This piece is a response to the news that Nick R Thomas has died. It culminates with two personal memories, including a sound file of one of my favourite Nick R Thomas comedy pieces.
I met Nick in 1992, when I first started writing for NewsRevue. He was a seasoned comedy writer by then, having been writing News Huddlines, Week Ending and various other stuff of that kind for a couple of years.
Like many of the regular NewsRevue writers at that time, Nick encouraged me and other keen amateurs when we joined the NewsRevue pack. Many of us got involved at that time or, as I think was the case with Nick R Thomas, cemented that collaborative writers friendship around NewsRevue in the early 1990s. We started to describe ourselves as “the class of ’92”.
Most of us had become less actively involved with NewsRevue by the turn of the century, but kept in touch with each other through occasional dinners known as Ivan Shakespeare Memorial Dinners, in honour of the first of our cohort to pass.
Although Nick R Thomas had moved to Bournemouth, he was for some time one of the more regular attendees at those dinners and was great company at those, presumably taking an infeasibly late train home quite often or occasionally staying up in London to join us.
My second memory is of Nick as lyricist…but not businessman. In the early 1990s, many of us were approached by the west-country singer/comedian Ben Murphy for material. Ben performed and recorded much of our stuff.
Ben always needed badgering for the money, but (until the inevitable, final small bad debt) always paid me in the end, in order to obtain more material.
I always assumed that everyone else from NewsRevue must have been handling Ben the same way.
But I recall a conversation with Nick R Thomas some years later (probably around 2004 when we had the 25th anniversary of NewsRevue), when Ben’s name came up and Nick told me that Ben had never paid him. Nick had always assumed that no-one got paid by Ben. I’m not sure how often Nick sent Ben yet more material without first receiving (and banking and clearing) Ben’s cheque for the previous batch.
I think this story proves that Nick was a natural for the arts, whiereas I was a natural for commerce.
Anyway, what does survive (something money could not retrospectively buy) is Ben’s recording of one of my favourite Nick R Thomas lyrics; The Bald Song.
Nick R Thomas was a fine comedy writer and was one of the good guys. I, together with a great many others, will miss him.
As the years go on, Janie and I have fewer dependents and fewer commitments at this time of year. It is nice to have some time off after the mad rush of work and events at the end of the working year, but we felt this year that we would also like to do something for the community.
Janie did some asking around and basically all roads for Christmas time itself seemed to point towards Crisis. Local projects for homeless and vulnerable people tend to close and/or switch their resources towards the Crisis This Christmas programme, in London for sure, also in several other parts of the UK as well, I believe.
Here is a short Crisis promo video from Christmas 2018:
We thought we might have left it a bit late for volunteering, but as it turned out, by phoning and asking what Crisis particularly needed, we discovered that the night of 25th into 26th December was proving especially hard to staff up with volunteers this year, so we volunteered for that.
One of the largest residential Crisis centres is at a confidential location not at all far from us, so it was an easy decision to opt for that one.
Janie and I meticulously watched the training videos and read the training manual over the weekend ahead of our stint.
I can understand why that particular night shift is a tough one for Crisis to staff; we ate light and stayed off the drink on Christmas Day (some would claim that as a personal bonus) and of course there is no public transport that day, so the fact we are quite close to the location and have wheels helped us get to the location for a 22:00 shift briefing.
Janie and I are not exactly naturals for being general volunteers in a situation that requires volunteers relentlessly to do what they are told. We are used to self-starting, we are used to leading rather than following and (in Janie’s case) independent rather than team working.
Yet the volunteer set up at Crisis seemed to operate like a well oiled machine at our location and on our night. We were told in our pre-shift briefing that the centre was close to capacity with over 240 guests that night. We were told that the 25th to 26th night is sometimes busy by night shift standards, as centres tend to be close to full capacity and the guests have just enjoyed the unusually stimulating day of Christmas itself.
We were also told our shift was down on the preferred number of volunteers (indeed several volunteers from our centre needed to move to another centre which was severely under-staffed), so our shift was staffed by 60 when they would normally aim for 80 to 85. As a result, our breaks would be short and we’d sometimes need to cover a bit more ground than Crisis would ideally choose.
In truth, we enjoyed the fact that we were constantly busy and we had no great desire for long breaks. We did get breaks of sufficient length to freshen up and grab a coffee, which was all we really needed.
We said we wanted to pair as much as possible (all general volunteer sessions are staffed in pairs) and they were able to keep us paired for all but one of our sessions, which worked well.
