Tag: Rohan Candappa

The Heist, ThreadMash (Or In This Case, ThreadMezze) Performance Piece, Souk Restaurant, 19 February 2026

The heist movie, as a genre, isn’t really my thing.  It feels disconnected from the real world, to me, or at least disconnected from my world. 

I did have a couple of youthful, personal experiences of failed heists. Those actual experiences no doubt informed my negative subjective perception of the genre.

One of those crimes was in the late 1970’s, at my dad’s camera shop, in Battersea, near the fictitious boarding house in which The Lavender Hill Mob planned their seminal movie heist.

I’m delighted to report that the police foiled The Great Battersea Camera Shop Heist. A few minutes after the crime, a bloodied gentleman presented himself at Bolingbroke Hospital, with several items from my dad’s smashed shop window about his person, having left a trail of blood along the few streets between the shop and hospital.

I remember my father commending the police for their astute detective work in apprehending the photographic equipment fiend.  The police officers, without any outward signs of irony in their response, accepted dad’s praise smugly. Thus distracted, the police failed to book my dad for using child labour (me) as assistance for the squalid clean-up operation. 

My second experience of a failed heist had the added excitement of cash, contraband and gun violence. This was in the mid-1980s, when I was working, on assignment, in the accounts office, at a large wine & spirits cash and carry warehouse, The Nose, underneath the arches at London Bridge. 

One of the administrative employees in that office, I think she was named Diane, was a large, well-built woman.  If you had gone to central casting looking for someone to play the part of a 1970s East German Olympic shot-putter, you might have chosen her.

One afternoon, while us office workers were quietly beavering away, we suddenly heard a loud commotion just outside the office. Diane leapt out of her chair and dashed onto the warehouse floor, yelling, “what the bloody hell is going on out here?” 

A few moments later she came back into the office. “That’s got rid of them”.  Shortly after that, we heard the sound of multiple police car sirens, after which the place was swarming with police for the rest of the afternoon.

It might have looked a bit like this. This and the headline image with thanks to DeepAI

Several (I think two) armed robbers had entered the warehouse in search of cash.  They can only have been moments away from our office, where indeed they would have found plentiful cash, when Diane, unwittingly, bounded out with her shouty enquiry.  The sight and sound of Diane apparently scared the armed robbers into running away sharpish. 

Everyone in the office was in a state of shocked relief on discovering what had happened, not least how close we had come to being held up at gunpoint. Diane seemed the least shocked of all of us. 

My work at The Nose was connected with an earlier heist of the non-violent kind. The owners were accused (and eventually convicted) of a sophisticated VAT and bonded goods fraud which, at that time, was believed to amount to £3M; then the largest Customs & Excise fraud ever.

My firm’s role was to help get the business back onto the straight and narrow, as the tax and judicial authorities wanted the business to continue trading so that the authorities might recover the defrauded value. 

That role, twixt business and authorities, was very unusual. At one point, on the first day of the trial, I ended up dashing to the Old Bailey with an incriminating document I had, in the nick of time, discovered.  Richard Ducann QC, strangely more famous for the Lady Chatterley , Last Tango & Fanny Hill obscenity cases than for The Nose case, persuaded the owners to change their pleas to guilty on the back of their self-incrimination. 

At that juncture, some of the customs people mistakenly thought I was their stool pigeon (ha-cha-cha-cha).  But my firm’s role was to support the business, not to do the authorities bidding. 

I had an idea to do forensic accounting using seminal computer modelling techniques (spreadsheets), to ascertain the true value of the fraud. In part, that required me to model the economics of the entire wine trade; someone had to do it. The exercise proved the actual value of the fraud was much less than the £3M the authorities had asserted. Thus I quickly fell from favour with the customs folk.

I learnt a lot and enjoyed doing that forensic accounting assignment.  But I soon drifted away from such work, after just one other 1980s fraud case.  Yet now, nearly 40 years later, I’m minded to re-assemble the old firm’s investigative team.  One last enormous, audacious, forensic accounting case.  Just think of the fees.  We’d all be able to retire in luxury…and what could possibly go wrong?

