Betwixt some noisy and frenetic visits to Lord’s for “The Hundred”, a quiet day of relaxed, county cricket at Radlett, as Middlesex were playing Yorkshire in the one day cup (50 overs tournament).
Long in the planning, this one. Yorkshire Simon had been waiting a long time for any Yorkshire cricket to visit Middlesex, so as soon as this fixture was announced Simon wondered if we might be able to keep this date free.
Attempts to watch out-ground cricket with Fran and Simon have often ended up soggy affairs. The lowest (or at least wettest) ebb being at Uxbridge six years ago – click here or below:
Ironically, given how very wet late July and August turned out to be in 2023, this particular day at Radlett was glorious sunshine made pleasant by kind smatterings of high cloud.
To some extent it felt like “a gathering of the clan”, as well as a gathering with Fran, as Janie and I ran into so many of the Middlesex supporting stalwarts, some of whom we hadn’t seen for ages.
In truth the cricket match was somewhat of a donkey derby – the last match for the qualifying group with both Middlesex and Yorkshire long since out of contention. But as it happens Middlesex dominated the match and for once chased down a decent-looking total without fuss.
Yorkshire Simon feigns uninterest while Ged observes rare Middlesex dominanceAfter chatting for a while after stumps, we wended our way home while the squad and stalwarts decompressed at the end of an unsuccessful campaign but a successful day.
It didn’t rain – indeed the weather was ideally pleasant. No new variant of Covid suddenly broke out to prohibit gatherings at the cricket matches. Neither sling nor arrow of outrageous fortune befell us to frustrate our simple purpose: Janie and I wanted to host Fran and Simon at Lord’s and show them the pavilion.
The idea of the four of us spending a day together at Lord’s had been under discussion for about five years, frustrated by various unfortunate circumstances along the lines of the above paragraph. Given the iffy weather so far this season, we did indeed feel blessed to wake up to a weather forecast that suggested dry and mild, which indeed it turned out to be.
Fran (she of Pinner pears) and Yorkshire Simon (he of crude courgettes) had both been to Lord’s many times, but not recently and not previously in the pavilion. We had previously spent time with them on several occasions at outgrounds, but not at Lord’s.
Simon, Fran & Me at Radlett in 2019Me, Simon and Simon’s courgette, Radlett 2021
Anyway…
…on their arrival, we showed Fran and Simon the upper sun deck of the pavilion – Janie’s favourite place – which both of them took to immediately, so the four of us basically took root up there.
At lunch we showed them around the pavilion and also showed them the real tennis court, where a couple of my friends were doing battle but didn’t seem all that delighted to be observed; occupational hazard of choosing the 13:00 tennis slot on a match day.
Fran and Simon had brought lunch with them, whereas Janie and I had a crazy craving for the Long Room baps and salad, which we indulged in early in the afternoon session. Janie also indulged in a slice of cake in the member’s lounge.
Sam Robson bowling filth just before teaJanie took this picture during tea, before going to the lounge for cake
It was really nice to see Fran and Simon again after quite some while. We did a fair bit of catching up, general chatting and even cricket-watching.
In short – we four had a lovely day. Middlesex didn’t.
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.
Daisy and I thought we’d take in a bit of out-ground cricket and/but the dates haven’t been working out great for the two of us.
But this particular Monday did work well for us and also suited Fran & Simon. The only issue, as I saw it, was the unseasonably wet weather we were experiencing.
True, the forecast suggested that our day was set fair, but then the forecast had looked fair for the two preceding days and had brought plenty more rain.
Anyway, we took stock on the very morning and all agreed that set fair it was. So we agreed to meet up roughly at the end of the lunch interval.
Daisy and I had a “game of lawners” first thing; quite a rigorous workout ahead of my game of “realers” scheduled at Middlesex University later.
Daisy and I got to Radlett just as the umpire’s called lunch. This enabled us to snap up some good front row seats during the lunch interval – perhaps abandoned after the first session or perhaps not yet used that day.
Soon after we grabbed those seats we saw Posh Margaret and chatted with her for a while. She’s very pessimistic about Middlesex’s position this season – I’m still reserving judgement on the whole season as I feel there is still time for Middlesex to improve and get promoted.
The weather really was smiling on us – as evidenced by this picture of Daisy.
…so it was easy to give Fran and Simon directions to the seats.