Janie and I learnt that we can spend a 10 hour shift working together and still talking to each other (just about) by the end of it. More than 27 years together and we’re still learning…
Joking apart, we got a lot out of the experience. A lot of the tasks are relatively low level work but the really important aspect of it is interacting with the guests and helping them to have a positive experience over the holiday days.
The benefits of that experience, hopefully come to fruition in the subsequent days when many – better fed and rested than usual – can take advantage of advisory services which can help get them back on their feet. Some can’t or won’t progress from their life on the streets, but a fair number will.
Talking to the guests was an insightful experience for us too. Some didn’t want to talk about themselves but many did choose to open up to us. Several had fascinating stories; the diversity of backgrounds and experiences they described constantly surprised us.
The post shift review was a very positive experience for us. The shift leaders said they thought we (as a group) had done espcially well, as we had been a relatively small team and that the night, to some extent as a result of our work, had been unusually calm for the Christmas-into-Boxing-Day night.
There had been a few incidents, but they had all been handled well. The most heartwarming story from our shift was the homeless person that one of the outside patrols found sleeping nearby. When he woke up they engaged with him; he had no idea that he was sleeping so close to a Crisis centre. Unusually (as the residential centres normally work on a referral basis only) he was admitted to the centre and hopefully is now benefiting from the services Crisis can offer.
Janie and I are not easily impressed but we did come out of the experience feeling that Crisis is well-organised and doing excellent work for the homeless, not only but especially at this time of year.
This time around, 2019, the programme looked like this:
Unfortunately, my magnum opus for 2019, which marks Sir Thomas Gresham’s 500th birthday, hence The Sir Thomas Gresham 500th Anniversary Song And Dance, was accidentally misnamed as the Sir Richard Gresham themed performance I gave in 2017. But I was able to put people right on that point pretty easily.
But before all of that, Michael Mainelli made a brief appearance to leave soiréeistas in no doubt that the show was about to begin, when he blasted our lug-holes with the sound of his bagpipes.
Michael Mainelli on bagpipes? Well I’ll be blowed!
Mercifully, Part 1 of the soirée was a highly professional and entertaining set by David Jones and Sian Millett, which gave us all plenty of time to recover from the lug-hole blasting and listen to the superb talents of this pair, who are very much becoming Gresham Society soirée favourites.
David & Sian as seen in 2017
David demonstrated his vocal versality with material ranging from lieder to Lehrer. David’s rendering of Hochländisches Wiegenlied by Robert Schumann was a particular delight, not least David’s rendering of the non-Germanic word, “Carlisle” mid song, as was David’s perennial Tom Lehrer favourite The Elements Song, which David can peform better than anyone else I have ever seen attempt it.
Sian’s talents range from grand opera to musicals. Her rendition of Mon Coeur S’ouvre A Ta Voix, with David accompanying on piano rather than the more traditional orchestra backing, brought out the beauty of the melody and the words to my ears, enabling me to enjoy hearing that aria afresh. No recording of Sian and David’s performance, sadly, but those who want now to hear the aria might enjoy the 1961 Callas recording below.
Returning to Sian’s performances, her flirty rendition of I Cain’t Say No was great fun and went down very well with the audience.
Sitting in front of me was Bobbie Scully, with whom I had, in 1984, suffered an unfortunate fit of the giggles, when we accidentally attended a stilted Rodgers and Hammerstein recital, learn more by clicking here or the block below.
For the avoidance of doubt, Sian Millett’s soirée performance was absolutely nothing like the stilted recital of the mid 1980s; the audience laughter during Sian’s I Cain’t Say No was very much WITH Sian rather than AT Sian.
The tone changes for Part 2 of the soirée, which brings amateur talent and enthusiasm from within the Gresham Society to the fore. As if to lull us all into a false sense of security, the first couple of items – Robin Wilson on the recorder, followed by a recitation from Under Milk Wood by Martin Perkins – were suitably talent-filled and dignified.
Then it was my turn.
Actually, despite appearances, a fair bit of scholarship went into my piece. I discovered, quite by chance, while researching “Ding Dong Merrily On High” last year for the Z/Yen seasonal function, that Jehan Tabourot, aka Thoinot Arbeau, was a contemporary of Sir Thomas Gresham, the former being listed as either 1519 or 1520 in all sources I could find. Tabourot (under the pseudonym Arbeau) wrote, in the late 16th century, a book, Orchésographie, comprising dance tunes and dance moves he recalled from his youth.