The Evening Itself, Including Several Other Heists

It is my solemn duty, in my capacity as The Scribe (aka ‘ammer ‘arris, apparently) to report on the evening.

The Boss (Rohan), His Moll (Jan), Independent Scrutiniser (Chris) & The Polymath (Kay)

We ate Moroccan food at Souk, the scene of earlier crimes perpetrated by The Boss and some of his cronies:

Cous Cous Club Christmas Dinner At Souk, 17 December 2025

After the grub, it was down to business. Usual ThreadMash style – Rohan introduced and linked the pieces. On this occasion he went for some musical links – some funny, some just plain weird.

First up was Kay, whose story started off like one of her rather wonderful childhood stories about spending time with her grandfather, but then got darker and darker, as a heist story emerged from the seemingly innocent fun at the start of piece.

Next up was me – see performance piece above.

Then John Eltham told an intriguing tale from the 18th century, partly based on true events, partly on conjecture, with a mixture of piracy, mutiny, hidden treasure and betrayal. Is it a spoiler to say that, despite the tropical setting, many jewels end up buried where the sun doesn’t shine.

Julie was next. She imagined a family business doing heists to order, with a female member of the family nonchalantly going through the businesses terms and conditions with a telephone enquirer. At least one of the cancellation clauses seemed to be an existential problem in more ways than one. It was a very funny piece…

…as was Jan’s piece, which brought everyone who had assembled that evening into play. The Boss in her piece is a sinister character with a bunch of unsuspecting cronies, who are all writing creative pieces to order, not realising that The Boss is stealing all of their stories and publishing them as his own. Who could possibly stop him? Perhaps the quiet, demure one, who also happens to be The Boss’s moll.

We all chatted together for a while…before The Boss set our next assignment and encouraged his accomplices in Souk to extract money from us.

After that, some of the gang scarpered sharpish – especially those with long journeys. Several of us stuck around to try and put the world to rights. We failed, but at least we tried.

Perhaps we should have debated world affairs over coffee, in the 18th century style. Right at the end of the evening, I suggested same to Kay, as a way of mentioning my Thomas Paine blue plaque project, a mile or so north of Souk, in Fitzrovia, three doors down from the house in which my dad was born.

Thomas Paine Lived & Wrote At 154 New Cavendish Street: Evidenced

If/when I pull that off, it won’t be a heist but it will be a bit of a coup.

But for now, I’m just wallowing in the memory of a great evening with good friends and wonderful stories at Souk.

Cous Cous Club Christmas Dinner At Souk, 17 December 2025

The Cous Cous Club is a gathering of Alleyn’s Old Boys from the mid to late 1970s – most of whom I have therefore known for over 50 years at the time of writing. In fact many of us have been gathering occasionally and informally in this way for decades.

It was one of Rohan Candappa’s ideas to name and brand a well established thing that previously had no sense of brand identity. Rohan used to be in advertising, but now does this sort of thing in his spare time.

I missed the inaugural meeting of the Cous Cous Club at Souk back in early autumn. I was in the USA, talking at the International Tennis Hall of Fame about events 150 years ago, at another of my clubs, that led to the codification of tennis into the modern game as we know it:

1875 And All That

Still, despite the fact that I might easily confuse CCC and MCC in future conversations, Rohan invited me to join the Cous Cous Club for its first Christmas dinner and naturally I said “yes please”.

I was the first to arrive at the restaurant. Most of the party had gathered at a nearby hostelry for a pre-dinner drink, whereas I was coming hot foot from a prior engagement.

My earlier appointment had been a meeting with Professor Tim Connell, to plan my slot at the Gresham Society soirée, which this time will be in mid January rather than during the pre Christmas mêlée. I usually grace the soirée with late medieval music…sometimes more genuine than other times:

Gresham Society Soirée, Including Þe Fair Weather Canticle, 12 December 2022

As the Cous Cous Club was on my mind, I teased Tim with the notion that I was planning, for Gresham Society, a sing-along of very, very old songs: Slade, Sweet, T-Rex, Rod…

But once I realised that Tim was close to tears and/or apoplexy at this thought, I showed him the early 17th century material, with a Gresham College connection, which I actually have in mind for the soirée sing-along. Tim then cheered up and calmed down.