Before Fran and Simon arrived, I led Janie to believe that she was going to see the England One-Day Captain, Eoin Morgan, playing in this match. This seemed extraordinary, as Eoin was also scheduled to appear for England in the world cup fixture the next day, in what turned out to be a record-breaking innings of his.
Here we all are.
Soon after Fran and Simon arrived, I made the same announcement with regard to Mr Morgan. Fran seemed surprised/pleased but Simon was onto it straight away; “Oh yes”, said Simon, “a Welsh chap named Owen Morgan plays for Glamorgan“.
We then went in search of Morgan on the field, discovered that he was number 29 and then tried to get a suitable photo of him.
Janie thought she had succeeded in getting an action shot of him, but then numbers is not what Janie does best:
Nick Selman is neither Eoin Morgan nor is he Owen Morgan
In the end, after several rather poor attempts, I finally snapped this:
Incontrovertible evidence that we saw Morgan play that day
Daisy is convinced that Owen Morgan has the body language and rear-view appearance of Eoin Morgan.
So much were we enjoying ourselves that I clean forgot to get up and walk around at all – which is a bit of a mistake when a three hour session is the order of the day.
So when we parted company just before five, Fran suggested, gently, that I was not moving quite as a tennis player should. That accurate observation might explain my tennis results for the next few days, until I got to see Michael Durtnall (the chiropractor).
Further, all of my previous attempts to watch cricket at Merchant Taylors’ School (I believe three) had been totally rained off on my attempted day, to such an extent that I hadn’t even ventured to the ground before.
So I suppose it was understandable that the weather forecast a few days ahead of the game somewhat spooked Fran:
Oh heck, just seen the weather prediction for Merchant Taylors on Wednesday; rain, thunder and lightning. You couldn’t make it up!
By the time I got to see Fran’s message, about 12 hours later, the weather forecast was showing rain for the previous couple of days but clear weather for the Wednesday itself. Me to Fran:
Unreliable forecast, yours. Look again – problem solved. Seriously, I won’t go if the forecast on the day is poor but I suspect it’ll be ok.
Nearly 24 hours later, when Fran picked up my message and by which time the forecast was again showing thunderstorms spilling over until Wednesday, she was unconvinced:
Yeah, as long as you don’t mind being struck by lightning! Charles the gent did mention you were a perpetual optimist…
In the end, the weather pretty much did what the forecasters were inferring – i.e. we had quite a lot of rain, thunder and lightening on the day before the match including some into the early hours and even the morning of the game, but all passing through before the match was due to start.
I guessed there’d be a delayed start but with the forecast clear for the hours of play, it was highly likely that, once they started, they’d get a game in, even if a reduced one.
I kept an eye on the on-line information. Almost as soon as I saw that the 11:30 inspection confirmed that play for a slightly reduced match would start at 12:00, Simon called me to tell me same. I told him I’d probably get to MTS around 12:30, which I did.
Fran and Simon had got there pretty early and saved me a seat with them at the front at a pretty handy “third man” view, quite near the hospitality tent.
What a lovely setting Merchant Taylors’ School is for watching cricket.
A lovely setting for watching cricket
I knew that Fran lived nearby, but I hadn’t realised that her son, Paul, went to MTS, so she really does know the school well:
A view of the school across the playing fields
I learnt last time that Fran and Simon are not picnic lovers, so I simply took some nuts, fruit and liquids for sustenance, as had they.
It was actually perfect cricket watching weather; warm but not hot. Not sunny, but not gloomy either. Out-ground county cricket has a lovely relaxed atmosphere to it; you are watching a very high grade of cricket but you are watching it in an environment that feels more like a club or even a village match.
Time passes, the scoreboard ticks round…
We chatted, we watched, we engaged with one or two other spectators and with one or two players.
Such a day passes very quickly and very pleasantly.
This wasn’t a good match for Middlesex. Yet again Middlesex batted first, stalled/didn’t really get going and thus ended up short of a total that would really enable our bowlers to apply pressure. 30 or 40 more would have been a different story, I sensed. It was the same story in several such matches this season.
But as a day out and gathering, for sure it was a success. Fran and Simon got to see a whole match. And we actually got to spend best part of a day watching cricket together; third time lucky. A very enjoyable day.
On which day did Middlesex come second twice while Middlesex Seconds came first once?
