I recall this was a fairly pricey but excellent Indian meal in a trendy setting on Cheyne Walk.
At the time of writing (September 2018) the place seems to be closed, but I remember looking it up quite recently with a view to eating there again and it was open then, so perhaps a temporary closure.
Michael and Elisabeth arranged Babysitters for the kids on this occasion and brought the start time forward from 8:30 to 8:00 to accommodate a sitter.
I do recall we all had a very enjoyable evening and thought we might eat there again – but so far Janie and I haven’t. I cannot speak for Michael and Elisabeth.
This was a memorable evening at Club Gascon in Smithfield. It was a new place (it had only opened a few months earlier) and all the rage when we visited it with The Mainellis in April 1999.
That was our first but certainly not our last visit.
I’m pretty sure the place became a reasonably regular haunt for Michael, at least for a while.
Janie was especially taken with their use of foie gras, which was celebrated in Club Gascon’s early incarnation. I too was taken with the food, but I am not partial to foie gras.
The restaurant gained a Michelin Star a couple of years after our first visit and still thrives at that location – here is a link to its website.
Janie has never kept a narrative diary. But the wonderful thing about Janie’s diary is that she makes copious notes in the diary around her plans, especially if she is preparing a meal and going to specific places to buy specific ingredients.
This meal was Japanese food and Janie no doubt used the services of our now regular sources in Noddyland, such as Atari-Ya, to source sashimi and tempura as noted in her diary.
No doubt much saki was imbibed to help such dishes go down.
This will have been a rare evening out for Michael and Elisabeth at that time, as Xenia was just turned one. I cannot remember whether a babysitter was involved or whether they brought the infant Xenia with them. At that age, probably the latter.
My memories from these particular evenings are fairly impressionistic.
We had good turnout from the Z/Yen crowd, despite the fact that none of us were really into ten-pin bowling. The Children’s Society (TCS) turnout was not as good, although Charles Bartlett and Tony Duggan were into ten-pin bowling.
I think one of these evenings must have been the first time I met Dot Bartlett. Probably the second one when Janie also came along.
Despite Charles’s constant jokes about Romford being a gangsta’s paradise, the Romford bowling alleys we attended seemed remarkably peaceful and friendly. Perhaps Charles made it known to the Romford underworld that he was being visited by people he considered to be family and that, therefore, “this ain’t your night”. Ever “Charley the Gent Malloy”, is Chas.
I say alleys rather than alley, as I think we went to a different place each time. Perhaps the place known 25 years later as Namco Funscape the first time, then a place now known as Rollerball the second time.
I remember Elisabeth Mainelli doing exceptionally well, especially on that first occasion, having said that she had never so much as seen a ten-pin bowling alley before.
Charles insisted on having Teresa Bestard (who worked for Z/Yen but was doing a lot of work with TCS at that time) on his team. I don’t think this was a tactical move in the matter of improving the standard of his team, but it was an attempt to even up the sides, at least numbers-wise.
Naturally TCS prevailed the first time regardless of the intricacies of team selection and numbers.
In kicking off the arrangements for the second event, I wrote:
I promised to come up with some Monday dates for bowling. Janie is currently keeping Monday 8 February and Monday 15 February evenings free. If you recall, we plugged for Monday evening to enable Dean Burnell to attend.
The Z/Yen team been training hard for many weeks now. I’m not sure whether the management skills training will help the bowling – we’ll find out.
Chas replied:
Both dates are good for me although the second date (15 Feb) probably best as I am on leave to whole week prior to the 8th Feb and it would be helpful that I am around.
How many do you anticipate from Z/Yen for the ritual slaughter?
regards
Charles.
It might or might not have been ritual slaughter. I seem to recall Z/Yen doing a bit better second time around. But my main memory of the event was Janie trying to put Chas off while he was bowling, by wandering down the side of the lane, within his peripheral view, staring like an avid fan at Chas preparing his shot.
Chas got really discombobulated by this trick, claiming a complete inability to concentrate, keep a straight face and/or complete his bowl.
I think Chas might be over it by now, 25 years later. I have a feeling it didn’t stop TCS from winning again.
Chas was over it by 12 September 2005, when we saw England regain The Ashes at The Oval
Michael Mainelli’s Birthday Party Aboard Lady Daphne In St Katherine’s Dock, 19 December 1998
Fret not, we were below for this party
Quite a big do. This was Michael’s 40th. Live music if I remember correctly. All the usual suspects were there. And us.
In those days you didn’t take a gazillion pictures at parties. Perhaps someone did take pictures, but I don’t recall seeing any from this party. If Michael and Elisabeth have some and want to provide digital versions thereof, I’ll gladly put a few of them into this article.
We ate, we drank, we danced, we made merry. it was a party.