Anyway, point is, as first to arrive at Souk, I got to chat with the charming and friendly waiter who was to be our main host for the evening. When I explained to him what the Cous Cous Club was, and the antiquity of our shared experience, the waiter was quite blown away. I suspect that young waiter has been on the planet for less half the time we Alleyn’s Old Boys have known each other.

No pressure…

…I said to the waiter, who just beamed, knowing that he and his colleagues would be able to cope with whatever collective curve balls our group of old boys might throw at them.

Then the main gang turned up from the pub, followed by a trickle of late-comers.

So who was there?…

…I hear multiple readers cry. Let’s call the register. This is school, after all, even if it is 50+ years on:

  • Nick Wahla
  • Rohan Candappa
  • Claire Brooke
  • Paul Driscoll
  • Simon Ryan
  • Andy Feeley
  • Dave Leach
  • Steve Butterworth
  • Perry Harley
  • John Eltham
  • Me (obvs).

Rohan provided each of us with a fez…apart from John Eltham who, always one of the keenest scouts, had brought his own. Rohan also awarded me my Cous Cous Club membership badge, which felt a bit like being inducted into The Tufty Club, but without first having to cross the road safely.

There were a couple of notable absences, not least Lisa Pavlovsky and Dave Wellbrook. That led, naturally, to those absent friends getting the hardest time of the evening. That might seem unfair, as they had no opportunity on the night to defend themselves, but life isn’t fair. The fact that life isn’t fair is a lesson you learn early at the very best schools. You also learn it at Alleyn’s. And you especially learn that lesson at the Cous Cous Club.

Claire Brooke had come all the way from Harrogate for the evening. Rohan felt, with some justification, that a wrong from the first gathering needed to be put right.

At the early Autumn inaugural Cous Cous Club gathering, Rohan had awarded Lisa Pavlovsky with a trophy recognising her as the first female House Captain at Alleyn’s School.

Lisa, awarded, beaming, early autumn 2025. Photo “borrowed” from Facebook.

But soon after that first event, it emerged that Claire Brooke had been the first female House Captain, albeit a joint one, the previous year. Rohan felt obliged to put matters right:

Claire, beaming, with her revenge trophy, awarded by Rohan, December 2025

Chat soon turned to sport and tales of derring-do gone by. As usual, John Eltham and Nigel Boatswain reminded me about my infeasibly successful/lucky stint in goal against them (Cribbs v Duttons) although the exact details of that story keep changing in people’s memories.

Exciting news, gang – I have actually found a diary reference to that glorious day on the football pitch, which might well be my only such diary entry in all the years I kept diaries. To be Ogblogged in the fullness of time – watch that space.

Then there was reference to the question “who was the youngest grandfather”, as Andy Feeley has recently become one of those. My arithmetical brain worked out that Dave Leach must have first become a grandfather when he was younger than Andy Feeley is now…which I think is right…but apparently that wasn’t the question. Andy Feeley was the youngest person in the room who is now a grandfather.

My confusion was deemed to be Wellbrookian, which turned the conversation to thoughts of Dave Wellbrook and why he wasn’t with us.

Has the lurgy…

…was as close to a polite answer as we got.

Dave Unwellbrook, then…

…I bet no-one had ever made that joke before.

Talk then naturally turned to Wellbrook’s recent treading of the boards, which several (braver than me) Cous Cous Club members had witnessed.

Wellbrook’s self-image, from Facebook. Is this acting, the method or something entirely other?

Nick Wahla’s review was an absolute classic. I paraphrase:

Wellbrook was very much himself in that performance, but he occasionally lapsed into real acting.

Praise indeed. Nick – you really should turn your hand to being a theatre critic.

Out of nowhere, Perry Harley related a story to me about him meeting Mungo Jerry while on holiday in Bournemouth. Perry wondered whether I remembered any Mungo Jerry songs other than “In the Summertime”.