Now that would be a really good sports quiz question…if it were located somewhere other than this clearly dated blog page.
Confused? Let me explain.
I arranged to go to Radlett with Charley “The Gent” Malloy to see Middlesex v Essex. Long overdue, was our joint visit to Radlett – we had planned to go together to a second team match about four years ago but the rain put paid to that plan, although I did write up our replacement culinary gathering for King Cricket – click here or below:
Tempting the rain gods yet further, I contacted Fran to find out whether she and Simon intended to visit Radlett that day. Our previous attempt to watch cricket together at Uxbridge had been well soggy – click here or below:
Anyway, Fran and Simon were planning on showing up at Radlett, so we planned to all sit together.
Then Richard Goatley (Middlesex CCC’s Chief Executive) asked me if I could join him and some others that evening at the Oval for a London Playing Fields Foundation Sports Quiz Fundraiser. Not really my cup of tea, but given the functional connection with the nascent London Cricket Trust charity, for which I am a Trustee – more on that anon – I thought I should go. Richard promised me a lift from Radlett to the Oval if I wanted to help save the planet by limiting the number of cars criss-crossing London that day – I eagerly accepted that offer of a lift.
In fact, getting to Radlett by train was a doddle…
…certainly compared with Chas’s ludicrous hike across from Malloy Manor, which should have taken him 40 minutes and took more like an hour-and-40. I managed it door to door in not much more than an hour.
That enabled me to nab a few decent seats at the front, with Fran’s vertical challenges in mind. I also thought best to avoid the relentless sun, although I didn’t realise quite how cold the shade would be.
The night before the big day, I had a memory flash that Fran had written to me while I was in Mauritius in 1979 and that I still had the letter. She had…I did…I scanned & printed same and took the incriminating evidence with me to Radlett. Click here or below to see the letter and how all that went down:
Anyway, that correspondence proved an interesting conversation piece for the middle part of the Middlesex innings, during which time Middlesex turned a very promising start into a potential disaster.
While Middlesex rebuilt the innings to something approaching respectability (only 30-40 runs short, rather than the 60-70 runs short that the innings at one point threatened), Fran and Simon observed the Chas and Ged picnic much as a pair of field anthropologists might observe a remote tribe. They had read of such picnics on King Cricket and Ogblog of course, but never actually witnessed anything quite like it.
Not really picnickers themselves, Fran and Simon did bring some cashew nuts, enabling us to share and test the relative merits of Marks & Spencer, Tesco and Lidl in the cashew department. Result: little distinction in flavour, but the more expensive M&S ones are larger and would look posher served up in a bowl.
Unfortunately, just before the end of the Middlesex innings, Fran’s mum, who has been poorly of late, called with a minor emergency which Fran and Simon, kindly and dutifully, went off to attend. I hope I’ll be able to catch up with them again soon – e.g. at Merchant Taylor’s School.
Meanwhile I tried to convince Chas (and myself) that 250 might just prove to be enough runs (ha ha) while Essex set out to prove that even the 280-290 par score might not have been enough if Middlesex kept insisting on dropping catches all afternoon.
Mercifully I had to leave before suffering the indignity of the final nails being driven into Middlesex’s coffin by Essex – click here to see the scorecard and details – in short, Middlesex came second.
Then the drive across London, starring James Keightley behind the wheel, Bob Baxter (Chair of Middlesex Cricket Board) in the front seat, with the back seat navigators being Richard Goatley & me…especially me once we hit traffic and I figured that Waze might solve our navigation problems for us.
We got to the Oval in good time.
The opening overs of the charity event were stunning – it was a glorious sunny evening and we took drinks on that OCS sun deck.
Our team/table also comprised William Frewen (like James, from Teddington CC), Ed Griffiths, his nephew Alex (Richmond CC) and a young gentleman named Bruce (I think).
It soon dawned on me that everyone on our table, apart from me, was bringing quite a lot to the sports quizzing party. It also dawned on me that Richard and the others had sort-of assumed that I might be a useful addition to a sports quiz team. Oh dear.
Oh well, I am what I am, an’ I’m not ashamed.
Strangely, I was able to make a few useful contributions, more through general knowledge questions and sort-of knowing how quizzing works than through sports knowledge itself.