Christmas Lunch At My Parent’s Place, 25 December 1998
There’s little in the diary about this, other than a tell-tale note that the taxi would cost £32, which was almost certainly an Ealing to Streatham price in those days.
I suspect that Jacqueline, Len and Hils were there that year. I also suspect that this was one of the last times, if not the last time, that my mum did Christmas day at Woodfield Avenue.
It will have been turkey for main, I’m pretty sure.
A Wild Boar Dinner At Sandall Close, Sunday 27 December 1998
The tell-tale note in Janie’s diary is an order for a rack of wild boar from Harvey Nicholls “for next Sunday”. This was one of Janie’s specialities at that time and boy was it good. We have never since found a source of excellent wild boar rack since Harvey Nicks stopped doing it.
The cast for that evening (again made clear from Janie’s diary) was Kim & Micky, Anthea [Simms] & Mitchell [Sams], plus Rupert [Stubbs] & Ana. Janie rather impressively remembered that Ana was Ana Limbrick, who (as well as dating Rupert at that time) was, indeed still is, a physiotherapist to whom Janie occasionally refers clients.
It will have been a jolly evening, despite the fact that several of the guests no doubt said “what a boar” when praising the meal.
I remember this Z/Yen Christmas event being an especially good meal. We were depleted in numbers that year for some reason – I think one or two illnesses – so Kim & Micky joined us as guests rather than allow paid-for dinners go to waste.
I wrote up the event for the Now & Z/Yen newsletter, which survives on-line despite several deportations in the intervening 25 years – click here.
Just in case a future deportation upsets the above link, here is a scrape of that page. And just in case you don’t like clicking, here is the raw text I wrote in 1998 that became the relevant paragraph on that page:
Hark! The Herald Angels Sing [xmassy picture] The annual Z/Yen Christmas stuffing took place at Caldesi, our favourite Tuscan restaurant. Z/Yen staff bravely fought their way through six courses, including Jane Beazley’s birthday cake, as well as through one badly mangled Christmas carol, to the tune of “D-Mark! Z/Yen Angels Sing”. Contrary to our seasonal hopes, the heavens did not flood the party with D-Marks (current currency of choice in the run-up to the Euro, as recommended by one self-interested wife), nor were angels or singing much in evidence. A great time was had by all and huge relief sighed by the restaurant staff when they realised that Z/Yen people were not going to conduct quantum physics experiments on their fibre optic Christmas tree.
The Now & Z/Yen write up also refers to Michael’s attempt at a seasonal lyric – this 1998 one was his first for Z/Yen. Let’s just hypothesise that Michael is better at quantum physics than he is at song lyrics. Evidence below:
D-MARKS! Z/YEN ANGELS SING (Sung to the tune of “Hark the Herald Angels Sing” or “Gloria in Excelsis Deo” in the Mariah Carey style)
“D-Marks!”, Z/Yen angels sing
Glory to the Euro thing
Peace in Europe, markets wild
Blair and Schroder reconciled
Joyful all recessions rise Join the Bank of England’s sighs With Zeee/Yen consultants claim Markets are in may-eh-hem
“D-Marks!”, Z/Yen angels sing Glory to the Euro thing
Glo….oh….oh…oh…oh….ohria
In consultants’ fee-eees Glo….oh….oh…oh…oh….ohria
In consultants’ fee-eee-eees
Z/Yen by highest fees adored
Z/Yen for those who can afford
Late in time, does Ian come
Often late, the favoured one
Z/Yen, so fresh the clients see
Hail, the astronomical fees
Pleased as gods with men to dwell
Z/Yen as blasphemous as hell
“D-Marks!”, Z/Yen angels sing Glory to the Euro thing
I’ve never been a huge fan of Rattigan and I recall that this play/production didn’t really change my view.
On the Sunday, somewhat on a whim I seem to recall, the Mainelli’s invited us over to their place as they had several people already scheduled to visit and they wanted a butchers at my new motor.
My abiding memory of that visit was how cold it was that day, but the assembled throng (especially Rupert Stubbs) insisted that we remove the roof of the car and drive off demonstrating the open-toppedness of the thing.
Dall-e thinks we looked a bit like this
When we got home, while we were eating a camembert salad supper, Janie’s twin sister Philippa called to let us know the bad news that she had been diagnosed with aggressive breast cancer. That news dampened our mood considerably and turned our world upside down for quite a while.
We weren’t expecting to see a show that day. Michael and Elisabeth invited us over “for the day” being a bit unspecific about the meal time, but suggesting that we might all take a swim in the pool of their newcapartment block. But, unbeknown to us, their plan was to serve an early meal and then pop out to see Fiona Shaw perform The Waste Land under Deborah Warner’s direction in Wilton’s Music Hall – within spitting distance of Michael and Elisabeth’s new place.
