A quick one or two for Dutch courage before the wedding ceremony
Let’s not talk about the five hour marathon packing session and dusky drive to Gloucestershire the day before. Nor is there much to report on the very enjoyable dinner with Tony, Liz, Chris (Escamillo Escapillo) and Charlotte (Lavender) on the Friday evening at the Egypt Mill.
No, let’s get straight to the wedding day itself, before the ceremony. I chatted with the groom, Scott, (Manolete) on the right and his best man brother Paul (Belmonte) with baby Jack, centre.
I wasn’t drinking two glasses; I was holding Daisy’s glass while she took the pictures. That’s my story and I’m sticking to it.
Daisy’s big sister, Hilary (Ermintrude) came round looking for Chris (Carlos Aruzza), who was chatting with his brothers and sisters, more or less in front of our eyes.
“Where’s Chris??!!”, asked Hilary
“I think he’s on his fifth or sixth glass of wine, underneath that table over there”, I said, pointing the other way.
“Oh God, he isn’t, is he?”, said Hilary, in max-stress mode. Perhaps I’d chosen the wrong moment and the wrong person for that particular joke.
After that, we were soon ushered in for the wedding itself.
Hilary and Chris, reunited, also with Paul and baby Jack
The registrar told us that we could take pictures as we pleased, but that the pictures should not be posted on social media until after the celebrations. This statement caused some confusion among some of the more senior guests, unfamiliar with the term “social media”.
Scott decided to explain in simple terms what social media is.
Social media…right…it’s, like…Twitter and Facebook and Instagram and stuff…
It was probably just as well that Scott explained it, otherwise several senior folk who didn’t even know what the term social media means, mostly probably would have, inadvertently, posted lots of stuff to social media during the embargo period.
Meanwhile I, who had not given the idea of live Ogblogging the wedding a moment’s thought until that announcement, suddenly felt an almost insatiable urge to post stuff to social media that very second. But I resisted.
Here comes the bride, with dad
Scott was clearly in contemplative, nay perhaps even deep meditative mood during the official ceremony itself.
Stay awake, Scott, this is your wedding ceremony
The wedding ceremony itself went pretty much entirely according to plan. There was a short round of applause when we got through the “does anyone know of any reason why this wedding should not take place” bit.
The registrar asked Scott to confirm Amy’s name at one point, claiming that Scott might not have said it absolutely right the first time. Daisy, I and everyone we spoke to afterwards were convinced that Scott got it right first time; we agreed that the matter should have gone to the TV umpire rather than Scott having to replay the point.
Little Penny, Paul and Mish’s first child, was the flower girl for this wedding, sitting up front with the maids of honour. Penny asked lots of questions during the ceremony which was rather sweet.
Reception after the ceremony; no further questions from the flower girl…
Then, a reception and of course the official photo shoot. Has to be done, but not my favourite bit at weddings. In any case, that day in Nailsworth, it was quite chilly standing around waiting for your slot.
Penny treated the photo shoot with due respect…Also waiting to be snapped
After the shoot, the very tasty wedding breakfast, served after some short but sweet speeches, including a very succinct and eloquent best man jobbie from Belmonte Paul:
There was just about enough time between the meal and the dancing for Daisy and I to dash back to our room and change into our dancing outfits.
Like many good sports matches, the dance was a game of two halves. First up was a live band, Men@Ease, fronted by Jerry (Ami’s dad) and his partner Christine. They performed mostly 60’s and 70’s covers and were very good indeed.
Scott and Ami get the dance going
I thought it was a really nice touch from Ami’s dad, doing an hour or more’s set on her wedding day. From Ami’s point of view, of course, it eliminated the possibility of “dad dancing misery”.
Realising that someone needed to do embarrassing dad-type dancing (otherwise the whole event wouldn’t have been a proper wedding), I picked up that baton, so Daisy and I danced like crazy for most of that set.
Mercifully (or sadly) we have no photos from that part of the evening…yet. The official pictures, we are assured, will be ready soon and will no doubt have caught me and Daisy in the act.
After the live music, a DJ picked up the mantle with some more up to date sounds. Daisy and I continued to dance for quite some while, teaching the youngsters a thing or two about stamina and modern dance moves…some moves so modern that the youngsters had probably never seen anything quite like it before.
Anyway, the whole event was super.
It’s a shame we don’t (yet) have any pictures of Daisy (Janie) to show you from the wedding. But we do have, from 2013, a rare bit of selfie-style-video from the very first time that Ged and Daisy met Ami, when we went down to Bristol almost exactly four years before the wedding. Someone had shown Janie how to use the video feature of her smart phone and the rest is history.