Example: as we were going in to the meal/quiz, James mentioned to me that the master of ceremonies/quizmaster/former Rugby Union international, Martin Bayfield, has appeared as Hagrid’s body in the Harry Potter movies. “Park that piece of trivia at the front of your brain, James,” I said, “that’s bound to come up in one of the questions.” It did.
It was a reasonably relaxed atmosphere on our table, at first. But as we started to do better and better on the leaderboard, the competitive spirit on the Middlesex table started to really take hold.
Heading up the Middlesex competitive spirit big time was Ed Griffiths. I have got to know Ed quite well over the last few months, as he is leading on our London Cricket Trust initiative, to put cricket facilities into parks and commons across London. I have a huge amount of admiration for the way Ed is gently but relentlessly driving our initiative forward. I’ll be writing a fair bit more about the London Cricket Trust in the coming months.
So I suppose it should come as no surprise that Ed is a very competitive chap. But his response to the conclusion of the sports quiz, when it was announced that we had come second (out of sixteen), had to be seen to be believed.
At first I thought Ed was joking, as I might have done, melodramatically bemoaning our “close but no cigar” outcome. But when he nearly smashed a glass in frustration and then went to the quiz adjudication table in order to audit and question the results, several of us realised that Ed really was a ball of combative anger.
Ed returned to our table with the news that we had lost by a mere two points, which, given the charitable circumstances, was news that would satisfy less driven individuals (e.g. me) to conclude that we had done really well and that it was for charity after all and that, but for fortune, we might even have won.
Yet the closeness of the defeat seemed to anger and frustrate Ed yet further. He nearly smashed a wine glass again. Writing this up five days later, I think Ed Griffiths might just about be over the disappointment now…but perhaps not. Middlesex had come second again. Albeit this time in a field of 16 rather than a field of two.
Coincidentally, sitting at the next table to us, was a lady who kept looking across at us and who eventually came over to introduce herself; Tom Lace’s mum. Tom is one of our up and coming second team players who, as the coincidence grows, also plays for Teddington CC. Tom’s mum went on to take selfie photos of herself with William and James from Teddington. I am absolutely sure that breakfast time in the Lace household the next morning will have thrilled young Tom, when mum showed him the evidence of her fun evening with the Middlesex CCC/Teddington CC great and good. In my (limited) experience, youngsters love that sort of thing.
On the evening, I chose not to mention that Tom Lace is (the coincidence simply grows to bonkers proportions) my long-form kit sponsorship player this year. I surmised that such news would have been a relative sub-plot to what was already a bit of a sub-plot, so I kept schtum about that.
But I don’t suppose anyone at that fundraiser was left in any doubt that Middlesex had attended and contributed to the evening big time. Not only did we come second in the quiz (I will get over it eventually, really I will) but two of our number bid very generously in the auction. Ed Griffiths bought tickets to a show he didn’t even know existed (until he was bidding for it), while William Frewen procured one of Harry Kane’s football boots.
As William lives quite near me, I offered to cab him and his new boot home on my way. But I signally failed to find a cab or Uber at the end of the evening…
South of the river? Do me a favour!
…so William and I walked to Vauxhall together and journeyed by tube, with William carrying an unfeasibly expensive soccer boot in a presentation box that had been cunningly disguised, through the use of a simple cardboard box exterior as…
…any old cardboard box. Fiendish.
William and I sat on the Victoria Line train discussing the finer details of Middlesex Cricket Board governance and its integration into Middlesex Cricket…like you do.
How can I win England the World Cup with only one soccer boot?It was a fitting end to an odd but hugely memorable day.
I’m not sure I’d seen Fran Erdunast (formerly Weingott) since the build up to my somewhat eventful house party in 1979, but we have been reconnected through Facebook for some time and discovered that we share an enthusiasm for cricket, not least Middlesex.
Fran likes to go to Middlesex out-ground matches, so we hatched a quasi-plan to meet up at the four-day game between Middlesex & Hampshire at Uxbridge CC late season.
Both the weather and my work commitments seemed to be conspiring against this idea, but the forecast for the afternoon of 13 September was, in the end, rather encouraging (sunny with a small chance of showers) and I realised that we should get to see a few hours of cricket at Uxbridge between my morning meeting and the early evening wine tasting in Southwark.