Good plan.
I recorded in my log that the piece was short and OK. I’ve never been over keen on The Waste Land as a piece of poetry. Fiona Shaw is of course marvellous and would probably hold one’s attention if reciting from the telephone directory.
Janie was intrigued by the T S Eliot aspect, as she had treated and continued to treat Valerie Eliot for many years.
Most interesting about the evening was seeing Wilton’s Music Hall, which had not been used for a performance for over 100 years and looked suitably distressed. I’m not sure that the health and safety brigade would today allow a performance in a place quite so distressed, but it was great to see it at that time. It has since been somewhat more revived.
Lyn Gardner warmed to the whole idea in The Guardian:
Yet, for more than two decades, I spent an inordinate amount of time on Michael Mainelli’s sailing barge, Lady Daphne. Most of that time was spent on the River Thames, sailing back and forth from London Bridge City Pier, via a Tower Bridge lifting or two…
A typical Z/Yen boat trip
…to the Dome or sometimes as far as the Thames Barrier, “edutaining” clients and prospects. Occasionally we’d use the boat as a static venue for a business workshop or a dinner.
Our business, Z/Yen, even had the old tub corporately branded at the topsail level, as evidenced here:
Back in 1996, the boat was a bit of a novelty in the Mainelli and Z/Yen world. I cannot remember exactly the date Michael bought Lady Daphne, but I do remember Michael dragging me from our office to St Katherine’s Dock, where he wanted me to act as his “legal advisor” on the purchase contract.
But I don’t know anything about maritime law and am really not qualified to review a procurement contract for a substantial asset…
…I said. But Michael demurred…
I know that. But the vendor has been messing around for weeks. I figure if I turn up with my “advisor” we can insist on closing the deal. Just look at the document for a few minutes, spot a couple of spelling mistakes or grammatical errors – there are bound to be some – then state that we can sign as long as those small changes are made in manuscript…
A few weeks later, I found myself on the high seas (OK, The Solent) with Michael & Elisabeth, along with some of their close friends, boaty friends and close boaty friends.
We weren’t there for racing purposes – we were there in one of the more “corporate sail around” slots. It probably looked a bit like the following image from 1990:
In truth I remember little about the day, other than my general feeling of unease whenever I find myself on a boat.
I vaguely recall a decent lunch in a suitable hostelry in Cowes.
I recall the skipper – at that time Adrian I’m pretty sure – asking me if I wanted to take the helm for a while; an honour which, for everyone’s sake, I chose to decline.
I never did take the helm, but just occasionally I did need to “lead” on a Z/Yen boat trip in Michael’s absence. Naturally, I deferred to the skipper on all important matters, but I did the general introductions and safety announcements, while asserting that everything I know about boats could be written on the back of a postage stamp.
Below is the image from the back of that 2p stamp, which I always had with me when aboard the boat. If anyone asked me a question after my announcements, I’d show them the stamp and refer them to someone more knowledgeable.
The notes are a little faded and tarnished now, but I can still read the notes and expand on them accordingly:
90 foot barge out of Rochester 1923;
Known as “Lucky Lady Daphne” due to a few narrow escapes;
Daphne mostly schlepped Portland Stone;
In the unlikely event that you hear seven short blasts of the horn followed by a long blast, that’s an emergency;
Life jackets are stored fore and aft – the crew will be handing them out – if you are below deck, the exits are in the places I indicate fore and aft;
Take your jacket up, don it when above and await the skipper’s instructions. The safest place is almost always to stay on the boat;
Even without a full blown emergency there are hazards – glass can be a hazard so hand your used glasses in, ropes are generally doing something so be careful not to hold onto one as it might get pulled through a pully along with your hand, stairways and decks can become slippery…
Then I’d explain where we are going, the rough timescales of the voyage and the edutainment game we were going to play.
Not bad for a land-lubber.
Actually my scariest boat moments have been overseas, e.g.
…not the 1996 “high seas” Solent adventure aboard Lady Daphne described in this post.
Postscript
Elisabeth has been in touch to remind me that she was there at that strange purchase meeting and that she can confirm the exact…and I mean EXACT…time and date of the purchase:
…signed at 16.10 hrs on 10 May 1996…
That means that Michael and Elisabeth bought Lady Daphne a week after Michael’s stag do…
But the celebrations continued for a further day, for those who chose to stay on a little longer. There were quite a few of us who did so. Unfortunately, 25 years on, my brain does not retain the full contingent for the Sunday celebrations. I might be confusing some of the people who were around for the early days with those who stayed the distance.
