…a day of quiet contemplation, gardens and art seemed to be in order.
So we went to Kew Gardens. It’s ages since we’ve been and Janie was especially keen to see the new Dale Chihuly exhibits.
Just the sight of one of them made Janie’s hair stand on end…
…or was Janie still frazzled from the cricket world cup?
If we both look a bit “straight off the tennis court” in the pictures, that’s because we did go to Kew straight after playing some tennis. We had a quick bite in the pavilion on arrival before wandering on to the Temperate House.
Temperate House from below…Temperate House from the viewing gallery above
After the Temperate House, which has several stunning Chihuly pieces, we then went to the Marianne North Gallery to see her fine works.
Then on to the Shirley Sherwood Gallery, where many of the regular Dale Chihuly’s can be found and where we bought Janie books on both Chihuly and Marianne North.
Shirley you must be joking, Mr Chihuly?
Then around the gardens some more to take in the new, scattered Chihuly works and the beautiful gardens.
Not Chihuly, this work. Chihuly do you think you are, Ged?Eye candy galore.
Then home for some stretching and meditation with Lexi.
Did all this calm us down 24 hours after that tense cricket match? A bit…not completely. But it was a super day out.
This year, men’s quarter-finals day on No. 1 Court. Oh boy was Janie excited again when those came through.
Picnic duties for me once again, with the centrepiece smoked salmon kindly supplied by Helga from her local West Cork smokehouse.
We had such success last year getting to Wimbledon early, getting to see Cori (now Coco) Gauff play in a Girls’ Quarter-Final on Court 18 before our main matches, I suggested that we get to Wimbledon before the start of play this year.
On the way, we were joined on the District Line by this keen tennis fan who couldn’t resist eating his fill on the train before even getting to Wimbledon:
He got on at Earl’s Court and was still on the train when we got to Southfields
In fact, we ended up at the All England Club so early they wouldn’t even let us into the main compound for a few minutes – not until 10:30 – a lesson for next time, if there is a next time for us.
Still, that early arrival at least enabled us to get front row seats (actually second row, as the front row view is a little restricted) on Court 12 to see a Ladies’ Doubles Quarter-Final: Bethanie Mattek-Sands and Danielle Collins v Gabriela Dabrowski and Yifan Xu. The latter pair went on to be runners up this year but it was really the former pair we were especially keen to see.
So ready to watch tennisNot so ready to watch tennisLadies’ Doubles
We had plenty of time between that (rather short) match and the start of the No. 1 Court action, which enabled us to amble across the compound and take in the atmosphere before taking up our No. 1 Court seats.
Then to our seats on No 1. Court. Almost right at the back…
Must be one of the Backseat BoysThis must have been Janie’s fifth attempt at a double-selfie
Roberto Bautista Agut (our end) playing Guido Pella (hazard end)
That first match was a very good one. Bautista Agut always looked likely to win but was not so far ahead of Pella for the result to be sure until the very end – especially after Pella took a set.
During the innings break (between sets one and two) I took a long stroll to stretch my legs and stuff, running into Nick Compton (formerly Middlesex and England). We had a chat before wending our ways back to our respective courts.
It seems that we were missing some stuff on other courts and also missed out on Bautista Agut’s press conference after winning, in which he admitted that winning had messed up his stag do plans:
Sam Querrey (our end) against Rafael Nadal (other end)
The first set of the Querrey/Nadal match was excellent, but when Nadal eventually prevailed in that set, Querrey seemed to run out of juice for the remaining sets.
We didn’t stick around for the evening entertainment of old crock’s doubles – we felt we’d had a superb day and a sufficiency in having seen three good, week two matches.
Let’s see how Janie gets on in the ballot next time – she has been extremely lucky these past few years, only missing out completely in 2017. I hope she isn’t too disappointed if the balloting system doesn’t pick us again for a while. But I also hope that her lucky streak continues!
Exile. Banishment. There are no polite words for it. We cannot play at Lord’s for several weeks because the ground is hosting four days of world cup matches during that time. This expatriation applies to real tennis players and cricketers alike.
And we love Lord’s. We’d like to sing the praises of the place, but…
…how can we sing the Lord’s song in a strange land?
On the bright side, of course, we have other places to go and in truth they are not such strange lands. For realists, there is The Queen’s Club and Middlesex University. For Middlesex cricketers, there is Radlett and Merchant Taylor’s School (MTS), amongst other places.
…Janie (aka Daisy) and I had hoped to arrange a similar day at MTS. But Fran and Simon had other commitments on the Sunday, while Janie couldn’t free up enough time on the Tuesday.