Branle de L’Official, the tune that subsequently was used for Ding Dong Merrily On High, is one such dance from Arbeau’s Orchésographie.
The really strange coincidence about this, is that when I discovered the temporal connection between “Arbeau” and Sir Thomas Gresham, my Googling led me immediately to Ian Pittaway’s website and this superb article:
Ian is my early music teacher. We had been talking in late 2017 about me possibly using Coventry Carol for the 2019 Gresham Society bash, but the Arbeau song and dance possibilities seemed to good an idea to miss.
…and just over a year later I inflicted same on the Gresham Society – except this time I had tailored the words to suit Thomas Gresham’s 500th birthday.
It would probably be to the benefit of all mankind if the Gresham Society soirée performance of this piece were lost in the mists of time, but unfortunately Basil Bezuidenhout had an accident with his mobile phone and inadvertently video recorded the darned thing.
I must say, the singing from the assembled throng sounds rather good, which is more than can be said for my singing that evening.
For the dance, I ever so slightly simplified the dance moves from this actual facsimile of the 1589 book:
Again, Basil had a mishap with his phone and the dance is recorded for all posterity:
Not much can go wrong in a dance like that, although I notice a couple of us ended up the wrong way round with our partners at the end of the first movement. Many thanks to David Jones for accompanying us on “virginals” and to Sian Millett for her delightful rendering of my silly words while we danced.
Anthony Hodson and David Jones then briefly brought a sense of decorum back to the proceedings with a rendition of the Elgar Romance for Bassoon & Piano, but then Robin Wilson and Tim Connell led the soirée past the point of no return in the matter of decorum. Song sheets that cover some of the residual malarky can be seen by clicking this link.
No such nonsense as the above 2017 rendition of Tinniat Tintinnabulum, dear me no. This year, instead, Robin Wilson lead us in a more ballad-like latin canticle, Reno Erat Rudolphus Nasum Rubrum Habebat
After all that, the assembled Gresham Society stalwarts needed reviving with a great deal of food and wine…
…so it was just as well that there were indeed plentiful supplies of both, enabling the remainder of the evening to become a highly convivial party. There was eating, drinking, chatting, laughing and general merriment, without, by that stage, the fear of imminent music, song or dance from over-enthusiastic soiréeistas.
As ever in the company of Gresham Society folk, a thoroughly warm-hearted and enjoyable time was had by all.
We thought it would be a good idea to have a meal together after the Trustees meeting this time. We have been gathering now since 2017 planning non-turf pitch and net facilities for London’s parks, without ever breaking bread together…until this evening.
The Three Cranes location in the City worked well for me, giving me the opportunity to clear some work at the office (yes, believe it or not I did also do some work in this event-filled week) before the Trustees meeting at the Three Cranes, which was followed by the joyous meal and libations.
This evening was an excellent opportunity to all get to know each other a bit better. Not just we Trustees, but also the England and Wales Cricket Board (ECB) people who have been working tirelessly on our intiiative (and participation cricket more generally), plus Ed Griffiths and his team who have been doing so much wonderful pro bono work on behalf of the LCT over the years.
One of many good thoughts that emerged from the evening is that we still haven’t actually watched any professional cricket together; we’re hoping to put that right during the 2020 season.
A very enjoyable evening.
Ivan Shakespeare Memorial Dinner & Trophy Match, Spaghetti House Holborn, Thursday 12 December 2019
One NewsRevue alum who, sadly, only just made it a few months beyond the 20th anniverary of that show was Ivan Shakespeare. We “Class Of ’92” types who were NewsRevue contemporaries of Ivan meet on an irregular occasional basis, three or four times a year, to keep in touch with each other, eat, trade jokes, share bizarre quizzes and also to remember Ivan. We’ve been doing that since mid 2000, a few months after Ivan died.
In the seasonal version of our gathering, the stakes increase markedly and we play one of the quizzes for The Ivan Shakespeare Memorial Trophy. I am proud to be the donor of the original Memorial Trophy, which was first contested in 2002, about 18 months after the dinners started.
It’s a bit like The Ashes, but for comedy writers rather than for cricketers.
Much like The Ashes, the trophy is a thing of exquisite gimcrackness; it’s absence of taste simply has to be seen to be believed:
Observant readers will see that I won that trophy once; in 2004Some real names from the world of quizzing on there: Hugh Ryecroft for one, Barry Grossman being another.