Off the top of my head, I mentioned “Alright Alright Alright” and “Long Legged Woman Dressed In Black”, which raised much mirth and some scepticism too.

It was hard to disabuse Perry and friends of the scepticism, as neither Perry nor I could get our smartphones to connect to the outside world.

Strange how my memory instantly dredged up these tunes and lyrics from that era, way back when we all first met.

Rohan shot a short clip of video that evening, which I can share with you, dear, long-suffering readers:

I wondered, on seeing that clip, whether I might now, after all these years, be even more gobby than Nick Wahla. Now THERE’S a thought.

Yet, I was hugely honoured to read, on Facebook, that Rich Davies – who is hiding in Canada, blaming a little bit of slightly inclement weather for his absence from the evening – had awarded me the Golden Camel for looking the most Moroccan amongst us. That might have had something to do with the fact that I was the last to remove my fez hat.

Anyway, in case it isn’t clear by now, it was great to see everyone and I’m pretty sure we all had a great time.

Thanks, Rohan, for being such a stalwart organiser of great get-togethers. Much appreciated. And so well branded.

Merry Cousmas everybody.

Most Of My Politics I Got From Songs by Rohan Candappa, Hornsey Town Hall Arts Centre, 6 December 2025

Cometh the hour, cometh the Candy

I have known Rohan Candappa since we were eleven. I met him on my first day at Alleyn’s School, the secondary school we both attended 1973-1980. There he is in my first year class, 1973/74:

My First Class At Alleyn’s School, 1S, And Some Nicknames, guessing 8 January 1974

This half-century-old remembering is relevant to Rohan’s show, not least because most of the musical material into which Rohan is delving relates to the years that he and I were still in full-time education – including the university years following school.

Also to say, although Rohan and I lost touch after school, we have very much been in touch with one another again for best part of the last 20 years.

When Rohan “shouted out” to ancient pals, like me, that he would be doing a free gig as part of the Hornsey Town Hall Arts Centre grand opening day, how could I possibly say no? Even though Janie and I had tickets to the theatre that evening – it seemed to me that the hike from Hornsey to Hampstead Theatre (by car) would easily be achievable – thus we agreed to do both events.

We thought Rohan might need the support. We needn’t have worried on that score:

Nor need we have worried on behalf of Hornsey Town Hall Arts Centre generally – the place was heaving with visitors on its opening day:

Rohan was performing in the former Council Chamber, which was mighty grand. Janie and I had a theory that it would be good to get into the chamber early, as there would be good seats and not such good seats in such a place. We were right.

There’s me, one of the first to get in. Indeed, only the lady in the red hat – whom you might have got from central casting to play the role of the enthusiastically-right-on elderly lady – beat us to it. Apart from Rohan and the technical dude, obvs.

The lady from central casting danced magnificently to Free Nelson Mandela at the end of the show

Rohan started the piece with a bit of Hornsey Town Hall history from January 1937 – when Oswald Mosely held a public meeting there and protesters bravely made a scene.

The Hornsey Six 25 January 1937

Article from 26 Jan 1937 Daily Herald (London, London, England)

Rohan thought that four gutsy protesters had embedded themselves in the hall and taken on the fascist mob, but the embedded Daily Herald article [did you see what I did there?] suggests that there were six brave hecklers.

A more detailed article from the Wood Green and Southgate Weekly Herald gives more detail, including the ominous phrases:

…one man who persisted was forcibly removed. It was related that he afterwards received first aid from the Fascists’ own first aid men.

I dread to think.

I also especially “like” the picture of Oswald Mosely in this Daily Express article about the event. We should have a Private Eye-style bubble caption competition for that photo (which remains in copyright, hence the link rather than an embed). My bubble caption entry would read:

…up yours, Candappa!

Badge of pride, Rohan. Badge of pride.

Anyway, Rohan took us on a tour de horizon of political songs from the 1970s and early 1980s, including Part Of the Union by The Strawbs, The Killing Of Georgie by Rod Stewart, Ghost Town by The Specials…you’ll get the idea if you are of our generation. Actually, you’ll get the idea – if not the nostalgia fix – however old you might be.