Luckily, I was able to get enough work done on the Monday to free up the Tuesday for cricket.
So I arranged a game of real tennis at Middlesex University in the morning, with a view to getting from The Burroughs to MTS soon after 11:00. Here is a very short clip depicting real tennis at Middlesex University – actually taken by Janie on the Radlett day:
I liaised with Fran and Simon, working out that I was due to arrive a few minutes ahead of them, so I wandered around and grabbed some excellent seats alongside the Middlesex diehards, such as Barmy Kev, Andy Biggs, Keith Roberts, along with several others.
By the time I arrived, Middlesex had already lost a couple more wickets and the position looked very precarious indeed. By the time Fran and Simon arrived, the position was looking even more precarious.
This picture, taken by Janie, from Radlett a few weeks earlier
In that early part of the day, we all three thought we might well be about to witness a Middlesex loss and that we might not be around for too long. Nevertheless, Fran and I had both learnt our lesson ar Radlett and resolved to stroll around at regular intervals.
We set off for our first stroll around 12:30 and took a good 30 minutes to complete the circuit.
One of the wonderful things about outground cricket at Middlesex is that the players and club officials really do wander around and mingle with the spectators, giving the matches a festival feel.
We soon encountered Dawid Malan and James Keatley, gaining some interesting insight into Dawid’s perception of how many runs Middlesex might need to have a chance to defend a total (a lead of 160 to 180 he said).
A little further on, Steve Finn similarly suggested that a lead of 170 would be enough, although Sam Robson alongside him was more nuanced with his answer…
…as long as Gloucestershire don’t manage a big partnership or two.
But at that stage, thoughts of such a lead were still hope not expectation, with Middlesex 7-down, and the lead crawling up to, then just past, 100. By the end of our stroll and lunch the lead had crept up to around 140.
Fran and Simon were surprised at how cosy and friendly the atmosphere is, perhaps attributing it to my involvement with Middlesex. While that is the case to some extent, I have found the outground atmosphere relentlessly friendly since long before I was involved with the club.
Putting ancient tales of Greek tragedy to one side, the mood at lunch amongst the Middlesex supporters was a real mixture of sanguine and resigned. As the afternoon went on, the clouds and the mood lifted to increasing brightness. With increased hope, of course, came some nerves.
Then when Middlesex were all out and had some 11 overs to bowl before tea, discussion of how many wickets we might “need” before tea to establish a foothold and to have a chance of completing the match that day. Two or three was the wisdom of the crowd. It looked as though we’d have to make do with two until the last ball before tea, which made three.
Tim Murtagh bowled beautifully that day and in so doing overtook Wayne Daniel’s record tally of wickets for Middlesex, which was a pretty impressive statistic to hear announced on the tannoy.
Richard Goatley and Angus Fraser held an impromptu members’ forum in the beer tent, at which they were apparently being bombarded with difficult questions about Middlesex’s tough start to the season. It was meant to be a tea interval thing but went on some time after that, during which time Middlesex continued to take wickets.
As one wag put it, there were some grumpy members in the beer tent complaining about Middlesex’s poor performance, while the team was turning around and looking like winning a tough match.
Richard Goatley is one of the world’s worst watchers of a cricket match when he has emotional skin in the game, so there was no consoling him with talk of 40/6…40/7 probably meaning that Middlesex was heading for a win.
In fact, Gloucestershire, in an echo of Middlesex’s innings, put on a bit of a rearguard at 7-down, so much so that the Middlesex regulars encouraged me and Fran to go for another long walk, as our previous walk had been so successful from a Middlesex point of view.
Don’t come back until Middlesex have taken another wicket…or two…
…was the message from the welcoming regulars.
A mini exile. But in any case, we were ready for another stroll and sure enough, we’d only got about 100 yards into our circuit when another wicket and then another fell.
When we got to the pavilion, at 9-down, I saw Angus sitting with his serious game face on.
Surely you can break a smile now, Gus?…
…I asked…
…not yet…
…snarled Gus, who then broke into that rare, full Gus smile.
Fran and I got back to our seats with the Gloucestershire final wicket pair holding on for grim death, but in truth the only remaining issue was whether they could survive the extra half hour or not.
Not. A splendid Middlesex win by the end of the day, having turned around a seemingly losing position an hour into Day Three.