The problem is, unlike The Ashes, the trophy is inscribed with the winner’s name each year…
…and the original trophy is running out of sensible places for the embazoning of the winner’s name…
…OK, there never were sensible places for the emblazoning, but now we are even running out of silly places to inscribe.
The solution: a new trophy. Acquired through the sort of tenacity that only Graham Robertson could possibly deploy – an eBay purchase which he needed to make twice because the first eBay vendor of tasteless out-of-date royal gimcrack merchandise took Graham’s money and did a runner.
The assembled alums at our new spiritual venue, The Spaghetti House in Holborn, decreed that Mark Keegan, who won the original trophy three times, should become “steward-for-life” of the original trophy.
Mark Keegan, delighted with his original trophy. Graham Robertson looks on, enviously.Barry Grossman shows off the new trophy……then wears one for the team by winning the new trophy this year
As usual I came quite close but no cigar for me in the trophy stakes since 2004. Barry Grossman scooped the glittering prize this year – with sincere commiserations to Barry – he could have been an also-ran, but instead…
It wasn’t all quizzes and trophies; oh no, no, no, no, no, no no. There was plenty of time for eating, drinking, topical humour and some sense-of-irony-sapping politics on what was, after all, an election night.
Moving swiftly on from the will-to-live-depleting topics back to the humour section, John Random produced another set of personalised Christmas crackers this year, based on the BBC Radio 4 programme In Our Time with Melvyn Bragg.
My cracker contained a note posing the intriguing question:
What do you call a deer with no eyes?
Frankly, I had no idea and would gladly have said, “no idea”, but for the answer provided, which instead said, in Braggian tones:
With me to discuss what you call a deer with no eyes, I have Ian Harris, Professor of Mammalian Opthalmology at Gresham College and author of In Darkness Let me Dwell – and Professor Jonny Hurst from the University of Manchester, author of Champagne Super Over: Oasis In Popular Culture.
There is sort-of a tradition in recent years for at least one person’s order to go horribly wrong at the festive dinner. This year it Barry Grossman who suffered the indignity of being brought his main at starter time and a starter-sized portion of his chosen main at main course time. The nice waiter did his best to sort things out.
Ironically, Barry went on to win the quiz, as did Jonny Hurst in 2017 when it was his turn to be the brunt of the ritual service humiliation – in those days at Cafe Rogues in Holborn not far from the scene of this year’s crime. That year, 2017, John Random’s personalised crackers had been based on the Moral Maze. He likes his thinky-Radio-4 programmes, does our John.
Anyway, the night of 12 December 2019 will surely be remembered as a great night for NewsRevue alums…and Tories…ironically.
Z/Yen Seasonal Lunch, The Old Bailey, Friday 13 December 2019
Z/Yen team gathered in the Alderman & Sheriff’s apartment
In the world of crime fiction, criminals have a regular, unfortunate tendancy; returning to the scene of the crime. Whether that is true in the real world or not I have no idea. Nor do I have the faintest idea what that point might have to do with this section of this piece.
Anyway, just three days after the Z/Yen Alumni function at The Old Bailey, the current Z/Yen team regrouped in that astonishing building for the staff seasonal lunch.
On this occasion we found ourselves in the smaller function room, used daily for the judges pre-luncheon drinks, after enjoying our pre-lunch drinks in Michael and Elisabeth’s apartment. Once again Sean, their footman, proved his skills as a photographer – thanks Sean.
The meal was a very good one; smoked trout fillet, followed by a posh duck dish, followed by an apple tart-like desert.
The wines tasted suspiciously like those excellent wines we’d enjoyed earlier in the week and seemed suspiciously well food-matched for the lunch, thanks to the combined skills of Gordon Clunie and (in all modesty) me.
Linda produced one of her fiendish seasonal quizzes – let’s not even talk about how badly Simon Mills and I did as a so-called team on that one.
Secret Santa visited (I got some baritone ukulele strings) and Santa also brought everyone a small box of super posh chocolates.
Then the traditional Z/Yen seasonal sing song. Being exceptionally woke for a boomer, I again recycled a previous effort this year, cunningly adding a topical reference ensuring that no-one would realise that it was recycled…
…unless they looked at the copyright years and/or version numbers and/or read this piece. Here is the 2019 version of The 12 Days Of Z/Yen Training. Excellent, was the performance, especially the “Five Forces” motif, which brought tears to my eyes each time around.
It is a fascinating musical phenomenon that this particular song works in so many different keys: C, C#, B, D, D#, A, E, G#, G, F & F#…all at the same time…at least, it did that afternoon.