That was the plan…
…and the early part of the plan worked. I got to Uxbridge just before the start of play after lunch and saw a figure who was unmistakably Fran sitting conveniently near to the Gatting Way entrance. She introduced me to Simon, who turns out to be equally keen on county cricket, albeit a Yorkshire supporter (he hails from Leeds). They had arrived about 5 minutes ahead of me and were sorting out some well-appointed seats for the three of us.
After two or three overs, we felt a few spots of rain, which seemed to send the umpires into a tizzy and the players all came off, much to the disgust of the tiny crowd.
A light sprinkling and covering before the deluge
“I think the umpires and ground staff must know something we don’t”, I said, suggesting that we head for the pavilion before the deluge.
Deluge it was. Lashings of proper, wet rain, for about 20 minutes or so.
I was even more ludicrously dressed for slogging through the sludge of Uxbridge CC after the rain. I rolled up my trousers to avoid mud on suit misery. Jeff Coleman threatened to take my picture for the Middlesex or MTWD website, which I actively encouraged, as I thought it must look very funny, but Jeff kindly relented in the interests of my dignity.
On the way back to the slightly less soggy patch where our seats were now drying in the sun, I decided to have my one “Thatcher” 99 Whippy ice cream of the year, offering to treat Fran and Simon, who both declined politely.
Fran described the intricacies of the dental work she does while I ate the ice cream, presumably to ensure that I was not tempted to try any further sweet treats that day. Simon tried to avoid fainting during this conversation. I tried to put Simon at his ease by admitting to being squeamish when Janie talks about some of the intricacies of her podiatry work, at which point Fran demonstrated her considerable medical knowledge by explaining the difference between mouths and feet. When Simon and I both showed signs of imminent fainting, Fran stopped talking about medical procedures.
We watched the ground staff try to remove ludicrous quantities of surface water from the pitch, ably assisted by Angus Fraser and even some of the players. The efforts looked futile and indeed after about 30 minutes of sunshine and hard labour, the umpires came out and concluded that it would be impossible to get anything going again today.
Fran kindly invited me back to her place in Pinner along with Simon for some tea. It would be a chance to continue our chat about the good old days, cricket and cricket in the good old days, which is exactly what we did.
Fran hardly seemed to have changed in the decades since we last met. I am consistently surprised when I reconnect with friends from my teenage years how little they have changed in essence. Fran articulated it well in a note later that day:
…bemused by the surreal vision of grown up Ian Harris sitting on my sofa…[t]he 16-17 year old version I last saw kept reappearing ghost-like during the afternoon.
Fran displayed Essex beating up Warwickshire as background entertainment on the TV; it was clear that both Simon and Fran follow county cricket avidly and know a lot about it. Simon mentioned that Jack Simmons was one of his favourite cricketers; coincidentally Janie had spent a long time chatting with Simon’s hero when we were at Southport earlier in the season. I forgot to ask Simon why, as a Yorkshire supporter, his hero was a Lancastrian. Perhaps Simon will chime in with the answer to that conundrum.
16:30 came around ever so quickly and Fran very kindly insisted on taking me to Pinner station, worrying that I might otherwise be late for my 18:00 wine tasting. Indeed, by the time she had picked a couple of pears from her garden for Charley The Gent Malloy to sample next week (I’ll report back on how the Pinner Conferences go down with pear specialist Charley), even I thought I might have cut it a bit fine for Southwark.
I had forgotten how quick the Metropolitan Line is and hadn’t thought about Southwark, on the Jubilee Line, being a simple hop of a change from the Met line. Once I entered Pinner Station, of course, my brain went back onto automatic from all those visits out that way in my youth, to see Simon, Caroline and others at the Pinner club.
Still, I was surprised when I emerged into the Southwark sunshine at 17:20, a full forty minutes early. Time for a coffee and (sorry Fran) another somewhat sweet treat for fortification (pain au raisin).
Then to the Mousse wine tasting, which this time was on Lebanese wines. Janie arrived only a tiny bit late…
…but much earlier than this photo which Janie took quite a bit later in the evening:
Massaya is less than 20 years old, so didn’t even exist when Janie and I visited Lebanon, tried Musar and Kefraya wines aplenty and also went to the Ksara caves to taste wine:
Tasting Wine at Ksara, Lebanon in 1997
He’s at Ksara…not the Massaya, he’s a very naughty boy
My favourite wines from the Mousse wine tasting evening were a couple of the Massaya ones; Le Colombier (entry level but very gluggable) and the Silver Selection wine which I thought was cracking good. I also really liked the Marsanne-based Hermitage white which Helen served by way of comparison. I have never been much taken with the Lebanese whites, whereas Leb red can hit the spot more often than not.