I normally write more about the conversations than the cricket, but the cricket and ground vibe was so special this day. In any case Fran asked to redact several of the conversations. The non-redacted topics of conversation included:
Roy Hudd
Rod Hull
Barry Wood
Benny Howell
Benny Hill
Merchant Taylors’ School
cashew nuts
New Zealand v India at Old Trafford
rain in Manchester
the possible death of the adverb.
It really had been a very exciting and enjoyable day amongst friends. What with the real tennis at Middlesex University and the Middlesex cricket win at MTS, I had conducted myself very Middlesexly indeed, I feel.
A rare miss for us at the Bush Studio. Nothing wrong with this play or the production, but it simply didn’t float our boats. It sounded modern, witty, interesting from the description, but in truth it is simply the story of an extra-marital affair.
I got a bit more out of it than Janie did, in that I felt able to enter the couple’s world. But in truth the story was very simple and the characters were so much the architects of their own misfortune it was hard to sympathise with them.
Below is the trailer for this play/production:
We ran into a gentleman I know as a nodding acquaintance from the health club, BWW, who sat virtually next to us. I wonder what he and his companion made of it. I might one day find out.
Janie was underwhelmed by the acting. I thought both were fine, I think it was the roles that were underwhelming and that the man, Jon Foster, in particular did not seem especially well cast. We’ve seen him several times before when, in my view, better cast and therefore better able to shine.
What Janie and I both agreed was that we didn’t sense the sexual chemistry the play was supposed to conjure. But we did have Nuki afterwards, by which I mean, a takeaway meal from Nuki’s Thai Kitchen. Very tasty.
I wanted to see a world cup match from the wonderful vantage point of the Lord’s pavilion. I figured that this particular match would be a decent opportunity so to do and I was right; I scored a pavilion ticket on application.
Of course, the only thing about international matches and the pavilion is that only members are allowed. Strictly no guests. That’s why most of us choose not to go to the pavilion on a major match day even when we can – because we normally choose to go with partners, friends etc.
By coincidence, I had a conversation about this matter on the Tuesday, with John Thirlwell, with whom I play real tennis, normally at Lord’s but on this occasion, while we are in exile for the world cup, at Queen’s.
John Thirlwell to the left of me, this picture from a battle at Queen’s in 2018
John had similarly, uncharacteristically, bagged a pavilion place for the Pakistan v Bangladesh game. We hatched a plan to watch the match together.
This proved to be a great plan from my point of view, as John:
was getting to the ground really early for a breakfast, so could bag some especially good middle balcony seats for us both;
John kindly sent me a message describing the location of the seats and the precise look of the bagsying materials. I got to said seats about 25 minutes before the start of play – John got back from his breakfast about 5 minutes after I arrived.
I got this stunning picture of the anthems and the ground from our splendid seats
I very much enjoyed watching cricket with John, who is knowledgeable about the game and/but wears his cricket knowledge lightly. We also chatted a bit with the gentleman next to us, who is a member who now lives in New Zealand but is, coincidentally, like us, a real tennis tragic. Not much chance of feeding his real tennis addiction in Wellington. He was a little peeved that he couldn’t feed that addiction at Lord’s on this visit – he usually does when he comes over for cricket.
Despite the cushions, I have learnt my lesson and made sure to take several walks rather than sit through the whole match. In any case, those walks were a real treat because there was such a festival atmosphere around the ground. Noisy, but in a very good-spirited way, with the Pakistan and Bangladesh fans competing to make celebratory noise.
In particular, on my walk during the innings break, the heave of people taking advantage of the many Asian food stands in the food village and picnicing on the lawns was a wonderful mixture of sights, sounds and smells. I could only try to capture some of the sights:
During the Bangladesh innings, John came for one of the ground circuits with me, which I think he also enjoyed. On our way out of the pavilion, we spied a sample of a new-style pavilion bench made of a padded material that ought to reduce or even eliminate the worst excesses of rump ire.
Change…don’t want it…
…said John. I chimed in…
what’ll we do for aggravation if we have comfortable seats? The grumpy MCC member will lose his entire raison d’être on a comfy chair.
They’ll need to do a heck of a lot of persuading to get that idea through the members at a general meeting.
I’m pleased to report that the ICC seemed to have ironed out some of the worst excesses for this match, although I still found many of the marketing messages inappropriate and unhelpful within the ground, however much it might make sense for those advertisers to have their colours shown on the TV screens around the world. But at least we could see the score on the scoreboards most of the time during this match.
I was also really impressed by the MCC’s decision to allow 250 schoolkids to witness this match from the pavilion, as it had been under-subscribed. This was a wonderful opportunity for those schools and seemed to motivate MCC staff and members – at least certainly those I spoke to about it.
