Playwright Hannah Khalil explains her thinking behind the piece here:
The following trailer explains little but does give a flavour of the atmospheric music and sensescape of the piece:
Janie and I loved the play/production and came away from the show buzzing from the quality of ideas, drama, sounds and emotions we experienced at The Swan.
Janie tends to dislike plays that overlap time periods (this play is set in 1926 and 2006) and mess with the linear telling of stories, not least because she often finds that confusing. But this one works so well and certainly worked for her, such that the overlapping of the two time-settings just added a little to the chaos of the situations being depicted, without interfering with the narrative line.
The production runs at The Swan for a few months before transferring to the Kiln in London. We have not yet been to the latter since its refurb, so wonder how well the piece will work there. It certainly worked wonderfully for us in the three-sided Swan setting. It certainly should appeal to Kiln audiences.
All of the acting was top notch, as was the design, sound and movement. Hard to single out performances, but Emma Fielding, Rendah Heywood and Rasoul Saghir were exceptional.
We were grateful to be staying just across the road in The Arden, as the heavens were in open mode that evening. We debriefed over a snack supper there. I believe I spotted Mark Ravenhill with his entourage, amongst the small number of people who decamped to the hotel after the show.
We loved A Museum In Baghdad – what else is there to say?
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!
This is not the first time I have won a quarter-final of something, but it is my first time getting through to a semi-final at real tennis. On this occasion, the H.D. Johns Doubles Tournament.
Sadly there is no video footage of the epic fives quarter-final battle between me and John Eltham, whereas the real tennis quarter-final has been videoed for all posterity…or at least until someone decides to clear down the MCC Real Tennis YouTube archive…
…that clear down must have happened quite soon after the match. I shall scrape the videos/highlights in future if I think they are worth preserving.
It resulted 6-1, 6-4.
Can Dominic and I progress on through the semi-final (next month) to finals day in December? That would be a unique achievement. We’ll try our very best.
Caryl Churchill stuff is always challenging and a bit different…this production was no different…if you see what I mean.
As a collection of plays, the production touches on themes such as violence in our society, myths and the relentless desire to turn just about anything into a marketing opportunity. The final play, Imp, brings several of those themes together, subtly, in an understated, domestic chamber play.
Excellent cast, direction and design throughout. But the standout performances, for me, were the quartet in Imp: Deborah Findlay, Louisa Harland, Toby Jones and Tom Mothersdale.
Don’t think we’d have made it if we’d bussed it
We had terrible trouble getting to the Royal Court on time on this occasion – we really must allow more time in future. The journey seems to be taking longer by car now on a Saturday evening and we keep allowing less rather than more time. We arrived in the nick of time. Others didn’t. Our marriage has just about survived the hair-raising journey and the difference of opinion about the production. Just about.
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.
…I was bound to appear at the Old Bailey sooner or later. But it wasn’t until a few days before Michael’s admission that I was asked to join Michael and the judges for lunch on his first day as Sheriff, which I thought a very nice request and one that would be hard to turn down, despite the day not being overly convenient for the purpose.
The done thing is to stay on after lunch and watch the afternoon sitting of a case unfold for an hour or so; something that would interest me a great deal, but my itinerary for that day would not allow that post lunch hour. The kind administrators at The Old Bailey have arranged for me to return on another day, a few weeks hence, to observe a post-lunch sitting.
Anyway, I got to The Old Bailey in good time, which was just as well because security gave me a fairly thorough going-over. Try as we might, we couldn’t seem to find everything about my person that was making their gadgets go bleep.
I had visions of being taken down the cells and that the “phone-battery-gate” incident, as it would doubtless become known, which led to my (Michael’s business partner’s) arrest on his first day as Sheriff, becoming a legendary smear on Michael’s Aldermanic career.
But no, security eventually gave up on me, accepting that my cuff-links might be causing the relatively mild residuary bleeps. I was allowed in.
I was one of five guests that day and five judges dined. Before lunch, we guests were hosted by Michael and Elisabeth in their Old Bailey apartment for drinks. This was an opportunity for Michael to explain the workings of the Old Bailey to us and explain the protocols for the rest of our visit.
