Let’s be honest about this; Janie and I are not doing anything much that might be described as adventurous at the moment. This pandemic era is not that sort of era. We’re doing a lot of charity stuff. We’re keeping fit. We’re in good spirits. But we are not indulging in adventure.
…but this year, it was my birthday card that had all the excitement.
John phoned me on the morning of my birthday. I hadn’t twigged it before, but he and Mandy had taken the opportunity to have a short break up in Yorkshire. John informed me that he had sent me a birthday card but he didn’t know when it would arrive and that it might be somewhat distressed-looking, having been involved in a road traffic incident.
John explained that he had stopped for fuel somewhere around Muker and put his mobile phone and my card on the roof of the car, making a careful mental note not to drive off before retrieving the phone & card…
…then he got distracted…
…then John drove off…
Excitement on the B6270 between Muker and Gunnerside; well shy of Crackpot
…until he heard a few “boomp” noises from the roof of the car and realised what must have happened. Apparently an expletive or two were the next couple of noises to be heard in the vicinity.
“worse than the door”
Meanwhile I was sitting in the flat, concentrating on John’s every word, my thoughts not wandering at all, thinking to myself that the punchline of the story must include the retrieval of the phone, because John was calling me from said phone…
…and the card didn’t look too shabby either
…and the card seemed to be minimally dishevelled; assuming the card before me was the original card from the story.
John continued…
…we drove back down the road towards Muker and as good fortune would have it, there was my phone in the middle of the road, undamaged…
…but no sign of your card…
…until we went a bit further back down the road and there was your card – also pretty much undamaged. It might have some tyre marks on the envelope though.
I told John that the card looked absolutely fine and that it had arrived a day in advance of my birthday, which is pretty good going given the adventure it had been through. I reported that the card was in good spirits and recuperating well at home.
I like to one-up John’s stories, so I thought I had better tell him the adventure of his birthday card, which I had posted that very morning.
I explained that I had gone to the local shop, chosen a card, returned home to sign the card, blown the dust off the little see-through-plastic bag which holds my assortment of postage stamps for just this sort of occasion, afixed an appropriate stamp and taken the card down to the post box at the end of my street, from whence it should have, by that time, been collected.
Your card should arrive at your house on the morning of your birthday, I said, but it seems that you won’t be there to receive it.
John explained that they would get home on the afternoon of his birthday. He also volunteered the opinion that the Yorkshire card story was a tad more exciting than the Notting Hill card story. I felt obliged, on this one occasion, to concede.
Anyway, John & Mandy’s drive home the next afternoon provided an excellent opportunity for Mandy, John, Janie and me to have a four-way catch-up chat and share a bit of the birthdays, albeit at a social distance.
Wendy, Mark & David saying, “hello in there”,Nightingale, 1979
Youth Club & Director’s Cut, 3 May 2020
These last few weeks we have had regular youth club Zoom gatherings on a Sunday, which have surprising amounts in common with the gatherings more than 40 years ago.
Sunday 3rd May was another such gathering. The soap opera that is the “social distancing rabbits” story (click link here or above if you are interested) took on yet another twist, as the buck appears to have broken the social distancing rules for a few moments; all that is required, apparently, potentially to initiate another brood.
Coincidentally, much of the discussion prior to the rabbit saga had focussed on offspring, be it children or grand-children, the latter being very recent or imminent in several cases.
Even more coincidentally, I was distracted for some of the Zoom on this occasion by virtue of having been invited to a Zoom Bris in Texas by another old BBYO friend, who became a doting grandfather a few days earlier. Having not experienced a bris since my own, I was intrigued and wanted to join the ceremony, which was timed to start at the same time as youth club. I followed the former surreptitiously on my mobile phone. It’s the sort of thing young folk do in face-to-face meetings, after all.
After the ceremony, I confessed to the specifics of my two-timing activity. One of our number, from the education sector, fretted about safeguarding issues arising from a Zoom bris. I felt bound to assure him and the others that all I could really see was doting parents, a blissfully unaware baby and a few other attendees. In short, I think the director/camera-dude said “cut!” at the vital moment.
I’ll give youth club my undivided next time. “Undivided what?”, I hear you cry.
Hitting The High Notes With Lydia White, 5 May 2020
Today was my second lesson with Lydia and I must say that I feel that I am making progress very rapidly. Not that I’ll ever be a great singer, but there are some basics of technique that are enabling me to get a lot more out of my voice for less effort. Most importantly, I am really enjoying the process of learning and practicing. Janie says she can hear a great deal of improvement, which is remarkable in such a short period of time…and given that Janie wears anti-noise earmuffs whenever I sing. OK I made up the bit about earmuffs.