It wasn’t the best or most exciting match I have ever seen, but it was a great advert for the game and for the ability of a place like Lord’s to stage a glorious day out for all manner of people who don’t normally get a chance to enjoy the Lord’s experience. I thought it was a great success and was so glad to have been there on this day.
Thanks once again, John, for your company, the choice of seats and the pain-diminishing cushions.
We left the arrangements for this get together pretty open-ended in the planning. Debbi & Graeme were flying in from Australia that very day, with only a few days in London and really only the one slot, this very day, which worked for us all.
As things turned out, they landed and got to Central London so very early in the morning, that not even the “mates arrangement” at their hotel could get them in to a room THAT early.
So we made a last minute arrangement for them to visit me in Clanricarde Gardens at breakfast-time, while they waited for a room.
We’re a bit dishevelled, straight off the journey from Melbourne, not least 17 hours non-stop flight from Perth…
…said Debbi. So I made a special effort not to hevel myself, just to put my visitors at ease, you understand. Mum would have been horrified by my admitting family visitors without doing something to my hair, but that’s a barber’s daughter for you.
My grandma, Beatrice, with grandpa, Lew. Beatrice and Debbi’s grandpa were siblings
Debbi, Graeme and I had a very pleasant chat about lots of stuff, including Part One of the life story discussion and a fair deal about sport. Graeme is a psychologist with particular interests in organisational and sports psychology. We also talked a fair bit about University life, as they both work in that sector.
We agreed that we’d meet for dinner at 8:00. It was my job to choose the venue. Graeme suggested that I use a swathe of psychometric tests on the staff of possible venues in order to select the authoritatively most suitable place in the vicinity. I think that might have been what he said. Perhaps he said, “don’t…”
Anyway, we parted company, I did some Googling and then I went off to Queen’s to play The Mighty Snitch at real tennis. I told Snitch that I’d had a session with sports psychologist earlier that morning, which was true in a way. We had a good game. Snitch thought I’d played well and wondered what secrets the sports psychologist had passed on to me. I explained that, if I told Snitch those secrets, I wouldn’t have one over him any more. Snitch understood.
On the way back from Queen’s, I used my own style of selection process by looking at, going in and smelling the Scarsdale Tavern. I also talked to the staff. They seemed friendly and relaxed about my booking. I liked the look, vibe and smell of the place. I held off on deploying psychometric tests and booked a table there and then.
When I returned to The Scarsdale several hours later, on foot, arriving just before the appointed hour, I was warmly greeted by a member of staff and told that they had put aside a quiet table by the fireplace for us, which sounded very considerate.
I waited for Debbi and Graeme.
Fortunately, I decided to check my messages and things while I waited – not least to see if they had been delayed or mislaid. But what I found was a Facebook posting by Debbi, claiming that THEY were waiting for ME in The Scarsdale Tavern, adorned with the following photo:
Recognising the main restaurant part, I popped through to the other side of the Tavern to find them. We switched to the quieter side, which was indeed more suitable for a chat and a meal.
We had a very enjoyable meal and managed Part Two of the life story discussion. Janie phoned in for a while.
…we agreed a wager of £1, with the loser donating that sum to their favourite charity, which might mean (if neither Australia nor England win the title) that both of us are £1 down and charity as much as £2 up at the end of it all. Nail-biting stuff. An ironic postscript is that fate has conspired to pair England with Australia for a semi-final at Edgbaston this time around, next week on 11 July.
But I digress.
I decided to walk Debbi and Graeme back to their hotel – not because they need chaperoning, but because it was such a beautiful evening and that gave us an additional 10-15 minutes to chat.
I was most impressed to see that they were staying at Ellen Terry‘s place, so I took the above photo. Debbi and Graeme were underwhelmed by this fact, as the name of that great Victorian actress meant nothing to them. And there was me thinking that Debbi & Graeme are Victorians?
The hotel was just around the corner from the flat where American cousins Joni and Hal lived during their short sojourn to London in the late 1980’s. I walked around the corner to survey Courtfield Gardens, the next garden square along, before calling a cab home.
A very enjoyable evening.
Postscript
When I told Janie that Graeme was a sports psychologist who had imparted the secret of success upon me, she positively quaked and naturally succumbed to my superior mental strength when we played tennis (modern variety) on the Saturday.
Janie wondered what secrets Graeme had passed on to me. I explained that, if I told her those secrets, I wouldn’t have one over her any more. Janie understood. By which I mean, I guess she understood that there are no such secrets for me. Janie levelled the match on Sunday.
