly incident-rich visit to the Theatre Royal Haymarket with Bobbie to see Long Day’s Journey Into the Night. There’ll be a link here once I have written that one up.