Little did we know it when we booked this slot, but we inadvertently ended up with one of the hottest tickets in town.
Janie and I are Friends of the Royal Court – regulars – and tend to book up the season early. For this show, we thought we had booked one of the last of several previews.
As it turned out, because The Kid Stays In The Picture is technically complex and difficult, the producers ended up cancelling the first few previews and indeed delaying the press night/official opening by more than a week.
So our Saturday night preview ended up being the very first public performance of this utterly stunning and absorbing show.
Janie and I are great fans of Complicite and Simon McBurney – our most recent encounter, The Encounter, linked here – ever since our very first date nearly 25 years ago, also a Complicite piece, which I shall Ogblog come the anniversary in a few month’s time.
But enough about us.
Robert Evans is a fascinating person with a fascinating story. Actor, studio executive, film producer…with more sub-plots to his personal saga than The Lord of the Rings.
At the start of the evening, Simon McBurney and Vicky Featherstone each made a short speech, explaining how our evening had ended up being the very first public performance, explaining their mutual admiration/thanks and begging our forbearance if anything did go awry technically.
Nothing went awry. The performance was masterful. Janie and I, though both suitably cynical with age and vast experience of stage productions, were simply blown away by this piece.
At the end, Simon McBurney came on stage with his little boy, who had played the voice of Josh Evans (and indeed whose voice had been part of the story of The Encounter). The little boy seemed terribly nervous of being on stage and tried to scarper a couple of times while McBurney was, once again, thanking us and the Royal Court for putting up with all the disruption.
We saw Simon McBurney with his family in the bar before the show and also at the back of the stalls during the interval. Despite sharing Robert Evans’s multiple skills and visionary nature, I sense and hope that Simon McBurney is a more rounded individual who does not and will not let his grand projects prevent him from having some semblance of balance to his family life.
The title, The Kid Stays In The Picture, is attributed to Darryl F. Zanuck, who cast the very young Robert Evans as Pedro Romero in The Sun Also Rises movie, against the wishes of several of the stars and indeed Ernest Hemingway. Evans expected to be sacked, but when Zanuck exclaimed, “the kid stays in the picture” was spared. At the same time, Evans realised that he no longer wanted to be the kid, but wanted to be the guy with the power to make that exclamation.
That story was beautifully told, as were many other stories about the movies (Rosemary’s Baby, Love Story, The Godfather, Chinatown…) and stars (Mia Farrow, Ali MacGraw, Marlon Brando, Al Pacino, Jack Nicholson…).
All of the performances were superb and the depiction of well-known people done with great visual and vocal care. It almost feels wrong to single anyone out, but for laughs and bravura, Thomas Arnold’s depiction of Charles Bluhdorn (the Gulf & Western industrialist who bought Paramount and engaged Evans to run it) and Henry Kissinger (with whom Evans had intriguing links) was exceptional.
Janie and I sincerely hope that The Kid Stays In The Picture gets rave reviews. It deserves to become a huge success for McBurney, Complicite, The Royal Court and all involved. Surely the West End and/or Broadway beckon for this piece. Perhaps even…whisper it…Hollywood?
We spotted Michael Heseltine in the audience a few rows behind us, when we returned from the interval. A bit of a coincidence, as Janie was seeing Angela the next day; Angela was Hesser’s right hand person, back in the day.
But before getting home we were treated to a delightful encore of Innsbruck, ich muss dich lassen, a choral work attributed to (and probably the best known work of) Isaac. It was one of the greatest hits of the Renaissance. In truth, Isaac almost certainly didn’t write the words and possibly didn’t even write the music. But Isaac did live in Innsbruck at one time and did leave the place, perhaps in sorrow as suggested by the song, c1485. That was around the same time as, in Blighty, Dick The Shit was feeding worms underneath a forthcoming Leicestershire car park and the Tudor era was just kicking off.
We’re talking nearly 100 years ahead of Greensleeves publication, so Innsbruck, ich muss dich lassen might well have been at Number One in the Renaissance charts for some 5000 weeks.
I’ve been working on that lovely song periodically since. It’ll go down an absolute storm on my baroq-ulele. I’m nowhere near as adept as The Tallis Scholars, needless to say, but they are nowhere near as Baroque-and-roll as me. You never know, my version might just be the summer hit sensation of 2017.
We had booked the evening out for Hockney members’ evening ages ago; we decided to book out the whole day once our holiday plans had been fixed.
Thus the idea of going to see Revolution before the Hockney was hatched.
Still, events conspired against us earlier in the day and it ended up a bit of a rush to get in to see Revolution before closing time.