Janie asked us all to look natural, so of course…
Janie’s attempts to photograph several of us by asking us to look natural were naturally more likely to fail than succeed. The picture above was the best of the bunch. If you want a laugh at the rest, feel free to click through here.
Helen always gathers an interesting, eclectic crowd for her wine tastings, so you don’t just learn a lot about wine, you do so in very agreeable company.
Janie and I thoroughly enjoyed our evening, which we rounded off with Maroush shawarmas and a bottle of Asti Spumante. (OK, I made up that last bit).
Another holiday without me for my parents…another opportunity for me to hold a house party.
I particularly like the way I describe this party, with all due modesty, in my diary entry for 6 October:
Party v good/described as best ever by some…despite disasters.
I’m not sure that my parents’ house has ever recovered from the “despite disasters” aspect of it.
The disasters were probably due to intense overcrowding. Not only had I been pretty open-ended with my invitations – BBYO club folk descended from the length and breadth of the country – but the party was also quite heavily gatecrashed.
This photo from Easter Weekend 1979 – several of the above were at the October party…none of these were the gatecrashers.
I shall seek counsel from others on some of the details. Also on the extent to which, for some aspects of the evening, names and details should ever find their way to as public a place as Ogblog.
But for the time being here are some fragmentary memories of mine.
It looks from the diary as though Fran helped me to set the party up but didn’t stick around for the party, which was jolly decent of her and/but she must have had something much, much better to do on the Saturday night. I have a feeling that she might have just started/been starting University around then. Fran might remember and chime in with a memory. Anyway, many thanks for the help that day, Fran.
Then the party itself.
For some reason (overcrowding alone shouldn’t have caused this) we had a power failure for a while. No lights, no music…just…whatever a party might be in the absence of those things.
Someone who knew what they were doing (at least to the extent needed to restore light and music to the party) sorted out the problem, but I do recall at one point several people going round with candles, not least Simon Jacobs rattling off quips at a rate of about 16 qpm.
Simon could rap at 20 quips per minute if he wanted to…he just didn’t want to.
One of the gatecrashers broke the frame of my father’s family mosaic piece – depicting us as clowns standing on each other’s shoulders. Mercifully it wasn’t beyond repair. I seem to recall that incident triggering some of the more protective (or perhaps I should say bellicose) guests to take matters into their hands and remove several gatecrashers.
Someone will no doubt be able to explain why the following picture of Jay, one of the welcome guests (like the Simon photo above, taken a few months earlier) popped into my head as I recalled the gatecrashers’ comeuppance.
“…be off with you, fiends!…”
I think there were times during the party when I needed some consoling. I realised what a mess the place was in. But this was not a good party for host romance, although I’m sure it worked well for many guests; not least during the blackout.
One consolation in the damage aspect was the fact that the house had been burgled the day after my parents went away, so it was going to be difficult for them to distinguish burglar damage from party damage.
7 October 1979
…well of course several of the events mentioned/alluded to above might well have been the early hours of 7th…
many stayed, helped clear up. I finished the job…
I’m not sure who Paul S was that Sunday evening (apologies, Paul, if/when your identity comes to light), but the Jeff S who stayed at the house after the meeting was the late lamented Jeff Spector. No doubt he was able to advise me well on dealing with the aftermath of crowded house parties – they had quite a few of those at the Spector house over the years. But those are other memories for other pieces.
…I had a memory flash that Fran had written to me while I was in Mauritius.
I was very good about keeping the correspondence I received while there (in contrast with most other hand-written correspondence I received over the years), so I was able easily to find the following letter.
I think it is an utterly charming letter and I think Fran thought so too…
…at least, she did grant me permission to upload it to Ogblog, which is a good sign…
…and she still seems to be talking to me.
Gosh I recall those Airmail letters. A fixed amount of space which seemed like a massive space to fill, until one got going and then ran out of space – pretty much always.
Please note how very legible Fran’s handwriting is compared with mine. Who’d have thought back then and/or from the written evidence that Fran would end up making her living as a medic (dentist), while I would end up making much of my living from writing.
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