Rohan, having funded season one himself, is trying to crowdfund season two. A link to the Kickstarter thingie can be found by clicking here or below:
You can help the project just by watching, enjoying and sharing the output with others who might appreciate it. But if, like me, you are also able to put your hand in your pocket a bit towards series two, that would be great for Rohan and the struggling artistes he is helping through this initiative.
Is It Lourdes Or Lord’s?, A FoodCycle Gig In Marylebone, 6 May 2020
Ged: You want us to deliver ALL these? Ali: (from a suitably social distance) Yup!
Daisy and I were asked to do another FoodCycle gig this week; in Marylebone this time. The church hall in which tireless volunteers such as Ali and Jenny assemble the food parcels is the Roman Catholic Church Of Our Lady, just around the corner from my own temple – Lord’s Cricket Ground – currently closed due to covid.
We met another volunteer, Connagh, who was taking the other batch of parcels that day. He was also a first-timer at this venue so we all three wandered around together (at a suitably social distance of course) until we found Ali & Jenny.
Ali & Connagh demonstrate the socially distant high five, aka the “high five meters apart”Ali, Jenny, Janie (Daisy) & Connagh. This could be a press picture or album cover for an early music a cappella quartet. I have named them “Pro Canteen Antiqua”
…decided that Lodge Road and then back past Lord’s was the best route. It wasn’t the best route for the food deliveries but it did give us all a glimpse of what we are missing.
There it is, up ahead…So near and yet so far; the gates are closed, even to us!Lord’s denied; Ged cannot contain his emotions
Actually the whole experience of delivering for FoodCycle is quite an emotional experience at times. One elderly guest on the Lisson Green Estate, I believe one of the regulars when the arrangement is for the guests and volunteers to gather for a weekly meal, was waiting by the entrance to her block and started to cry when we announced ourselves. She thought we were late (we weren’t) and that she had been forgotten (she hadn’t).
The reality of our food deliveries during the pandemic is that the food parcels can only help to meet part of the FoodCycle mission, which is to alleviate both food poverty and social isolation. Of course we understand why we can only deliver a tiny part of the social agenda, by engaging as best we can within the constraints of social distancing. But it is chastening to see how isolated some of the guests must feel at the moment. Still, the food poverty agenda is also extremely important and we encountered some other guests who have clearly fallen on hard times of late and just desperately need the food.
We’re doing another gig on Sunday, around White City/East Acton. I’ll add photos from there if I get a chance to take some.
Hello In There by John Prine, 9 May 2020
I thought I’d sum up this strange week with this beautiful John Prine song, Hello In There, which I have been unable to get out of my head since I learnt that Prine was ill, about a week before he died of Covid-19 in early April.
This charming, beautiful song is so much for our times. I can only try to do it justice.
Postscript: FoodCycle Around White City, Old Oak & Wormholt & Acton, 10 May 2020
Collecting the parcels: Janie (Daisy) with Fr Richard Nesbitt, Alannah & Francesco
Janie’s first gig for Foodcycle had been the project known as East Acton, which is initiated at the Our Lady Of Fatima Church in White City.
As we are now billed as a double act, seasoned operators at that, we get to drop 20 parcels at 10 addresses on our run.
Actually, this proved the least onerous run so far, partly because Janie had been to three of the locations before but also because the several drops to houses on the Old Oak and Wormholt were easier to navigate than some of the more modern estates.
Again, lovely, attentive people producing the parcels and helping us to load up the car. Fr Richard even wandered around to make sure the first drop, which was a new guest very near the church, went according to plan. Again extremely grateful and friendly guests who seemed so pleased to see us when we turned up.
This really is necessary and worthwhile voluntary work at the moment.
Kay Scorah (top left in the above picture) was “head girl” for this evening’s Virtual ThreadMash. She chose the topic of soft furnishings, perhaps thinking that such a topic might lighten the mood in these unprecedented, lockdown times. If you were to judge by my Tale Of Beany & Baggy piece and Kay’s Big Dog’s Big Question (below), you might conclude that Kay’s choice had succeeded in generating lighthearted pieces…
Big Dog was trying to sleep. It had been a rough night, with a great deal of tossing and turning and intermittent hugging. At one point he thought he was going to fall out of bed, but Seán, himself only half awake, had grabbed him just in time and held on to him tightly. Now, just before dawn, things had quietened down and the boy had released his grip as sleep took over. Lucky Seán.