After the formalities, plenty of informalities with some additional quizzing, singing, chatting and libations until it was chucking out time at The Old Bailey.
Chucking out time at The Old Bailey on a Friday afternoon works remarkably quickly and effectively:
You are welcome to stay on downstairs if you wish…but no-one will be here with the keys to your cell until Monday morning…
…everyone scarpers sharpish at that juncture.
Some ventured on for more libations at a local hostelry, but after five events in five days, all I could think about was getting home and lying down for a good few hours.
Preparations for the alumni do started some months before the event. Not least, the creation of a gimcrack exhibition worthy of the Victoria & Albert museum:
An early, experimental attempt some days before the event
Given the sizeable quantities of stock remaining for some Z/Yen gimcrack artefacts, we decided that the alums “deserved” goody bags on leaving this event.
Oh goody
Janie and I got to the location in good time, mostly because I deliberately over-estimated the journey duration for Janie’s benefit.
I showed Janie 20 old Bailey, where Michael and I worked prior to Z/Yen, plus the front of The Old Bailey. Somewhat ominously, 20 old Bailey is now home to Barings Bank & Metro Bank, among others.
While Janie and I were sightseeing outside the building, Linda Cook was busy adding a celebratory touch by putting out bunting based on a very early Z/Yen photo of me, Michael, Steve Taylor and Kate Carty (latterly Kate Taylor) – see headline picture and detail picture below.
I’m a little concerned on Linda’s behalf that the bunting (as seen in the headline picture) seems to be overhanging the portrait of Her Maj a little. There might well be a by-law in The Old Bailey that such disrespect to the monarch constitutes high treason and all that such a crime entrails…I mean, entails.
Joking apart, Michael gave those of us who chose to arrive early a fascinating, but at times somewhat grizzly, history talk about and tour around The Old Bailey.
Aldermansplaining The Old Bailey
Photos are not permitted on the tour. We sat in Court One for much of the talk. Elisabeth sat in the dock, while Janie and I sat in the jury seats. We found Elisabeth guilty on the grounds of looking a bit nervous in the dock…but then who wouldn’t with me and Janie beaming at them from the jury seats?
We also saw Court Six and the very grand main lobby. There is one place on the staircase where photos are permitted. Sean (Michael’s shrieval footman) turns out to be a dab hand at photography and kindly took the following:
By the time we tourists returned to the judges dining room to join the rest of the function, another twenty or so guests had arrived, so the party went into full swing…
…such full swing that Linda and Janie stopped taking photos, so you’ll simply have to imagine the drinks, canapes, bowls of yummy food and revelry.
In the run up to the event, I had been Ogblogging like fury, generating a three-part chronicle of Z/Yen’s conception and birth. Michael and I delivered a brief summary of that chronicle as a double-act on the night – click here for the pdf.
If you want to read the full three-parter, try the links within the pdf or the block links below:
I also sang the very first Z/Yen song, with the help of the assembled staff and alums who acted as the choir. Click here for a pdf of the lyric.
After that brief interlude, we all returned to eating, drinking and making merry.
It was a really enjoyable event, not least because it was such a well-organised event at such an interesting venue, but more particularly because it was so lovely to see so many Z/Yen folk past and present, all assembled and enjoying spending time together. Moved, I was.
It was about time for another of our regularly-occasional gatherings of the old school clan, so, sure enough, an e-mail came through from John Eltham several weeks ago organising this evening for us.
More than a dozen of us gathered again, most for drinks at the Walrus & Carpenter plus dinner at The Rajasthan, while a handful came to just one or other of the venues.
Anyway, my need to be in the City this week cunnningly conspired to coincide with this day, so I simply wandered over to The Walrus after work.
The group was already well gathered in the cunningly hidden dowstairs bar. Mostly comprising the usual suspects, the group also included Nick Wahla for the first time. Nick was in my class in the second and third years – here’s some evidence of the former:
According to the above piece, Nick’s nickname (if you can get your head round the idea of someone named “Nick” having a nickname), was “Gob”. It’s almost impossible to imagine why Nick might ever have been known as Gob. My guess is that the epithet “Gob” was handed down to Nick by our form master, Tony King, rather than an authentic compadre’s moniker.
Soon we were joined by Mike Jones, who, coincidentally, had been form master to all three of us in our third year. Simon Ryan enocuraged the whole table to stand up and say, “good evening, Sir” to Mike, which I’m certain caused Mike not one jot of embarrassment.