We got to the RA about 17:15. The young lady on the door warned us that they start closing about 17:55 (five minutes before actual closing time). I explained that the revolution wouldn’t take us all that long as we are seasoned revolutionaries. That seemed to convince her – at least she let us through without further ado.
In truth, we didn’t need all that long to see that exhibition. There were a few really good works of art, but the rest was interesting from an historical point of view rather than jaw-dropping art that you want to look at for ages.
I expected to like the Chagalls and the Kandinsky. More surprising was that I liked some of the Kazimir Malevich and the Kuzma Petrov-Vodkin (in the latter case, not the one depicted on the resource link above, but I did like several others).
Janie commented that, in many ways, reading the leaflet was more interesting than much of the art itself.
We then took a welcome break at the RA bar, where a Lenin-lookalike barman took an age to serve our wine as he was busy making up cocktails for a little group of barflies who were knocking them back.
Then on to Tate Britain for the Hockney. We had seen many of the works before, not least the more recent iPad work, the colourful East Riding of Yorkshire works and (some years ago) the sixties and seventies portrait stuff around pools in California and the like.
The art critics tend to favour the earlier stuff over the later stuff, whereas Janie and I are both fans of the later work. Seeing this retrospective on his whole oeuvre, our feelings were reconfirmed.
As it was a members evening, the exhibition was actually rather busy at the start. We chose to go round it backwards, starting with the later work and ending with the earlier. This seemed to work well enough for us, as we are familiar with much of his work. Perhaps not such a good idea for an artist with whom you are less familiar.
Then home (i.e. the flat) via the Ranoush shawarma bar in Kensington High Street.
I’m almost boring myself by going on about how good the Hampstead Theatre Downstairs is, so goodness knows what effect such comments are having on long-suffering Ogblog readers. But by gosh the quality of productions and performances is high.
The one paragraph description of Scarlett – a play about a woman who escapes to try and start afresh in the Welsh countryside – might not have caught our eye as being different enough, but we set that “synopsis bar” a little lower for the Hampstead Downstairs, as we so consistently enjoy our evenings there.
Yet again, we are so glad we chose to book this one.
Interestingly (and unusually) it is pretty much an all woman production – i.e. the writer, director, designer and all five performers are women.
In both Colette Kane plays we have seen so far, the writing is delightful and thought provoking. Perhaps she has yet entirely to find her own voice. She is clearly a playwright steeped in modern theatre who knows how to cherry-pick style and tone without quite making her pieces unmistakably her own.
Still, Scarlett is a really superb 75-80 minutes of drama. All five performers are excellent, especially Kate Ashfield as the eponymous lead. All five surprise us a little at some point in the drama, but without interrupting a natural-seeming flow to the simple but compelling story.
Scarlett is very well directed too, by Mel Hillyard. We have seen her work before, quite recently; The Brink at the Orange Tree last April. We were very impressed then too. A young director to watch, methinks.
We started the evening by bumping into John and Linda – a couple we know simply because we quite regularly see them at theatres and who coincidentally (it transpires) live just across the road from the Notting Hill Gate flat. They were seeing Sex With Strangers upstairs – a production that didn’t appeal to us for booking. Janie and I rounded off our evening with some Iranian food from Mohsen.
At the time of writing, Scarlett still has three weeks to run. Janie and I would both recommend it thoroughly to people who enjoy top notch productions of well-crafted, short plays in small theatres.
NewsRevue’s 2004 Guinness World Record for being the World’s Longest Running Live Comedy Show – Gerry Goddin far left, Barry Grossman back left, a wide-eyed me front right
NewsRevue goes back all the way to 1979. When the show turned 25, in 2004, it was awarded the Guinness World Record for being the World’s Longest Running Live Comedy Show. I was there. I’d been there since 1992. This year my involvement with the show turns 25.
Earlier this week, coincidentally, I played real tennis with Chris Stanton (another NewsRevue alum, in his case a performer) at Lord’s. Chris was reminiscing with me about the show, not least because he was rummaging through his old files and found many complete runs of scripts from “our era”, which he was planning to shred. I think John Random might rescue them for posterity.
Chris then gave me a pretty-much word perfect rendering of Brian Jordan’s wonderful Arthur Scargill song, to the tune of My Guy. As John Random later reminisced:
He may not be to everyone’s liking/But as a union leader, he’s striking.
Hearing about Brian Jordan reminded me of my first big hit; The Ultimate Love Song, which Brian made his own for a while and took to Edinburgh (my material’s debut there) in his show “Whoops Vicar Is That Your Dick?” I am so proud to have had my Edinburgh debut in a show with that name.