Big Dog had a busy day ahead, and knew he needed the shuteye, but his mind was too active. That same old question spinning around and around in his head.
He felt the softness of the pillow under his cheek, and, opening his eyes in the brightening pre-dawn light began to count the stars in the pattern on the pillowcase. He’d heard of counting sheep – perhaps counting decorative fabric stars would have the same effect. But of course, thinking about the pillow only made things worse. Made That Question even louder.
Giving up, he opened his eyes wide and looked across the room to where Rabbidog and Blumberg seemed to be sound asleep on the chair. Rabbidog propped up on a cushion, Blumberg with his head on Rabbidog’s knee.
Rabbidog is called Rabbidog because no-one has ever worked out if he’s a dog or a rabbit. And Blumberg is called Blumberg because he was a gift from Jane Blumberg.
Not for the first time, Big Dog wished that he could move like the real dogs he had seen through the bedroom window. Or even like the small child now sound asleep next to him his head on the same pillow. He longed to jump down from the bed, run across the room to the others, jump up on the chair and ask them the Big Question. What are we, the fluffy toys? Are we toys, like the Playmobil and the Brio Train set? Or are we soft furnishings like the cushions and the blankets?
How could they sleep with this existential question unanswered?
The very next day, Big Dog was invited to dinner, and, at Seán’s insistence, given his own seat at the table. A couple of spare grownups were there, along with the mum and the dad. Their conversation turned to the question of gender and sexuality, to something called LGBTQ and the slow but welcome demise of the binary. And suddenly, although he didn’t quite understand everything that was being said, Big Dog realised that he was free! He need lose no more sleep over what he had thought was the Big Question. He could be soft furnishing AND toy. A place for Seán to rest his head, and a friend for him to play with and talk to.
Big Dog went to bed that night and fell sound asleep as soon as his head touched the pillow. “Good night, big dog”, said the boy, resting his head on his friend’s furry back, “Sleep well.”
…and the surreal nature of some conversations continues unabated.
During the week most of my VCs are business ones, but we have implemented a programme of short “water-cooler” type gatherings for the Z/Yen team; one or two a day at the moment, to help people punctuate their working days with a bit of social interaction if they wish.
One topic which dominated the conversation last week was lentils. Linda, who has been laid low with suspected Covid-19, mentioned that she had made herself a pan-full of lentil soup for sustenance.
Janie picked up on this idea mid-week – her research suggested that lentil soup was almost certainly both a vaccine and a cure for Covid-19 (and many other ailments). So Janie promptly gathered together the necessary ingredients and made a large consignment of concentrated lentil gloopiness, good for many portions of soup and/or savoury breakfast mush with yoghurt.
I mentioned Janie’s research at the Z/Yen gathering on Thursday.
On Friday, presumably not wanting to risk being out-lentiled, Michael Mainelli showed us a 5kg sack of red lentils, which he had just procured during his “one-a-day” walk; on this occasion down Brick Lane.
Other brands of red lentil are available.
Given the quantity of nutritional lentilly substances that Janie managed to conjure up with just 250g of lentils, I should imagine that a 5kg bag will keep the Mainelli family going, as it were, for quite some time.
I suggested that London might replace Chicago as the “Windy City” if we carry on escalating pulse purchases at this rate.
But these Z/Yen virtual-breaks are not all talk about legumes. Oh no. I mentioned my early music playing hobby the other day, only to learn that Juliet enjoyed seeing Joglaresa recently and wondered whether I knew the medieval song about the killer rabbit.
In my opinion, the animated pork chop is more miraculous than the non-fatal rabbit bone one, but my opinion on Santa Maria miracles is really neither here nor there.
Anyway, all this talk of rabbits brings us neatly back to BBYO youth club virtual gatherings, as we regrouped on Sunday.
Mark was able to join us on this occasion, whereas Ivor was not; nor was Wendy. Nine of us, there were. Martin ran two sessions for part of the meeting for some reason, but that doesn’t count as two people.
We learnt that no rabbit has been spayed since we last gathered but that the pair were being kept socially distant for their own sakes. This felt to me like a societal metaphor in these days of lockdown.
We then had a macabre conversation about furry mammal morbidity, with several inappropriate suggestions about carnivorous possibilities, tales of burying various furry mammals at various stages of rigor mortis, Fatal Attraction style possibilities…
…I mean, really. Shouldn’t we all have grown out of this sort of thing by now?
No.