I should perhaps explain that Michael has opted for a puffin as the animal atop his crest. Michael’s puffin is playing the bagpipes…obviously. You can read more about Michaels’ chain and crest by clicking here. The punchline, for those who choose not to click, is the motto: ordo ex χάος. Order out of chaos. Welcome to my world.
Then we guests were led into a reception room where we met most of the judges who were joining us for lunch. The traditional pre-lunch drink is a very flavoursome tomato juice.
There I learnt that coroners know how to have a good time when they gather for a convention, at least in the matter of witty after dinner speakers, such as John Spence.
Then the lunch itself, which was a light but very tasty vegetarian Indian meal.
There I learnt that judges don’t always pre-read the mini cvs that each guest is required to submit ahead of the lunch…but that judges can catch up pretty quickly on the content of five single paragraph cvs – who’d ‘ave thought it? The judges were excellent company. We discussed theatre, music and the Price Of Fish as well as their interesting cases.
There I also learnt that the knife crime epidemic is certainly manifesting itself in The Old Bailey schedule and that even genteel parts of London, such as my walking route twixt Notting Hill Gate and Lord’s, is not immune from such events. A slightly chilling thought ahead of my making that very walk later that very day.
But before braving the edgy, mean streets of Notting Hill Gate and St John’s Wood, I needed to say goodbye to the judges and my fellow guests, all of whom were sticking around in The Old Bailey.
After I descended the staircase to find myself back in the hands of the security team, I was much relieved to be shown the door rather than the next flight of stairs downwards for involuntary retention.
A very interesting lunch and I look forward very much to my return to see part of a case unfold.
We wanted to like this. The story, about a medical scandal and whistle-blowing, set in rural China in 1992, sounded right up our street.
Playwright Frances Ya-Chu Cowhig makes a compelling case for her play here…
…but we found the play itself stilted in style, the characters one-dimensional and the story rather too unsubtly obvious.
Chinese theatre perhaps has some of the above characteristics embedded in its culture, but Janie and I are familiar enough with China – we’ve been going there on and off since 1993 for goodness sake – we just felt that this play missed many opportunities to make its points more thoughtfully.
We felt that a talented cast was doing its best with a lengthy wooden script, so try as we might we couldn’t muster the desire to return for 75-80 minutes more after the interval.
A rare miss from the Hampstead these days, although we have noticed a sense of “playing it safe” creeping in to the upstairs scheduling; hence we’re booking less up there. Our next visit will be downstairs.
Actually, this shrieval office is one of the most ancient offices in all humanity that remains in continuous use. See helpful blurb from the back of the breakfast menu below.
Anyway, point is, from the moment I arrived at the Guildhall, I found myself running into and chatting with folk I have known for ages; Michael’s brother Kelly and sister Katy, Elisabeth’s brother Marcus, Chris Smith, Robert Pay… also several of Michael’s high-profile friends, such as Neal Stephenson and Faisal Islam, who for once were in circumstances where they were perhaps less well known than me!
But today was about Michael Mainelli and his partner in crime (I mean in controlling crime of course) Sheriff Christopher Hayward, CC.
First up was the admission ceremony. It is explained on the following page.
This is not a ceremony that one films or photographs, but its ceremonial look might be gleaned from the following Pathe film from 1949 which claims to be the Mayoral Election but its title also claims to be a shrieval occasion, which I think might be an error:
Medieval ceremonial and an uber-historic look to many of the garbs there, from so long ago that the world was in black and white.
The ceremony in the Great Hall was a solemn affair; the Common Cryer and Serjeant-at-Arms broke the silence by commanding silence, so startlingly that several people made audible gasps before falling silent once more. I especially liked that bit.
After the ceremony, a reception downstairs in the Old Library – an opportunity to catch up with many people before going upstairs for the banquet.
At the reception, downstairs in the Old Library
I was too timid to take any pictures that day, but Rupert Stubbs, another of those good friends met through Michael and Elisabeth from decades back, took loads and sent me quite a few; many thanks Rupert.