After seeing Chris, I looked at my file and realised that The Ultimate Love Song turns 25 this week; I copyrighted it 29 February 1992…so perhaps it turns six-and-a-quarter. Anyway, it seemed right to mention it at the Ivan Shakespeare and I was badgered into giving a quick rendering, as much as I could remember.
Mark Keagan was at the Ivan Shakespeare dinner; he’s one of the more regular attendees. He mentioned that his father-in-law and former home secretary, David Waddington, sadly passed away last week. Which reminded me that I did once write a song with a verse about Waddington; again nearly 25 years ago. We all (Mark included) agreed that the song might come in handy for him over the coming weeks…well you never know…so I have upped that one too. Happy Tories it is called – also about Maggie Thatcher and Chris Patten – click here.
Mark was awarded the 2016 trophy, but should he have been? Rumour has it that John might have been handed the wrong envelope…
Gerry Goddin and John both produced quizzes. Gerry’s was infernal as usual; I did well at first but tailed off at the end, letting Barry Grossman take the honours at the line. John’s was suitably silly and superficial for my mood – a small collection of “shock and awe” pun headlines to unfathom. Perhaps naturally, I won that quiz.
As always it was good to see the gang – a slightly depleted gathering this time but at least when that happens you get a chance to have a proper chat with everyone.
Don’t be fooled by this benign-looking in-flight scene…
We flew EVA Air (a Taiwanese airline) to and from Thailand on this occasion, on an excellent business class deal. Janie and I were both hugely impressed by the quality and professionalism throughout the journey.
But on the flight home from Bangkok to Heathrow, the strangest thing happened; I was transformed into Kung Fu Pandaman.
It seemed a benign enough flight and interaction at first. Lillian, the air stewardess in the picture above, handed me, amongst other things, a pair of pyjamas for the flight. I have not worn pyjamas since escaping the clutches of my parents’ mores around 1980, so I attempted to return the pyjamas to Lillian.
On the outbound journey, my polite, “no thank you” to the air hostess was simply accepted. But when I tried similarly on the return journey with Lillian, she abruptly said, “you must have them,” and insisted that I retain the pyjamas.
Then, when clearing up after dinner, she again challenged my attempted rejection of the pyjamas. “Our pyjamas are wonderful. You will love them. In fact, you must try wearing them.” Janie captured this exchange in the picture below; it could be argued that Lillian’s entreaty came with menaces.
“I insist that you will like these pyjamas”
I asked Janie what she thought the protocol or etiquette was for donning aircraft pyjamas. Janie’s view was that these business class seats were so individual and private that I could change into the pyjamas discreetly in situ, but that if I felt self-conscious about doing that I could change in the loo.
Self-conscious – moi? Change in the loo – moi? No way and not on your nelly, respectively.
A strange transformation
As I donned the unfamiliar garb, I felt a strange transformation coming over me. Was it my unfamiliarity with nightwear? Was it the glass of port I’d had with my cheese? Or was it a more profound transformation than that…
…super-human skills…
…suddenly I felt that I had supreme martial arts skills. Only my deep-seated good manners and concern for other travellers prevented me from releasing a bestial roar…
…no doubt about it…
I rose to my feet and Janie gasped, in awe and wonderment, “oh my! It’s Kung Fu Pandaman”.
“Wham bam, thank you ma’m”, I replied; an ejaculation quite out of character for me, but not, it seems, for someone who is transforming into Kung Fu Pandaman.
Some serious moves – chiropractors and masseuses should look away now
I imagined that my superhero transformation was to some purpose; perhaps the plane was about to be hijacked or the pilots were all about to fall sick; something of that kind, requiring a superhero to restore calm and safety for all passengers.
But strangely, no superhero requirement was forthcoming. Which was a bit of an anticlimax.
Tai Chi Pyjamaman
“On second thoughts”, said Janie, “perhaps you look more like Tai Chi Pyjamaman”.
“Z/Yenshin!” I said, as I started to transform back to the reality that awaits when we land.
Tragically, when we got off the plane, I “forgot” to take my pyjamas with me, just as Janie “forgot” to take her pair too. Stewardess Lillian is no doubt still stewing over the pyjama rejection.
Our villa’s pool and spa sala, with a view of the Laguna beyond
Institutionalization…in a good way
Our original idea for this relaxation break holiday was perhaps to go to an Ayurvedic place, where we could have a healthy, restful and reasonably private retreat. But on exploring the options, we couldn’t find such a place with tennis courts, nor could we find an Ayurvedic place that would let us eat and drink like normal people.