We’re going to gather again next week. One of the more disciplined among us really should draw up an agenda and some etiquette guidelines…I’m not volunteering, just suggesting that somebody ought to…
The roll (l to r): Ivor (present) Sandra (present) Mark (awol) Andrea (present)
It was Natalie’s idea and rather a good one. Or maybe it was Andrea’s idea. Anyway, point is, our plans for a spring gathering of the old youth club clan are in tatters this year, thanks to the Covid-19 pandemic.
Only one thing for it: gather virtually, e.g. on Zoom (other video conferencing tools are available).
Natalie set it up and a good few of us joined in. Andrea, David, Ivor, Linda, Liza, Martin, Me, Natalie, Sandra, Wendy…
…I think that’s everyone from the old clan who came along on Sunday – apologies if I have missed anyone out. One or two wives/partners/children popped in for a while (Janie for example) or added colour to the proceedings through noises off or other such distractions.
Janie had never witnessed a video conference before and suggested that video-conferencing seemed a chaotic medium to her. I had to point out that video conferences can be highly disciplined and decorous. Had she ever experienced one of our youth club meetings, she’d realise that the chaotic nature of the gathering has little or nothing to do with the medium.
Simon wasn’t there to stick the boot in, but Martin was there to provide security
The conversation covered many topics, not just “what were you up to before the pandemic?” and “how are you coping with the pandemic?”
The Chatham House rule should apply to such gatherings, I feel, so I won’t attribute specific tales to specific people. But we are a communitarian lot, still, so we heard word from near the front line of health care, social services provision and education. Unprecedented times (as everyone seems to be saying right now) presenting immediate and urgent challenges to everyone, especially those working in civil society.
The most fascinating yarn, though, was a true story about rabbits. Apparently, if you put a male rabbit and a female rabbit into a household with children, you generate a myriad of soap-opera-like scenarios within just a few weeks, even if the children are given strict instructions to enforce social distancing between the rabbits. Children, it seems, struggle to obey such simple instructions with predictably hilarious and tragic results in equal measure.Throw Covid-19 lockdown into the scenario and you have a strange brew for story-telling – Beatrix Potter’s Tale of the Flopsy Bunnies meets Cormac McCarthy’s The Road.
I do hope Zoom’s VC security is better than some suggest…I’d hate to think that the bunny community found out what’s been going on…
Word on the street is that our gathering went so well that we shall be gathering again very soon – i.e. same time, same day, the next week.
This really IS becoming a virtual youth club, even down to the weekly meetings. Soon we’ll need to reform a committee, start scheduling programmes and sending delegates to virtual regional, national and international shindigs…
With thanks to John Random for the 1992 pictures, such as the one above.
It was with great sadness, although not surprise, that I learnt, on 11 March, that Chris Stanton has died. He had been battling and eventually reconciling himself with terminal cancer for a couple of years. It was a fitting coincidence that I learnt of his demise, through the NewsRevue alum community (specifically, via Chris Rowe), as I came off the real tennis court at Lord’s.
I first met Chris at the Canal Cafe Theatre in the spring of 1992, when I started writing for NewsRevue and while Chris was performing in John Random’s Spring 1992 run of the show.
Chris Stanton was the very first professional performer to deliver my lyrics to a paying audience. A rather morbid number, entitled California Here I Go:
Not one of my best, but one of my first…and my goodness, a performer of Chris’s quality could make the most of whatever material he was given.
That cast: Sarah Swingler, Ian Angus Wilkie, Chris Stanton, Sonia Beck
Later that run, the cast, with Chris Stanton up front and exceptional, performed another of mine, You Can’t Hurry Trusts. A much better – indeed still relevant – lyric for a topical satirical review, though I say so myself:
Chris Stanton’s professional career continued to thrive and take off as the 1990s went on…as did mine of course, but his was a performing career whereas my career was a more conventional one. I saw little of him for 20 or so years after our involvement with NewsRevue waned, by the end of the 1990s.
Chris was reluctant to join us at Ivan Shakespeare Memorial Dinners, although he did perhaps turn up once or twice in the early part of the 20th century.
Coincidentally, our paths crossed again some 20 years after Chris’s involvement with NewsRevue ceased, in 2016, when I took up real tennis at Lord’s and ran into Chris in the dedans gallery.
I, beginner.
Real tennis is a wonderful game, still played virtually unchanged since medieval times, ideal for those with a sense of comedy. As I said back in 2016:
Unless you are very gifted at the game (which I am not and Chris was only a little more gifted than me), you have to be prepared to look absurd at times, the game is so complex and confounding. Yet addictive.