Most of Rohan’s choices were items I might have expected…although he omitted the two tracks that I had mentally put on my list of essentials before we arrived – we’ll return to those…

…but he did choose some items that were refreshingly and interestingly unexpected to me. For example, I wasn’t expecting All Gone Away by the Style Council, but was glad to hear it again in this context.

Nor was I expecting quite so much emphasis on anti-apartheid politics, despite the fact that my own political awakening was much-triggered by that cause. Rohan played a short excerpt from Coal Train by Hugh Masekela before playing the whole of Peter Gabriel’s Biko…

So which two “essential” tracks (in Ian Harris terms) did Rohan omit?…

I hear all you inquisitive readers cry.

Stand Down Margaret by The Beat and (We Don’t Need This) Fascist Groove Thang by Heaven 17.

I had told Rohan (and his wife Jan) that I would demand all my money back if Rohan didn’t use both of my “essential” political songs and he used neither of them. Honourably, Rohan has promised to refund both me and Janie every penny I had forked out for those event tickets…

…what do you mean, the event was free?

I sense that this performance piece, which was excellent and suitably moving in parts, will serve as a pilot for one of Rohan’s more honed pieces in the fullness of time. I might have to pay for tickets to see the honed version.

As it was, the after show period between 5:30 and us needing to head off towards the Hampstead theatre gave us time for a very pleasant wine bar drink with Rohan, Jan and another of our pals from school, Steve “Peanut” Butterworth.

As Steve discreetly put it to Janie:

…a lot of people had far worse nicknames than mine…

…without naming names…or nicknames.

Once again, I dread to think.

“You’re Only Young Once But You Can Be Immature Forever”, Dinner With Fellow Alleyn’s Alums, Then Tink by Lizzy Connolly & Kat Kleve, The Other Palace, 8 October 2024

Olly Goodwin having received his Olly-Vier Theatre Award from Rohan Candappa

The above quote comes from Germaine Greer. It is apposite to both elements of the enjoyable evening I am about to describe.

“It was Candappa’s fault, Sir”. That non-quote is nevertheless true – this evening would not have happened, had it not been for Rohan Candappa doing his thing, both in terms of keeping us ’73-’80 Alleyn’s alums together and in helping to promote writing and theatrical talent.

Kat Kleve first came into my orbit when she worked with Rohan on One Starts in a Barber’s, One Starts in a Bar, which several of us Alleyn’s alums first saw at the Gladstone Arms in the autumn of 2018, after which it went to Edinburgh the next year and ultimately Kat’s bit ended up being Rohan’s first Lockdown Theatre production, And You Are? You can read all about it by clicking here or the link below.

And You Are? by Rohan Candappa, Lockdown Theatre Company, 24 March 2020

At the time, I gave that piece the wildest praise I could conjure at the time:

Better than watching Boris Johnson telling you what to do and what not to do – Ian Harris, Ogblog.

Strangely, neither Kat nor Rohan latched on to that quote for promotional purposes at the time. Pearls…

…anyway, this time around Kat is performing her own show, written with Lizzy Connelly, named Tink. The play did famously well at Edinburgh in 2023 and now has a London run at The Other Palace. Book early to avoid disappointment.

Hence Rohan’s idea for us alums to meet up there for a bite, a drink and a show.

As coincidence would have it, Olly Goodwin was a Trustee of The Theatres Trust back when The Other Palace was just an idea. Olly was instrumental in helping that project get its planning permission. If you have ever wondered why that building has a glorious but perhaps incongruous-looking marble staircase…

…ask Olly. And if you have ever wondered why Rohan thought fit to award Olly Goodwin with an Olly-Vier Theatre Award…see headline photo…the answer is intrinsically connected to the above coincidence.

The food was pretty good and the serving staff delightful at The Other Palace, even when Olly exclaimed:

Hey, why have you served Ben with his drink before serving mine, which I ordered earlier?…

…ignoring the large glass of wine that the waitress had placed in front of him a few moments before serving Ben. That wine glass is also commemorated in the headline picture.

Here is the whole scene just before we went into the theatre…except that my lens isn’t wide enough to have captured all the group and I have cruelly left out our ringleader, Rohan.