So this choice, the Banyan Tree Spa Sanctuary in Phuket, seemed like an excellent compromise. Several tennis courts, several restaurants, our own pool villa and massage treatments thrown in as part of the deal.
We did end up working up our own sort-of routine, to such an extent that we have both become a bit institutionalized after nine whole days of it; but that is institutionalized in a good way.
Here is a description of a regular day, which was pretty much all of them.
We’d rise quite early (it gets light around 6:15/6:30) and take some coffee and fruit before playing tennis 8:00 to 9:00. Three excellent courts; our court was one of two AstroTurf (other brands of false grass are available) courts, very bouncy, very true. I’ll go into the tennis a bit more later.
Then back to our villa to shower and get ready for a late breakfast; we’d get down around 9:45/10:00; breakfast stops serving at 10:30, so that’s plenty of time to chow down. I’ll describe the breakfast in more detail later too.
Again back to the villa where we would probably find our cleaner, Jeap, still doing sterling work on our place, but she’d mostly be done. Then we’d have our villa to ourselves for several hours, during which time we’d read, sunbathe, swim, jacuzz, and/or possibly hide from the sun a while, possibly steam. Sometimes I gave the uke a go in this earlier part of the day. I had a good swim each day; 40 “lengths” which really meant 20 lengths and 20 diagonals, or put another way 10 circuits – probably the equivalent of about 25 lengths of my bodyworkswest club pool.
At 16:00 every day we had massage, together, in our massage sala at the end of the garden, which was an amazing luxury. Initially we tried different masseuses each day, but on day six we both had exceptionally good massages and the young women, Guitar and Nan, seemed to work especially well together as a team. (Almost all the Thai staff take an English name or nickname, some quite strange words as names to our ears. One was known as August; one was known as Peach.) Anyway, we arranged for Guitar (Janie) and Nan (me) to look after us for the rest of our stay, which seemed to please those two (who indeed are good friends) as much as it pleased us.
The treatment was 90 minutes, including a pre massage footbath ritual and a post massage relaxation with fruit and ginger tea.
We’d then enjoy the last of the light, perhaps on the terrace or from the villa, before enjoying the early part of the evening before dinner. Benjy the baritone ukulele often got his slot in that period.
Then shower again and dress for dinner. I describe the meals later in the piece too.
When we got back to our room after dinner, the evening service will have cleaned and tidied up pretty efficiently. Not only that, but each night they left a little present (mostly gimcrack to be honest) and a little treat, such as honey pots for steam cleansing or some kaffir lime and salts scrubs for the outside bath or some special relaxing tea for a bedtime drink. Janie particularly liked the night that they changed all the sheets and pillow cases into satin ones and put candles all around the bedroom. They also bedecked Tom-Tom and Ditsy-Dot, much to their delight.
Tom-Tom and Ditsy-Dot Being Spoiled, Our Lily Pond Beyond
We had specially requested one of a handful of recommended villas, one of which we got, 212. The next villa, 211, also on our list, had a tree/sewer problem when we first arrived and the couple in there had been relocated while the problem was fixed. The staff kept apologising to us for the noise, but in truth it was mostly so far away and short-lived we barely noticed.
Then by chance we were asked to share a buggy back to our villa on the fourth evening (strangely the only time we were asked to share throughout our stay) and we meet the nice German couple from 211 who have just moved back into their villa. The Frau asks if we have seen the iguana (by which she surely meant monitor lizard) which had been appearing in their garden since they returned. Naturally, Daisy wants to keep up with the Schmits and spends hours looking out for the iguana/monitor lizard the next day…and thereafter…all to no avail.
The GM of the hotel, Sriram Kailasam, came to see us at breakfast on our penultimate full day, so naturally Daisy complained about the absence of a monitor lizard in our garden. After all, 211 had seen one and our villas are supposed to have equivalent benefits.
The GM said that he had received complaints about the monitor lizards before, but always previously about their presence, not their absence. Indeed, he told us that one client could not be convinced that he hadn’t seen a crocodile.
Well, perhaps the GM fixed it for us, because on the very last day, ever so briefly, Monty The Monitor Lizard popped in to say hello and goodbye. He didn’t stay long enough for a photo, but that’s monitor lizards for you.
Wild life in our villa
Despite the rarity of the lizard visits, there was an abundance of wild life in our garden, especially frogs in our divine lily pond and a great many birds – some in search of the frogs, we feared.
I particularly liked one frog who seemed to wait up for us on the patio step and then do a performing leap when we got back from dinner. Janie saw him many times; I only cottoned on to him towards the end of our stay. But the amphibians, like the reptiles, seemed to have ticked a box for no publicity in the photo department.