We did a bit of 3BJ reminiscing at our end of the table…and why not? I particularly remembered Nick Wahla giving “Cyril” Vaughan a hard time in our Latin classes, but Nick claimed not to remember Cyril at all and went all “innocentia effecit imitatio” on the matter of Latin disruption, while admitting to having achieved a record low in his Latin exam. 8%.
Now I’m not saying that Nick was the main or only protagonist in the matter of Cyril baiting. Heaven knows, I personally pulled the “varnishing a stash of chalk and swapping the varnished variety for all the serviceable chalk” stunt…I am now prepared at this late stage to confess to that one…perhaps my best ever practical joke…especially the cunningly hidden addtional piece of varnished chalk waiting to be discovered in the master’s desk drawer…
…but I do distinctly remember Paul Deacon’s impersonation of Cyril, which was excellent vocally, normally comprising phrases such as, “…Wahla, please put that hand grenade down, there’s a good fellow…now Wahla, please don’t pick up that machine gun in place of the hand grenade, be a nice chap…”
If we’re really lucky Paul might chime in with a Cyril voice file to enhance this memory.
Bunch of clowns, we were and I’m sure the masters took great pains at the time to tell us that we wouldn’t be able to make a living in the real world writing silly jokes, speaking in funny voices and/or by having the gift of the gab.
Nick Wahla is now deploying his gift of the gab in the world of market research; he warned us all that no shopping visit nor even the supposed security of our own homes would make us safe from a possible approach by Nick at unsuspecting moments in our lives. It’s a minor miracle, it seems, that none of us have yet encountered Nick and his clip board in the field.
Meanwhile we ate Indian food, most people drank Cobra beer, while three of us (me, David Leach and Lisa Pavlovsky) braved the Indian Shiraz – I’m not sure we’ll be making that mistake with that particular wine again – my bad idea.
There was lots of chat.
At the end of the meal, it transpired that it was Paul Driscoll’s birthday and so David Wellbrook hurriedly cajoled the waiting staff into arranging a token birthday sweet, with which to embarrass Paul.
In that vid you can see an excitable-looking me (not sufficiently sedated with wine – one glass of that Shiraz was more than enough for me) jumping up to take the following picture:
As always, it was great to see the gang and especially nice to see Nick Wahla again after all these years. Astonishingly, he was too polite to ask a range of questions about the evening, so I shall provide the answers here.
On a scale of 1 to 10, where 1 is “totally dissatisfied” and 10 is “totally satisfied”, I would give the following scores:
* quality of food, drink and service 6/10
* quality of company and feeling of bon-homie 11/10
As always, a great evening. Many thanks to John Eltham who always takes on the unenviable task of trying to herd our bunch of Alleyn-cats for these get togethers.
Anyway, this time the brief was “The Gift”, with additional instructions to stick to just one page. I took that to mean “one side of a sheet of A4”, but some took it to mean two sides. No matter. I can write something War & Peace epic length next time to get my own back.
I sensed that Rohan Candappa had mischief in mind when he asked us to bring two copies of our text with us.
Once we started Threadmashing, after several of us had dined on goat pie (or whatevs) and made a start on the libations, I also sensed that there might be a mini riot when Rohan announced that we would each be reading someone else’s work rather than our own. But we soon settled down and knuckled down to the additional challenge.
40 years on, Chris Grant still gets head boy privileges.
Chris Grant, a first time Threadmash writer (although not first time attendee) was excused the additional challenge and thus read his own piece as an opener for the evening. It was a charming short piece.
We had each been given a few minutes to read the piece we had inherited.
Quite early in the evening, David Wellbrook read out my piece, which follows below.
David Wellbrook soldiering through my piece
Coincidentally, I was given David’s piece to read; a somewhat Dahlesque horror story, as Rohan had encouraged David to try fiction this time. I did enjoy reading David’s piece I must say. Rohan has strongly encouraged me to try writing fiction for the next one.
He doesn’t look dictatorial, does he? It’s a deceptively gentle form of throat shaking, Rohan’s dictatorial style – sttrong guidance followed by, “but it’s up to you, of course…only if you want to…”
Anyway, here’s my piece which was so capably read by David:
The word “gift” has two distinct meanings as a noun. A gift means something given freely, a present. But it also means a natural ability or talent, such as, “a gift for writing”. When Rohan suggested “The Gift” as his subject for Threadmash Four, I was drawn to the second of these definitions.