I have often joked with friends from the North of England about the word dinner, meaning luncheon in the north and evening meal in the south of England. But here is an instance of a lunch-time (or do I mean dinner-time?) banquet being described as a breakfast. Indeed the breakfast invitation says…
the breakfast does not usually conclude before 3:30 pm
…which some of us might mistake for tea-time.
The term breakfast in this context, of course, like a wedding breakfast, has the ancient connotation of being the meal after a solemn ceremony before which, in days of yore, the main participants would be so engrossed in prayer ahead of the ceremony that the after ceremony meal would be, for them, the breaking of a devotional fast.
It did look grand…it was grand
Amazing grub too:
After the repast, the speeches in that glorious Old Library setting
I especially enjoyed Professor Jo Delahunty’s speech, during which she placed great emphasis on diversity and the rule of law; this year’s shrieval theme. Some around me seemed to find her speech, which seemed to me to be the voice of moderation, a bit edgy for the occasion. Apparently it is “the done thing” to restrict that particular speech to “pomping up the incoming sheriffs” (my choice of words for the gripes I heard).
Actually, my only beef with Jo Delahunty’s address was the selection of terrible mustard puns she made at the end of the talk, somewhat apologetically, as she had been told that it was compulsory to end on a joke.
That type of joke is a crime against hilarity in my book and the sheriffs should have done something to restore good order…except that I have a dreadful feeling that one of the sheriffs might have been the sauce of the puns [pun intended].
In any case, Jo did plug The Price Of Fish at the start of her talk, so I would forgive her pretty much anything.
Three hours after we sat down to breakfast, it was all over. Except that, before heading home, there was time to mill around and chat with some of the people I’d missed out on before the event. It really was lovely to see those people again.
The grandees departed in grand style…
…while the likes of me departed on the Central Line straight back to Noddyland and our little mock-medieval cottage:
One of the grander buildings in Noddyland, dwarfing our cottageThis sheriff is not for mocking
So what does a new sheriff do on the weekend after his admission? Why, of course, he drives sheep across London Bridge. What else? Here’s a little film of the very thing that Michael is doing right now as I type (film from the previous year of course):
While the only thing that is driving out here in Noddyland, as I write, is the driving rain against my window pain.
Whose idea was it to play first class cricket in England beyond the autumn equinox this year? I suppose it is inevitable as the authorities try to fit more and more short form cricket into the central chunk of the summer that the first class season will increasingly bookend those tournaments.
Anyway, this round of matches was entirely played after the equinox (which, for astronomical geeks, took place about 40 minutes before play was supposed to start on 23 September). The Lord’s match for this fag end of the season was Middlesex v Derbyshire.
I had work commitments for much of the day but wanted to show the Lord’s pavilion to a couple of Z/Yen’s keen youngsters; Morgan and Sean (the latter being Michael’s nephew).
I got to Lord’s in time to see a little bit of cricket before the fellas arrived, but by the time they got to Lord’s it was raining. Still, I could show them around the pavilion and could also show them some live sport in the form of real tennis, where a couple of my pals were battling out a tournament match.
After my guests departed, I joined the Seaxe Club evening for a quick drink before going home.
Tuesday 24 September 2019
I had pre-arranged to spend the day with DJ at Lord’s, but the weather forecast looked so shocking we expected no play, so we scaled back our arrangement to be lunch only. I agreed to play tennis as a late substitute at 15:00.
The timing worked very well – I was able to get a good chunk of work done before meeting DJ at Lord’s around 12:15 and taking some early lunch and having a good chat with him.
Miraculously, there was a short hiatus in the rain that enabled some 20-25 minutes of play, which we enjoyed in glorious sunshine, before the clouds and rain returned.
I guessed, correctly, that any further breaks in the rain would be too brief to enable play and in any case I think David felt that he had enjoyed the shortened but enjoyable get together and he would return to some work-oriented tasks.
I had a good hour of tennis before learning that stumps had been drawn early which enabled me to shower, change and get to the Middlesex Sponsors party in perfect time.
Very few sponsors turned up as the weather had been so poor, thus, unusually, I chatted with several players, as they outnumbered the sponsors. I spoke with Ethan Bamber for the first time who didn’t seem to realise how impressive he now looks. I hope my pep talk helped; he did go on to take his maiden first class fivefer in this match so i don’t think it hindered.