Real tennis players are sometimes referred to as “realists” but I think there is an “absurdist” element to it for us comedy types. I especially enjoyed saying, panto-style, “it’s behind you” to Chris, if he ended up (as oft we do) confounded by the eventual landing point of that hand-made, not-quite-round ball in that crazily-shaped court. Ironically, of course, Chris was doing a fair bit of panto in recent years, before he was taken ill.
We are a geeky lot too, so “the book” for real tennis scores is a global database that records the results of every match. Here is my head-2-head of recorded games with Chris; he will have given me handicap points in each of these matches; fewer as the years went on:
Final score: Stanton 3 matches to Harris 2 matches. I could have been a contender…
I didn’t know why I hadn’t seen Chris for a while – I thought he might just have been busy with work or off games with an injury – until I ran into him at Lord’s last summer on a test match day and he explained to me (with some surprise that I didn’t know) that he had lung cancer (one of the non-smoker varieties), was undergoing treatment but was probably just staving off the inevitable. By that time, Chris seemed reconciled, I’d even say at peace, with his fate. Certainly that was the way he presented me with the facts of the matter.
My last memory of spending time with him will be an abiding one and speaks volumes about the man. Towards the end of last summer, we had a 40th anniversary party for NewsRevue at the Canal Cafe Theatre. The event included the extant show and a “smoker” – the latter being a form of party we often had in the 1990s at which performers and writers would do party pieces for one another.
Chris said to me, earlier in the evening, that he was worried that his lungs no longer had the capacity to carry him all the way through 0898 without a breather. I said that I was sure it wouldn’t matter if he did need a breather; we were a gathering of friends.
Of course, commensurate professional that he was, Chris somehow got through the song without missing a beat or pausing for breath once. It was a masterful performance, not least in the circumstances.
I don’t suppose my report of his tenacity comes as news to anyone who worked with Chris throughout his long and successful acting career, nor to anyone who did battle with him on the real tennis court.
In the language of real tennis, Chris was a “better than half a yard” sort of bloke; news of his demise has made me (and no doubt many others) feel “worse than the door”.
Or in the language of the stage, Chris Stanton was a stellar performer whose passing has temporarily made me feel wooden as I write.
But such super memories. Thank you, Chris Stanton.
Postscript: The Coincidence Magnifies
Within a day or so of posting this tribute, I learnt that Chris Rowe, the Newsrevue alum who notified us about Chris Stanton’s demise, is also a member of the MCC and also a real tennis enthusiast. Indeed, it was through Chris Rowe that Chris Stanton got involved with real tennis at Lord’s.
Here is a poster from the Newsrevue 1991 Edinburgh show, in which both of the gentlemen appeared:
How does one describe Threadmash? It is sort-of a writing club, where people write and recite pieces, often being encouraged outside their safe places, by ringmaster Rohan Candappa.
But it is not so much about what we do as it is about how it makes those of us who participate in it feel. I probably described that for the first time at the end of the Ogblog piece in which I set out my second threadmash piece:
Rohan is not one to let a birthday or anniversary go unmarked…
…nor is he one to miss an opportunity for a party of sorts.
So Threadmash 5 was cunningly scheduled for the first anniversary of Threadmash. Well played, Rohan.
There were several new faces this time, observing the readings and whole-heartedly participating in the party atmosphere. Several of them had “Sh” names, such as Shirani, Shivangi, Shazia and Rowan.
Terry went first. He wrote a job application letter, to become a taster for Mr Kipling cakes. He used the application as a mechanism to tell us all about is “work experience” as a youngster. It was very amusing and touching in parts.
Jan then read us a letter to a plate of food that she was forced to “study” outside the headmistresses office for the whole afternoon, when five years old, because she had the audacity to abstain from eating the ghastly gunk that was her school dinner. This too was a very funny and touching piece.
…followed by Chris who wrote a letter to his own testosterone, explaining how their relationship had changed and was likely to continue changing over the decades. Not only funny and engaging, this piece was also moving and quite risky in the level and nature of its confessional humour.
Flo’s piece was the fifth one. A letter, decades later, to a youth with whom she had enjoyed extended correspondence and an unfulfilled dalliance “back in the day”, probably because she was less ready for romance at that time than the young man. As with all of the pieces, there was a mixture of drama and humour; this one especially bittersweet because the mismatch was one of those timing things that so many of us probably, if we put our minds to it, experienced one way or another when we were in the early stages of romance. I probably wasn’t the only man in the room thinking, “crickey, I never, ever put THAT much effort into wooing a girl. Poor chap.”