Still, I’ll do a photo and video gallery of the bird life in our garden and the surrounding trees separately, hopefully in the coming days. For now, here is a link to the raw photo album on Flickr, one example photo…
Major Myna In Search Of Bugs
…plus a little list, in increasing rarity of visit order:
myna bird
zebra dove
greater coucal
blue kingfisher
swallow
striated heron
carrion crow
grey heron
Eating – Breakfast
The breakfast is an extraordinary spread. We saw some folk chowing down on vast quantities. We ate well in the morning without going mad.
There was always a juice of the day and we usually tried it. It would tend to be something like “pineapple and mint” or “pineapple, orange and strawberry”, but occasionally would be something too weird like “beetroot and carrot”. There were dozens of juices to choose from each day.
Janie would always make up a plate of tropical fruit for us to share. We’d pretty much always have the signature Bircher Muesli or a yogurt each.
I liked the noodle soup as a main, steering away from the traditional bacon, sausage etc. stuff of which there was loads. I soon tired of the fish, shrimp, chicken and beef balls, but picked up on Janie’s point when she said that she preferred noodle soups with slices of meat. Realising that there was always some sort of chicken or pork dish available (intended for rice, hash browns or fried noodles) I took to picking up a few slices (and some of its gravy) and thus enhancing a noodle soup which I had made up with just noodles and vegetables. Delight.
Janie soon migrated to the meat dishes with some rice or fried noodle and away from the soup altogether.
Eating – Dinners Chronology
First night – Thai food in the Saffron restaurant. Tried signature dishes, i.e. satays and fish cakes to start and a prawn pad thai noodle dish. Highlight though was a curried pork (crispy belly). As much rice as you like, choosing from four kinds in this restaurant. Also some nice rice cracker/thai papadom-type things, some sorbet between courses and little petits-fours at the end of the meal. A fruity Riesling to go with it. Excellent food – we’ll eat here several times I’m sure.
Second night – we fancied just simple food tonight so opted for a bar meal of crudites and wagyu burgers. Washed down with some Marquis de Riscal red (perhaps not so well suited to this climate). Slightly comedy (or tragedy) service for this simple meal in a very quiet bar, but a very nice duo playing and singing pleasant songs made up for it.
Third night – again avoiding the main restaurant buffet, we reverted to the Saffron for another splendid Thai meal. We ordered less this time having learnt our lesson the other night. A shrimp starter to share, followed by a peppered pork ribs dish and a duck curry, plus a plate of morning glory in oyster and garlic sauce. Some more of that fruity Riesling. All very delicious.
Fourth night – with the buffet shifted to the Thai restaurant tonight, we thought we’d shift to the main Waterfront restaurant. We opted for a simple meal of fried calamari to share, followed by grilled white snapper and mash (Daisy), seafood pasta (me) and spinach to share. Switched to a very flavoursome Sauvignon Blanc for the European food. Good meal.
Fifth night – we felt obliged to try one buffet, opting for the seafood one which is more in the style of a barbecue. Tried a few different things, including sushi, a seafood soup and then the barbecued shrimp, lobster and snapper. I also tried a little seafood and spinach lasagna – a bit bland compared with the pasta of the previous evening; indeed all of the food might be described as such in truth. Daisy tried a variety of deserts which didn’t please her all that much, apart from the ice cream and some home made chocolates. I made a small desert of just those highlights. I opted for the Sauvignon Blanc while Daisy opted for the Riesling that night. Great to try the variety of food the once, but the experience confirmed our view that we prefer to choose our own dishes and focus on a smaller quantity of finer food.
Sixth night – Saffron restaurant again. Mix up with our table resolved without pain and suffering. We tried signature dishes of sea bass with a light sweet chilli sauce and a barbecued chicken with a sort-of curry sauce (unexpectedly dry), preceded by a shrimp ball thing with a sweet chilli dip. Riesling for both of us. The least inspired of our Saffron meals so far, the dishes sounding more interesting than they proved to be.
Seventh night – Tre restaurant – right on the other side of the estate beyond the golf course where the double pool villas lie. We took a buggy to and from this one (normally we walk to the restaurant and merely buggy home). Really posh nosh, this restaurant. Lovely aspect too. The chef is mad on mushrooms and truffle oil, almost to a fault. We shared a starter of cheesy stuffed pasta with frothy cheesy sauce, followed by a halibut with langoustine dish for me and a very fancy chicken dish for Daisy. Pomme puree and a very fancy-pants salad to go with. Even more than the other restaurants we got lots of amuse-bouche and little extras action, including petits-fours even though we had no desert, no coffee and indeed barely room even for the delicate little sweets.