You’ll just have to take my word for it that Rohan is like a kid in the proximity of a candy store on such occasions.

Ah, there he is…

Actually, we all tend to display our inner overgrown schoolboy modes when we get together, which is at least some of the point behind getting together. As Germaine Greer said:

You’re Only Young Once But You Can Be Immature Forever.

Anyway, recollecting our youth over dinner will have helped prepare us for the coming of age musical, Tink, which we then went down the Olly Goodwin Memorial Marble Staircase to see.

Tink by Lizzy Connolly & Kat Kleve

Here is a link to the Other Place information and resources on this show.

Here’s the trailer:

The conceit of the piece is that the central character – this is a one person show – is a modern Tinkerbell, growing up in the early 21st century rather than the early 20th century character in Peter Pan.

Not in truth my type of show, but Kat Kleve is a very talented and versatile performer, so there was plenty to enjoy in the performance.

It’s basically a coming of age story set in a fairies and elves context, which seemed startlingly like a human context to me. I liked the agonies Tink goes through around trying too hard to be the best at everything (which, it seems, is not guaranteed to make you popular – who knew?) and the social mores around how to dress and behave at teenage parties.

Especially interesting, to me, was the business around social media, which hadn’t been invented when we were kids. I’d long suspected that it is probably even harder to bee a teenager now than it was back in our day – this play illustrated some of the reasons why.

The songs are not really my type of songs either. They reminded me a little of Ed Sheeran and Meghan Trainor style singer-songwriter songs. Very well delivered, though. Here is an example of one of the songs:

That style of song might be spot on for the intended audience for this show, which I imagine to be a bit younger than me. We were there for the opening night and didn’t feel out of place, but I suspect that the average age of the audience will come down a decade or two on most other nights…

…apart from the nights for which Rohan is taking a posse of his friends.

The show runs until 20 October, so if you are reading this in time you might well want to click this link and grab some tickets, before dynamic pricing takes Kat Kleve out of your price range.

The Phone Call by Nashmash, Royal National Theatre, 27 February 2024

“I can’t talk now, darling, I’m performing at the National”

Yes, this was the night that I and several others from Threadmash performed at the National Theatre.

Threadmash Begets NashMash

Threadmash is one of Rohan Candappa’s bright ideas. We have been meeting on and off for five years now, writing short pieces to order and then performing them to each other (and occasionally also to invitees). Here is a link to my write up of the first event, which includes my first Threadmash piece:

The Rohan Thing, My Short Performance Piece As Part Of Rohan Candappa’s Inaugural Threadmash, Gladstone Arms, 5 February 2019

The idea needed to morph into ThreadZoomMash during the pandemic and now seems to have retained the capital M for mash. If you are a real glutton for this sort of thing, this link here is a tag for all of the ThreadMash pieces on Ogblog, which will include this one.

Anyway…

…Rohan decided to try the National Theatre foyer bars as a venue this time around – cunningly timed with two quite long plays at the Olivier and Lyttelton both starting at 19:30. That gave us ample time to perform in the relative quiet between the start of the plays and the intervals.

The relative quiet was rather noisily broken by the bar staff hoovering up around us, very early in the reading of Geraldine’s piece, but we’ll put that temporary disturbance aside. The venue worked.

And we can all honestly claim now that we have performed at The National Theatre.

Rohan threaded our pieces together, as is his way. In this instance, with the topic “The Phone Call”, Rohan’s thread covered Alexander Graham Bell‘s innovation, the practical telephone. Also the contribution of the lesser known but colourful Florentine, Antonio Meucci, who largely invented that communication method before Bell, but was too polite to patent the critically novel elements of the technology he had discovered.

Geraldine’s piece came first. A charming throwback to 1973, Geraldine recounted her mother’s almost infeasibly regular long-distance calls to Geraldine (who had escaped to New York). Geraldine’s mum persistently tried, in vain, to persuade her daughter to return to “Hicksville” and resume the “normal” life into which Geraldine had, to her mother’s perception, been born.