Next up was David Wellbrook, who wrote a very moving letter in the part of a soldier on the front line in WW1, writing home having just killed a man in hand-to-hand combat. David is a very versatile writer. To a greater extent than most of us, he is able to pick up on Rohan’s entreaties to stretch ourselves beyond our safe zones and make that stretch comprehensively.
Strangely, Kay’s letter was to her late Grandfather and talked a great deal about his active service in WW1.This seemed like a particularly coincidental echo, coming immediately after David’s WW1 story and also in relation to mine, which was also a letter to a dead relative of the grandfather generation, albeit “grandfather-in-law” in my case. Kay’s piece was very touching, not least because clearly her grandfather had been unable to communicate feelings very much when Kay knew him and also because it is clear from the letter that Kay feels she might not have communicated with him sufficiently either.
Geraldine’s letter was directed by Rohan to be a letter of resignation, but Geraldine cleverly and delightfully twisted the idea to make it a letter of resignation to her former husband, explaining why she felt she simply had to escape the drudgery of the “American dream, American housewife” role in which she found herself cast as his wife. It was a beautiful piece of writing, full of love combined with a steely determination to explain herself and not to apologise. As with all of the pieces, the letter was probably the right length for such a performance piece but (and because) it said so much while leaving me wanting to know more.
After a short interlude, Rohan took us through a 10 point agenda. Is this is all getting a bit business-like?
…not as business-like as it looks, once you read the items
The brief for Threadmash Six is to write about an unknown woman named Charlotte Thomas. All we know of her is that Rohan managed to acquire a cheap moleskin-like notebook that had been customised with her name but never collected from the shop. Our job is to write about whosoever this person might be.
It did cross my mind to recycle my Theadmash One story, which is about a youthful dalliance with a young woman who I only ever knew as Fuzz, thus not even knowing her real first name, let alone her second name. She might very well be (or have been) Charlotte Thomas…
…but that would be cheating – I won’t do that. I think I have already decided on my Charlotte Thomas idea – it will be a bit of a stretch but I guess it is meant to be.
There was an awards ceremony, during which Rohan’s Edinburgh nemesis Rowan presented Adrian (in absentia) and Julie “Croissanita” with awards which, given their origins from the same stable as the Charlotte Thomas moleskin-type thing, I suggested should henceforward be known as “Charleys”.
It was a birthday party so of course there was cake…
…and goody bags.
Even the awkward silence was superb.
Then Rohan performed a new piece of his own, a very evocative piece which the agenda claims to be a collaboration with a top musician. But Rohan actually confessed that Brian Eno is…was unaware of the collaboration. I’m hoping Rohan will tell me which ambient piece he used to back up his words, at which point I shall update this piece with the information and possibly (with Rohan’s permission) let Brian Eno know how well he did.
Update: Rohan reports that the piece used was Neroli. You may hear Neroli on-line by clicking here or the embedded thingie below:
Rohan’s new work, about 15 minutes long, is a lyrical, poetic piece named Park.
Rohan was so pumped for his recital that he even felt the need to change for his performance:
Not only was Park a very charming and thought-provoking piece, it was, in a way, the third coincidence on the topic of troubadours. Of course, we will never know whenether the troubadour tradition was one of singing the lyrical poems to tunes or the dramatic recitation of lyrical poems with musical backing…almost certainly a bit of both depending on the piece and the troubadour. In any case it occurred to me that Rohan’s piece was very much of that 800+ years old troubadour tradition.
As always, the very act of gathering and spending an evening with such super people is a huge part of the Threadmash thing. I have known several of the people for just shy of 50 years now, whereas some of us have just met in the last year and about half the people at this anniversary evening were new to the thing. All were great company.
I’ve written too much already. It was a cracking evening. Thanks as always, Rohan.
John and I had planned to go out for dinner on this particular evening, but then, a couple of weeks before the due date, John e-mailed me to ask if I still had a reel-to-reel tape recorder, as he and Pippa had uncovered a couple of reel-to-reel tapes when clearing his late parent’s house.
I said yes.
I didn’t say that my machines (by the end I had two by way of insurance/back-up) were in storage in the City.
Anyway, I trolleyed my Sony TC-377 back to Clanricarde and established that it more-or-less worked. So I suggested to John that we dine at mine instead and do some archaeology on his tapes.