Eighth night – back to Saffron restaurant to try a slow cooked longhorn beef dish which closely resembled my “famous” Guangdongese braised beef dish, except this was with tenderloin rather than brisket. We also had the pork belly curry again which was again excellent. We started with a rather yummy prawn and green papaya salad to share. That Riesling is a perfect food match with this type of food so we stuck to it.
Ninth night – back to Tre. Janie loved the pasta starter so much last time we had it again. For mains, Janie had a John Dory dish with brioche and basque-style trimmings which looked spectacular. I had a sea bass dish with a herb thingie, which looked less inspiring but was equal to or even exceeded Janie’s John Dory. Riesling for Janie, Sauvignon Blanc for me.
Tenth night – back to Saffron for a reprise of some of our favourites; the satay starter, the duck curry, morning glory and the slow cooked pork ribs. The chef came out to see us for a chat; he didn’t seem the type to chat much, not in English anyway, but I think the GM tipped him off that we had been full of praise for his cooking. That Riesling for the last time, just a couple of glasses.
Weather forecasts in/for Phuket
We subsisted in unwarranted fear of poor weather for most of our stay, mostly because we looked at weather forecasts and thought we understood what they meant. What we hadn’t factored in was the very different use of symbols for Phuket compared with home. This difference seems to apply to any weather website, even “our own” such as the Met Office or the BBC. For example, this rain symbol…
…which was showing for several of our days, for Phuket seems to mean, “perhaps there’ll be a passing shower at some point in the day…or perhaps not, probably not, to be honest”, whereas for the UK that symbol would mean, “relentless gloom, at best dank, at worst bucketing down, guaranteed for the whole day.”
Again, several days showed this symbol…
…which for Phuket seems to mean, “perhaps there’ll be a passing thunderstorm at some stage today, but probably it will just be nice and sunny all day, just like it was yesterday and indeed almost every day”, whereas for the UK that symbol would mean, “SEVERE WEATHER WARNING: THUNDER AND LIGHTNING DANGER. DO NOT LEAVE HOME UNLESS IT IS ABSOLUTELY ESSENTIAL OR YOU WORK FOR EMERGENCY SERVICES.”
Tennis
Daisy picked up a rather untimely back injury just before we set off, so we were in some doubt whether she would be able to play. But we are pretty sure it is a piriformis strain, so stretching with due care on the tennis court, swimming and massage are a good prescription for this particular injury. Strangely, I started to feel some very similar strain pain during this trip, which Janie ascribed, at the time, to, “you’ve always got to have what I’ve got” syndrome, rather than piriformis syndrome. In retrospect, hers went away with far less difficulty than mine!
We had some good battles on the bouncy, skiddy AstroTurf surface provided. Most days we saw little if any other tennis activity. But as misfortune would have it, Day Two was a bit of a fiasco, as we got to the courts really late and suddenly the courts were packed. On the stroke of nine (indeed Janie swears they marched on early) a European couple turned up for our court, so that was that.
Day four, when I am one point away from a rare victory, the same European pair turn up about 8:45. Determined to send the message that we want our court for the full hour, I proceeded to “lose” several points, indeed a couple of games and take enough breaks between games to get close to the hour. Why this pair didn’t use another court is a mystery (I thought they might be German people, but later thought I heard them talking Italian). Anyway, they hung around obediently waiting for our court. Cometh the hour, I thought Janie might steal a draw as a result of my diversion, but I managed to finish the match off successfully at one minute to nine.
That was a rare win for me on Day Four. Forgetting the abandoned Day Two match, we played eight, of which Daisy won three, I won three and we drew twice. I found it very hard work on that surface, whereas it really suited Janie’s precision, skiddy style of play. I think she’d roll up a strip of that AstroTurf and take it with her everywhere if it were possible to do that. Mercifully it is not.
Outbound Journey, 11 February 2017
We whizzed through Heathrow Terminal 2 so had plenty of time to relax in the Air Canada lounge – we were flying Eva (a Taiwanese Airline) on an excellent Club deal.
It was a pleasant enough flight – we had pre-chosen our grub from an enhanced menu for those who pre-choose, so had a lobster tail and fish in a creamy sauce with mash – very nice. Also a rather interesting fish tortellini as our snack meal. Lie-downable seats meant that we both got a reasonable amount of sleep on the flight too.