There was plenty to drink (I was quite moderate) and enormous quantities of cheese (I tried to help out). I also won half a case of wine…again! Half of that half case went in “informal storage charges” to the tennis pros after the party.
Strangely, the rain had completely relented by evening so I decided to partially walk off my wine and cheese.
Wednesday 25 September 2019
I had my prearranged tennis game scheduled for the morning (a couple of hours in the end) and Richard Goatley wanted to see me at noon, so the morning went that way.
I had a good game of tennis and missed little cricket before lunch.
The weather improved (against the forecast) lunchtime, so I grabbed a sandwich and some reading matter, taking up position on the Members’ Bar balcony – a place that is normally hard to get to but which was almost deserted at the fag end of the season.
There I watched, read and chatted for a couple of hours, before deciding that I really should go home and get my work done. What a great idea to have cricket this late in the season when the weather smiles like this:
Let’s be honest about this. Lancashire were already guaranteed promotion and Middlesex were already guaranteed to have missed out on promotion this year before I set off on this trip.
Lesser folk might have bailed out.
Not me. Nor Dumbo, The Suzuki Jimny.
Off we went, at about 7:30 on the Monday morning, arriving at Old Trafford around 11:30 after but one pit stop.
The main car parks were full, so Dumbo had to spend the day at the back of the largest temporary stand in Europe, still there after the Ashes test but decommissioned for this county match.
I then head off to the 1864 Suite to join the other green-bookers – very few from either county that day as it happens – perhaps because this day would have been Day Five of the Oval test, had it not ended in four days.
Splendid hospitality as always, not least from Keith Hayhurst.
I thought Middlesex bowled pretty well on a moderately responsive pitch – although I didn’t witness the first hour, new ball, bowling. But then Middlesex’s day one batting. Oy!
One Middlesex green-booker was so ashamed at the end of day one, he removed his Middlesex tie as he left…to walk the 20-30 yards to the Old Trafford on-campus hotel.
Me? I’d arranged a salubrious AirB’n’B at Stretford/Old Trafford borders:
“You have reached your destination…”Ah, the other side of the road; a bit better I suppose.
A session with Darren Long – very helpful in learning to aim at the tambour with my right arm from the service end and also how to respond to such a shot off the tambour with my left arm from the hazard end. This paragraph must mean a lot of nothing to those readers who are not real tennis aficionados, I do realise.
Rackets Court at Manchester – never tried itReal tennis court resplendent in the early morning light
After showering and changing, back to my digs to drop off Dumbo and then a 10 minute stroll to Old Trafford, to witness Middlesex score the highest ever 1st class score (anywhere by any team) after being 6-down for less than 40. Some comfort I suppose.
To add to my improving mood, I met Clive Lloyd along with Jack Simmons (the latter Janie and I had met at Southport); it’s always a big deal for me to meet one of my childhood cricketing heroes.
Then a chance to wander around the ground and chat with some of the Middlesex regulars.
After stumps, time to go home and freshen up before heading off to the Chorlton Tap to meet Alex (as planned) plus Sam (as arranged the day before) and Steve (who joined the party that very day). A very convivial gathering.
Wednesday morning, back to the tennis court, for an ill-fated match up with a big hitter named Jonathan. My injured right arm had reacted somewhat adversely to the drills the day before and I felt the overuse within 5-10 minutes. Fortunately he is a very friendly, nice chap so we had a good run-around with me playing left-handed off a high handicap and him getting the chance to practice his winners a lot. I donated my Thursday morning court to Jonathan which I thought was the least I could do to compensate him and the chap (a good friend and match for Jonathan) who had arranged an early slot, purportedly for me.
Good cricket on Wednesday, not least a decent second new ball spell late in the day that set up a good position for Middlesex overnight, subject to our boys batting decently Thursday (they didn’t).
A quite evening in with Benji the Baritone Ukulele again Wednesday (did I omit to mention Benji as Monday evening entertainment too)?
Image from Brighton a few years back
Thursday morning – with no tennis I made an early start back to London – dropping off stuff at the house and then passing through the flat on the way to the City for some work and a London Cricket Trust Trustees meeting.