These past few years, I have been spending increasing amounts of my time on activities for which I am not naturally gifted, but they are nevertheless activities that I love doing and pursuing. Specifically, I mean sports, such as cricket, plus music. My mother came from a supremely musical family. One branch of her family yielded several notable professional musicians, especially violinists. Even my barber grandfather could, by all accounts, instantly play on the piano any tune you might choose to hum at him.
When I started secondary school, my mother gave me every encouragement to take up and play the violin. But quite quickly, the sound of me practicing, which resembled cats being tortured in a pitch-distorting dungeon, led mum to encourage me to give up violin and try something else. Anything else.
Actually I was growing quite fond of sport. Cricket, tennis and fives mostly. I wasn’t very good at sports either, but I wasn’t going to let an absence of giftedness stop me from trying. Nor was I going to let my own shortcomings stop me from becoming a fascinated follower of my favourite sports. And indeed also a devotee of many varied genres of music.
In truth, although I didn’t inherit the family gift for performing music, I certainly did inherit “a love of music”. And it has occurred to me characteristics such as “a love of music” truly are gifts to be cherished and celebrated.
Where I got my gift for loving sports such as cricket is more of a mystery. Neither of my parents had any interest in sport whatsoever. Not professional sport and certainly not my participation in sport; I don’t think either of my parents ever saw me play sport, other than me mucking about at some nonsense game at home.
Yet, my father’s very last birthday treat included a sporting revelation. The only way to treat my dad towards the end of his life…actually for most of his life…was to take him out for a good meal. As it happened, in 2006, dad’s 87th birthday, fell on a day that Middlesex were playing at Lord’s. I booked at table with a view in the Warner Restaurant, which followed an informal pavilion tour before lunch. They loved it. As dad said, “there aren’t many places I can go now and see people of my own age…apart from old age homes”. The England & Wales Cricket Board marketing folk may use that quote for nothing.
At one point that day, dad mentioned that he and his kid brother Michael had been given a set of cricket equipment by their parents as a gift, when the family moved to Clapham Common in the early 1930s and the boys started a new school there. Neither dad nor Michael had shown any interest in cricket before the gift, apparently, nor did that gift inspire either of them to take the slightest interest in cricket. My grandparents; Eastern European migrants with accents from central casting, were perhaps striving to turn their sons into quintessential English schoolboys through the peculiar sport that is cricket.
I wonder whether my grandparents’ intention with that cricket equipment gift somehow skipped a generation but still subconsciously fueled my love of cricket? A gift indeed.
Chris Grant remarked that he found it really weird hearing words that were so clearly mine coming out of David Wellbrook’s mouth. We have all known each other for over 45 years, so I suppose that is understandable.
All of the pieces were excellent, as usual. I also thought everyone made a good job of reading out someone else’s work, especially as most of us had not started the evening expecting to read something other than one’s own piece.
I caught myself categorising this Ogblog page as both “writing” and “friends and family events” this time. This reflects the fact that Threadmash has become, in my mind and I think those of others, a community of friends who, as it happens, like to gather to read and write together. It’s more than just “a writing thing” now. For all of it, I am grateful to Rohan for innovating and stewarding the ideas.
This time John Eltham came along to be part of the evening, as did Ben Clayson, although the latter arrived after the readings. It became, as always, a convivial gatheirng of interesting and interested people.
I took a few more pictures – all 10 pictures can be found on Flickr by clicking the picture icon below:
Once again, Flossie Pom-Pom, our pink flamingo, started her witchy preparations early……but she hadn’t counted on me nicking her hat this year. She was not well pleased.
Actually the traffic was so bad that early evening that, despite my early getaway from the flat, I arrived in Noddyland after the door-knocking had started, although it was not yet anything like in full sway.
Mostly small groups of little ones with their folks at first
Our local Japanese community turns out in force for Halloween. Indeed I saw a huge posse of Japanese kids with their parents heading up Princes Gardens as I drove past the road on arrival. I guessed that they’d get to our place within 45 minutes to an hour.
More or less on schedule, the larger groups arriveThere’s always one embarassing dad who goes over the top……at least I deploy my “dad dancing” in the privacy of our own home…& blogDaisy conks out at the end of a busy evening……or has she been spellbound by one of Wizard Ged’s fiendish potions???
The horror is to be continued, hopefully, next year.
If you want to see all the pictures, the Flickr link below delivers those:
Less well known is that Jacquie Briegal’s place is also the centre of international netball when Clare Briegal has federation matters to transact in London.