The transfer at Bangkok and the short flight to Phuket was a bit of a rude awakening after the relative peace and luxury of the Eva flight. The business of going though immigration on arrival reminded me of our previous visit to Thailand in 2001; not by similarity but by contrast. On this occasion, the airport was heaving with people and we queued for what seemed like an eternity. Our previous “immigration” by road from Laos was a sleepy, deserted border post – so deserted early in the morning we had to break the border to get in to Thailand and had a devil of a job explaining ourselves on exit.
The short internal flight was a packed, smelly noisy plane; the mechanical noises from the undercarriage were positively alarming. In particular, the big Russian “gentleman” with Soviet-style territorial ambitions sitting next to me was no fun. Then the chaos of Phuket airport on exit – somehow we did manage to find our agent’s courier (“Coco The Clown”, I named him) and off we went in the direction of tranquillity.
We got to the Banyan Tree around 21:00, which just about gave us time for some basic orientation, transfer to our lovely spa pool villa and back to the main hotel Saffron restaurant for a delicious Thai meal before bed.
Return Journey, 22 February 2017
I shall write up the return journey separately in the coming days, as I think the world needs some time to get used to the idea of seeing photographs of me looking like Kung Fu Panda at 30,000 feet.
If you are trying to get maximum publicity for your charity, it’s probably not a good idea to name your charity in Latin.
But if your charity’s main objective is to prevent and stop human rights abuses through gathering visual evidence with which to influence the powers that be, then maximum publicity is not top of your agenda.
The term “videre est credere”, as even a Latin scollop like myself knows, means “seeing is believing”, which does encompass much of the ethos of the charity.
Brian Eno is the charity’s patron and it was through him that I was invited to this function, held at Brian’s studio. I had been to a previous function there for Videre, a few years ago when the organisation was still much smaller and even more “early stage” than it is now.
The function was mostly party; far more low key than Brian’s free-form parties, but still a most enjoyable mingling with interesting people, many of whom from arty walks of life I encounter rarely these days.
Brian said a few thoughtful words on how increasingly important it is to have credible, video evidence to expose abuses of power. A couple of the Videre people also spoke and showed some sample video.
Naturally, given the nature of the work Videre does, there is an element of caution around discussing exactly who does Videre’s work and where they are doing it. As the organisation gets a bit older (it is now 8 or 9 years old) there will be more of an historic trail of case studies, I suspect. Much (but not all) of the work is in Africa and you wouldn’t need a PhD in international relations to guess the identity of some of the countries.
I wish there was more that I could do for this organisation. I guess they’ve reached the stage where raising funds is a key constraint but charity fundraising of this kind is a specialist field; not mine. The skills they need for their actual operations are also quite specialised. The areas where my expertise might help (governance, strategy, risk etc.) seem well covered; I chatted with some very interesting people from the charity’s board and its network of helpers.
Still, I know what Brian is like, so I suspect there might come a time when I get tapped up for something I might do to help Videre and for sure I’ll be a willing tapee.
Anyway, all sorts of weird and wonderful people read Ogblog. Many of you are people with the astonishingly powerful attention span to read 500 word blog pieces. Some of you are also people with the resources, skills and/or influence to help Videre. If so, do contact them through the website – here’s that website link again.
Several of us had agreed a get together for the first weekend in February, although most of us for one “busy life” reason or another didn’t much fancy that weekend.
In the end, we bowed to the inevitable and rescheduled for early April instead. I sensed Andrea’s mild frustration with this change of plan and in any case she and I hadn’t had a proper catch up for ages, so I suggested that she and I meet up for dinner early February anyway, but midweek.
So that’s what we did.
In the end I thought that a meal at Chez Ged would be the best place for a proper catch up, much like a similar catch up I had with John White at mine in December.
Again, it was Alastair “Big Al DeLarge” Little who did most of the work, not least an amazing borscht and then his signature veal ragout.
Al also had some Radicchio Rosso di Treviso (Il Tardivo, obviously), which Janie loves in her salads and which I thought would add a little something to the salad I made to accompany this meal. I’m glad I did that; I had forgotten that Andrea lived in Italy for a while, so she recognised the special radicchio straight away and said she thought that she hadn’t tried it since her days in Italy.
I was out of Italian red that evening (tut tut) but had a very jolly Spanish red that could do a similar job.
Anyway, the homely-yet-cheffy meal did the trick; it gave us a chance to catch up on each other’s news and prepare psychologically for the slightly bigger gathering to come in April.
Andrea sent me a note the next day saying that she was going to attempt to cook a borscht for her and Amy at the next available opportunity. I might have to wait until April to find out how that went. Messy business, making borscht, in my view. Best left to the experts like Big Al.