But I think that most of the American contingent – Michael’s family, Emma & Betsy, Tony Dillof & others – I think at least one if not two of the Amandas, Chris Webb, Chris the Bridesmaid, The Sealeys, The Nelsons, The Pooles, Rupert Stubbs & Sophie, at least one Lucas-Clements, Elisabeth’s family naturally enough…
Sunday 19 May 1996 – The Hooch Cellar & The Informal Party
We spent some time in the Reuss family village of Pfersdorf itself on the Sunday.
I especially remember the guided tour taking us to the home of an elder of the village named Connie, who had an informal distillery in his cellar.
Connie’s hooch cellar might have looked a bit like this
Janie showed a great deal of interest in seeing this cellar, so, in the great tradition of Franconian village hospitality, she was shown through the door that led to the cellar steps in an “after you” manner, at which point Connie closed and locked the door, to the mirth of the assembled villagers and visitors.
Janie shouted out a couple of times, but once she realised she’d been duped, went quiet.
The locals informed us that the traditional ending to this practical joke was for the duped person to seek release from the cellar again a few minutes later, once in a state of inebriation, as there is lots of hooch to be had in there and not much else to do.
All eyes and ears were on the door, until Janie tapped someone on the shoulder and asked who they were looking and listening out for in the cellar. A well known escapologist (at least, she is now), Janie had spotted a window in the cellar and worked out how to climb up to the window, out through it (not very high on the ground level side) and walk around the corner to find us.
The assembled villagers and visitors thought this was all very funny.
Janie knows how to get out of a hooch pickle
Despite going light on the hooch, we remember little about the Sunday evening party, other than the fact that we had a great time. The best parties are like that. Others might be able to fill in the considerable gaps in this account.
I had made three mix tapes for the wedding, I believe with this party in mind:
I don’t even remember the extent to which the tapes were used that night, but I think they featured.
A Fraught Journey Home, Originally Aiming To Catch The Wrong Flight, Monday 20 May 1996
Chatting with the remaining guests on the Sunday, it seemed sensible for everyone, on the Monday, to enjoy a leisurely breakfast at the Hotel Ross in Schweinfurt and amble together to the railway station to catch the train that would whisk us with Germanic efficiency to Frankfurt airport in good time for our BA flight in the afternoon.
Then, while Janie and I were grazing at our breakfast, it started to dawn upon me that we hadn’t flown out BA, we had flown out Lufthansa. It also started to dawn on me that we were probably booked on an earlier flight than the others.
I went to check our tickets. To my horror, I realised that we were flying out of Frankfurt more than an hour earlier than everyone else. We certainly wouldn’t catch our flight if we travelled by train with the rest.
Some frantic checking of train times made me realise that I had actually goofed good and proper – we should have caught a train that we had already missed. There was another train between ours and the BA mob’s train, but it would get us to the airport only 20 minutes or so ahead of our flight.
I phoned the airport to warn them that we would be a late arrival for our flight.
The German gentleman I spoke with at the airport explained politely but firmly that we needed to get to the airport sooner than that.
I explained that we had missed our train and that the train we were catching would, in all probability, get us to the airport just 20 minutes before the flight. I asked the gentleman to inform the desk for our flight that we would be arriving late.
No. You must get to the airport earlier than that.
The conversation was over.
Janie and I agreed that we should catch the first available train anyway and hope for the best.
We had to change train, a couple of times I think, on this hair-raising trip.
Everything ran incredibly smoothly and the train arrived at Frankfurt Airport’s railway station exactly 20 minutes before our flight.
We legged it towards our check in desk.
Perhaps my “friend” from the telephone call had informed the desk that some mad Brits were going to attempt a ludicrously late check in. Perhaps Lufthansa check-in desks, in those days, simply switched into hyper-efficient “we’ll try to get you through the system” machines. This is all pre-9-11 of course, so the security was not quite such a big thing.
We heard the announcements for passengers to proceed to the gate for our flight around the time that we started checking in.
Anyway, the Lufthansa folk whisked us through the airport system and we arrived at the gate, dry-mouthed and out of breath just in time to hear a “bing-bong” and an announcement in German.
My poor German was just about good enough to make out that the announcement was a delay to the flight. Then in English, that fact was confirmed.
There’s lucky, said Janie.
Not at all, I said, we made it for the flight on time. Now I’m really irritated that we’re delayed.
In truth, the 40 minutes to calm down and decompress before the flight probably did us some good.
Dancing feet, preparing for a fraught run through Frankfurt Airport
Ever since that near miss, I tend to double check our flight tickets/times a little obsessively. It was a peculiar ending to an unusual, celebratory week.
![CLUB GASCON [2] CC BY-SA 2.0, via Wikimedia Commons](https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Club_Gascon,_Farringdon,_EC1.jpg){kind=link}