I played a poor game of real tennis ahead of our reel evening, followed by a bizarre incident in Waitrose, in which, because I was given an unannounced/unlabelled bargain offer giving me an unexpected £6.50 off my basket of goods, I had failed to reach the magic £50 tally which meant that I could be fined some huge amount (£20? £60? Can’t remember) for parking in the absence of jobsworth at the till letting common sense apply.
It took me a good 15 minutes to get the “Balsamicgate” incident resolved, by which time I feared being late for John except that…
…John had, in the meantime, texted me to say that he couldn’t get near a tube and would be late.
Chill…
…I texted him, while probably still shaking with heated rage at the Waitrose incident and still feeling that I was running late.
In the end, I had time to prepare a salad and get most of the food ready ahead of John’s arrival with his tapes…
…and what amazing tapes they turned out to be.
There’s John’s parents encouraging a very little John to speak, on a tape labelled December 1963 which we think must refer to the date of that historic recording, together with John’s dad playing the piano and practising a speech to his Cuprinol colleagues around Christmas 1964.
John was a bit disparaging about his dad’s piano playing abilities, but I actually think that he plays very well for an amateur. I bet John’s dad was better at playing the piano than Vladimir Horowitz, Glenn Gould or Daniel Barenboim would have been at managing Cuprinol’s Services Division or selling bottles of Cuprinol Timber Treatment. Here’s a whole load more of dad on the piano (c 30 minutes of the next clip, plus 15 minutes from a radio light entertainment programme):
Image “borrowed” from Sixties City.net – click the pick for a link to that super site and more about Alan “Fluff” Freeman – I’m sure the Sixties City folk won’t mind…or if they do, they’ll request its removal from this piece..
The most interesting material for the general reader are some extracts from very early broadcasts of Pick Of The Pops. The one below, which has been dated as 14 Janaury 1962, was only the second ever Sunday broadcast of that show and seemingly a rarity – a recording thought lost.
Here is another, short Pick Of the Pops snippet, probably early March 1962, including the introduction to the programme. Just the first three minutes, after which is other pop music, perhaps from that programme but probably from a variety of programmes:
One more Pick Of The Pops recording, from late January or early February 1963, by which time John’s dad was editing out Alan “Fluff” Freeman’s voice:
For some reason, John’s dad also recorded a BBC television programme about freemasonry:
There is some more family-oriented material. Here is a three minute snippet of John and other kids, perhaps a party in the mid 1960s, followed by a poor six minute recording of John’s dad having a French lesson:
There is a lot of light entertainment material, much of which is not so well recorded:
But sandwiched between those last two light entertainment blocks is a truly surprising find, which I only myself uncovered a few days after John’s visit, while I was ripping the content of both tapes into digital form.
I have not yet had a chance to discuss this element with John, so I don’t feel entirely comfortable reveling this to the entire world at the same time as I reveal it to John and his family.
But the fact of the matter is, that John’s dad clearly continued to nurture an interest in modern music for longer than John knew about or even suspected. There is a 36 minute section which must date from the early 1970s which I can only describe as “rock”. Some would even describe some of it as “prog rock”. No-one could deny that some of it is even “glam rock”.
My guess is that John’s dad probably wasn’t a clandestine apron-wearing, breast-baring member of the Freemasons, despite the BBC recording about that subject. But we cannot possibly deny his dad’s clandestine rock phase. It’s unmistakably there on one of the channels of the big tape, buried between 50 minutes of light entertainment lounge music and a further 10 minutes of same. Now you know, John, now you know.
Did the way Marc Bolan flipped his hip always make John’s dad weak?
Joking apart, it was a lovely evening in many ways. John was clearly moved to hear this family audio material, probably for the first time ever and certainly for the first time consciously as an adult.
It reminded me so much of some of my own family trove of such material, only some of which has so far found its way to Ogblog:
Jo, Janie & Max admiring the spread before we descend upon it & devour it
We spent a very enjoyable evening with several of The Jams.
As well as those depicted above, Kim was also there, but she did not want to be photgraphed for some reason. Perhaps Kim had told Micky she was going out for a wild night of clubbing and didn’t want him to know that she was, instead, having a decorous evening at our place. Joking apart, Micky was unfortunately unable to join us for the evening. He’d have loved the food.
Actually the central dish had presented us with some logisitcal issues. Janie set her heart on cooking a fusion prawn dish of a part-Peruvian. part-Japanese nature. It required Aji Amarillo paste as a vital ingredient; yellow aji being central to Peruvian cuisine.