Janie and I had hot tickets for a Royal Court preview on the evening of 29 June, but when Jo insisted that the cyber party she and Sheyda were to be throwing would only be getting started by the time we got to Tottenham Hale “no earlier than 23:00”, the idea of us going on to the party after theatre was very much on.
Only problem was, the party was a cyber party and Kim was very insistent that we do our bit by dressing up.
…but we got it done in the end, with just a few thumbs up and comments from the Royal Court bar flies who saw us leave.
Janie was convinced that we’d get stopped by the police driving through North London dressed like cyber-creeps, but my guess is that, in some of the neighbourhoods we drove through, we looked totally in place.
Taking excessive chances though, we drove past Pentonville Prison:
That’s me, trying to look normalMy cyber-moll took a selfie while on vehicle look-out duty
Once we got to the right postcode (thank you, Mr Waze) it still took us a while to find the venue…until we saw some vaguely-cyber-looking people waving at us from the distance.
We donned our cyber-lights and practised our cyber-moves a little before entering the fray.
Ah, there they all are. Cyber-Daisy with Cyber-Kim, Cyber-Millie and Cyber-Becky
It was a steamy hot evening, so most people spent plenty of time hydrating (and dehydrating) with liquids, but we were up for plenty of dancing.
Young people in search of instruction should study these movesThere’s Cyber-MickyCyber-Jo wondering where her brother, Cyber-Max might be?Ah!Cyber-Sheyda briefly addressed the throng
By about 1:00, we felt a little spent, dance-moves-wise and decided to retire from all forms of cyber-dancing while we were still on top.
I thought that I had been a big hit with the girls and that my cyber-moll in particular would be in awe of me, but unfortunately she found true love elsewhere that evening:
Size isn’t everything, you know.
Still, we both had a super time and I’m sure Cyber-Daisy must be happy with her new chap. As one of the gang explained to me, as I disconsolately left the venue
That new chap doesn’t answer back as much as you do, Cyber-Ged!
If you want to browse all of the photos we took that night, the link below takes you to a Flickr album with the whole lot of them:
The play takes place over two decades, starting in 1997 soon after the Blair government took power. It is a chamber play about a nuclear family, the parents being firmly of the left.
We saw a preview of this play/production and were both really taken with it.
It is hard to explain why this play is so good. It’s just beautifully well written. All of the characters are flawed and yet likeable. We wanted to know what was going to happen to all of them.
The acting is top notch. Lesley Sharp has been a favourite of mine for several decades. David Morrisey is also always good value. Indeed all of the cast were fine actors and well suited to their roles.
No gimmicks – it’s simply a super production of a very interesting new play.
Meanwhile, the drama of our evening was only just beginning when the curtain call was taken. We’d agreed to go on to Jo and Sheyda’s cyber party in Tottenham – another story for another blog piece – except that we decided to change into our gear at the Royal Court.
Having checked with the staff, we ascertained that none of the loos are designated by gender any more; they are designated as “urinals and cubicals” or “cubicals only”, so we would be welcome to change in the outer area of the cubicles one.
But when Janie and I went through the “cubicals only” door together, several women in that area started hissy-fitting. How very unwoke and cis-gendered that incident was.
Still, we retired to the relatively pokey but safer space of the disabled toilet to transform ourselves into cyber-folk:
Russ London — (Russ London) [CC BY-SA 2.5 (https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/2.5)], from Wikimedia Commons
This was the only one of the Wigmore Hall Lates concerts I booked this year and I don’t think Janie is now overly enthusiastic about me booking even one a year unless it is a “must see”.
It’s the Friday evening tiredness that gets Janie – especially after eating.
Perhaps I should have been wary of the lower case/UPPER CASE signal in the title of the concert.
Sean Shibe tries to show us the contrast and yet similarities between some beautiful, gentle 17th Century music from the Straloch and Rowallan Manuscripts and some modern electric guitar music of the most frenzied kind.
Here he is playing some of his gentle stuff – I believe the sample below is Dowland:
Although I much preferred Shibe’s acoustic guitar to his electric guitar work, I did really like one electric guitar piece: the Steve Reich Electric Counterpoint. Here is Steve Reich and Pat Metheney’s version of it:
I cannot find any YouTubes of Sean Shibe’s more ear-drum-splitting electric guitar music, with which he concluded the concert. You have been spared, dear reader. It ensured that Janie and I were wide awake for the journey home. Perhaps not in the very best of moods; but awake.
Perhaps we’re getting too old for this sort of caper.