This year, unusually, Mark and Clare joined in person rather than via video link. It was great to see them both as it had been a while. Regulars Hilary, Michael, me and Janie were there, as were latter-day regulars Sonia, Josh and Melody.
Josh established a new tradition for the herring fest; hailing in the festival with a lengthy blow of the rams horn. I only captured the last 10 seconds or so of the blow, but it was a longer blow than that:
Michael arrived fashionably late, as usual, being the only one amongst us who actually observes Yom Kippur. But this year Janie was last of all, as she was on a reiki course that day.
Soon after Janie arrived, we discussed cricket and discovered that Clare knows David Kendix well through his involvement with netball rankings as well as cricket ones.
Clare was suitably outspoken in the matter of my Championship tie
But let us get down to matters herring.
Jacquie had promised not to overdo it this year, but her underdone spread seems quite similar to her overdone spread.
Only four herrings competed for the coveted prize, though.
They were supplemented by chopped herring, egg and onion (Mark’s favourite food for the purposes of denigration rather than eating), several smoked salmon plates, fried fish balls, several salads and plentiful bread, including Mark’s home made challah, which was superb.
[Insert your own joke/pun on the theme of Mark being the bread winner in the Briegal household here]
Melody was concerned that I wasn’t writing down the results of my herring tastings, which, she said, gave her the lack of confidence she usually reserves for waiters who write nothing down and then mess up your restaurant order.
Quite right, Melody, for the results of the herring fest have totally escaped my mind this time and are therefore lost to all posterity…
…only kidding. I wrote down the results when Melody wasn’t looking.
Silver Herring 2019: sweet cure;
Gold Herring 2019: for the second year running, shmaltz.
Exceptional Schmaltz Herring in 2018.
As always, the evening was a lovely opportunity to catch up with the cousinhood and have a fishy, festive gathering. Jacquie, you’re a star!
With thanks to Colin Short for this and many of the photos.
The cricket season once again seemed to be over in the batting of an eyelid. Some wags might argue that Middlesex couldn’t even have batted an eyelid in the county championship towards the end of this season. But I’m not that sort of wag.
For both the members’ forum on the Monday and the end of season lunch on the Friday, I was able to secure suitably timed real tennis sessions, hopefully gaining lots of useful practice with my doubles partner, Dominic, ahead of our quarter-final appearance next week.
The Monday evening forum was a surprisingly civilised affair, with members expressing their disappointment with the championship season but little of the bile that some thought might emerge.
Chatting with several of the regulars at the post forum drinks, the mood was mostly quite optimistic for next season, hoping that the progress made this year with the white ball might filter through to the red ball cricket next season. It was also good to hear about several really promising youngsters coming through the seconds – I didn’t get to see any second team cricket this year.
Friday 4 October 2019
I was shocking at the tennis this morning – hopefully getting my bad match out of the way ahead of the proper match next week – whereas Dominic was terrific – hopefully going from strength to strength and then next week yet further strength.
Janie was fashionably late for the Middlesex event although mostly for the unfashionable reason that she had a power cut at Noddyland while doing the washing, which set her back time-wise. Then her cab didn’t show up.
Undaunted, Janie arrived ahead of the meal while Gus was doing the introductions.
Our table included Westy, Brigit, Geoff Norris, Charles Robbins, Jane Saxton and David Kendix – only the latter escaping Colin and his new iPhone camera towards the end of the event:
Jane & WestyColin showing off his new phone/camera to Ged (or should I say Ian?) Geoff Norris coaching Stuart Law, while I look on and Daisy looks awayGeoff & CharlesWesty & BrigitGed & Daisy
But before we got to the point that there was all that detritus on our table, we dined on this:
With awards and stuff being done between coursesDawid Malan was Players’ Player Of the Year AND Player Of The YearDavid Fulton presents the Youth Player Of The Year award to Josh de Caires, via his helicopter dad, Michael.The Women’s Squad pay tribute to retiring stalwart Beth Morgan (in bright red).
After the awards, we were entertained by a highly skilled and entertaining magician. Some wags would suggest that he must have used magic to get our cricketers consistently to catch his deck of cards as it was thrown around for one of the tricks, but I’m not that sort of wag. The magician did somehow manage to extract a £20 note from Angus for his last trick – that could only possibly have been done by magic – the rest of that outstanding trick paled into insignificance after that initial piece of sorcery.
It seems to me that this event, only recently revamped as an awards lunch in this style, is going from strength to strength each year. The tone of the event is a superb mix of professionalism and clubiness; very much in keeping with Middlesex’s ethos.