To that end, Janie sent me a message on Thursday afternoon asking me to order a bottle of a particular paste through Amazon for her, which I did.
On Friday afternoon I received a message reading…
…arrggh…
…with some photos, one of which is shown below.
A Prime example of Aji Amarillo, glass and bubble wrap
I ordered another bottle on next day delivery and complained about the first bottle – the latter problem no doubt being a battle to come as the trader in question seems to have no mechnaism for refunds without physically returning broken glass and gunge to them, which I refused to do.
Anyway, a pristine bottle of the requisite condiment arrived about three hours before the guests. Timely.
But it wasn’t all prawns and aji amarillo…
…oh no…
…there were starters of smoked salmon open sandiches together with some cheesy nibbles and raw vegetables.
Neither Jo nor Max had been to Noddyland before, so they got a guided tour early in the evening, during the drinks and nibbles session.
For the main meal, as well as the prawns, there were patatas a lo pobre, cauliflower cheese (for Kim) and a massive tomato & mango salad…
A colourful spread, to say the least
…as well as breads. The latter, together with crackers, went well with the cheeses (thank you for the cheeses, Kim) that followed the main course.
Max Jamilly had just been awarded his PhD in synthetic biology. I made the mistake of addressing him as Mr Jamilly just the once…then, when corrected, as Dr Jamilly. We agreed that I might be the first person to have spoken that mistake and the first person to have addressed him correctly as Dr Jamilly. It’s always good to be first.
Jo and Kim are planning a trip to Jamaica, so we discussed that and I tried to help out with some varied Caribbean music. Kim tried to convince us that Cuba is not in the Caribbean, but on that point (as on a few other subjects) she found herself outvoted for some reason.
In fact we five chatted about all manner of subjects and were shocked when we realised how late it was, at which point Kim, Jo and Max called time on the proceedings.
What a very enjoyable evening it had been and gosh how it flew by.
Our first outing of the decade was a visit to Mike and Marianna Smith’s house; an opportunity to eat together, make some music together and to see their kids, Eva and Bob, now that they are teenagers.
For those Ogblog readers who don’t know…
…and who are looking for somebody to blame for my music-making…
…it was Mike Smith who got me into the idea of playing the four-string guitar.
Mike makes & refurbishes stringed instruments of many varieties – the picture below depicts Mike playing a mandola, with a cello-like thing made from a half-baked mandolin by his side:
The pictures imply that Mariana did all the cooking and that Mike and I did all the playing, but that would be unfair on Mike (who prepared much of the delicious Mexican meal we enjoyed) and indeed on Eva, who is cultivating pie making skills, as illustrated above.
Bob & Eva chilling in gadget corner
We also spent plenty of time chatting too, about the kids school activities, Mike’s latest initiatives and learning some more about Mariana’s Slovak family and background.
One strange coincidence vis-a-vis the music and Mariana. Amongst other things, I was tinkling the renaissance song Belle Qui Tiens Ma Vie, which I am currently working on with Ian Pittaway, my early music teacher.
Ian has added an annex to that essay about the Czechoslovakian folk group, Spirituál kvintet, who wrote and recorded a “Czechoslovakian protest” version of this song in the 1960s:
On discovering the coincidental link between the song and Mariana’s origins, I sent the link to Mike and Mariana. In typically subdued language, Mariana resonded:
I was slightly blown away by Spirituál Kvintet’s Pavana…
12 January 2020: Marcena & the Neighbours
As if we didn’t eat and drink enough with friends and neighbours in December, Marcena very kindly invited us in for drinks and nibbles on the second Sunday of the decade.
Coincidentally, Marcena’s centrepiece was also Mexican, a very tasty tacos dish, although there were also potatoes and chicken cutlets which bore the hallmarks of her southern Asian and southern African backgrounds.
Ged, Daisy, Marcena & IsabelMarcena, Isabel, Joy & Piers
It was a very enjoyable evening. Janie (Daisy) tried to construct an alternative narrative for everyone else’s life…
…in fact at one point I wondered whether the full moon a couple of evenings earlier had got to her…
Any howl you might hear is likely me pretending to be a dog, in a vain attempt to scare a cat away from tormenting our visiting birds
…but in the end the truth would out and we all found out a bit more about each other, over some very tasty food and wine.
Chilled times.
Indeed, to add to the chilledness of the past two-three weeks, I also enjoyed:
a couple of music lessons with Ian Pittaway,
a jamming evening with DJ on 14 January at my place, with some yummy grub from Speck,
several games of real tennis at Lord’s, including club night on 16 January.