Rohan then reminded us all that Alexander Graham Bell’s first phone call was to an employee who awaited his call…

Mr. Watson—Come here—I want to see you

…starting the mighty tradition of bosses using such devices to issue instructions to underlings.

Rohan was rather sniffy about my ability to follow a simple instruction – i.e. to write a story about a phone call. I cannot imagine what Rohan’s beef might have been.

The Phone Call by Ian Harris

We don’t go out so much anymore. Not since the pandemic. It’s not a fear of infection or anything like that.  It’s just that we have got out of the habit.  It now takes something especially interesting or unusual to lure us back to the theatre or concert hall. 

One such interesting concert caught our eyes recently – a concert of African chamber music at the Wigmore Hall, led by Tunde Jegede, who is both a virtuoso kora player and a classically-trained cellist. The kora is a large West-African 21-stringed plucking instrument, sometimes described as a cross between a lute and a harp. 

Janie and I like the Wigmore Hall. It is one of the few remaining public spaces where we still normally bring down the average age of the audience quite significantly. But we soon saw, on arrival at the Wigmore Hall for the kora concert, that this audience was different. Only sparsely populated with “the usual suspects”, the average age of the audience was, horror of horrors, below ours.

The front row still had a comfortingly senior look. Next to Janie was a beaming, white-haired woman you might have got from central casting had you requested “a left-over hippy”.  The woman was very friendly and chatty – clearly not part of the regular front row mafia. Familiar with the kora – she had spent time in West Africa when younger – she was a fan of Tunde Jegede’s playing but had not previously managed to see him play live. She was, as the young folk say, super-excited.

The first half of the concert was truly magical. Tunde had brought with him a posse of chamber musicians from Lagos, together with a wonderful percussionist. We were transported by the music, not least the entrancing sound of Tunde’s kora-playing. 

During the interval, our friendly neighbour said that she was delighted with the live music experience and thrilled that we had enjoyed it. She recommended and wrote down the names of a couple of Tunde’s albums for us to follow up, which we did. 

I wondered what those silky-sounding kora strings are made of. Our otherwise-expert neighbour didn’t know. More or less at that moment, Tunde came on to the stage to rearrange the setting for the second half of the concert. As he was standing, with his kora, about three yards away from me, it seemed only polite to ask him about the strings.  

I was expecting the answer to be something along the lines of, “skin from an antelope’s anus or a sitatunga’s scrotum“. But instead, Tunde simply said, “Nylon”. “Just Nylon”, I asked, hoping for more enlightenment. “Just Nylon”, said Tunde, gently.

The second half of the concert was also good but less to our taste. Tunde didn’t play his kora – instead he demonstrated his skills as a cellist. The fusion theme was retained, as the pieces were arrangements of traditional African music, but to us the real magic had been the kora.

I tried to work out the common theme in Tunde’s unusual choice of devices for his multi-instrumentalism.  I concluded that Tunde likes making music while holding his instrument between his legs.

525 WORDS

I smiled to myself as I hit the save button and e-mailed my piece to Rohan Candappa for review.

Ninety minutes later, my iPhone buzzed.

It was Rohan.

“Ian, old chap”, said Rohan. “A charming vignette, but it has nothing to do with the subject and title – The Phone Call”. 

“I beg to differ”, I said.  “The piece is absolutely about The Phone Call”.  The introductory story about the kora concert is a MacGuffin. The main story is about the phone call.

“Well”, said Rohan, “I did consider e-mailing you, but then…”

“…never explain”, I interrupted. “You and I have collaborated on and off for over 50 years now, Rohan. Many things don’t need to be said.”

I pressed the “end call” button.

Koras Of Approval: Tunde Jegede & Friends At The Wigmore Hall, 17 February 2024
AKA “The Phone Call”

Returning To NashMash

It seemed that everyone else was able to understand and obey a simple instruction from Rohan…even Jan.

Strangely, Jan, like Geraldine, had set her story in 1973. Without conferring. The central conceit of Jan’s story, which revolved around an uprooted little girl whose family had recently moved to a different town, was a troubling phone call aimed at one or both parents, inadvertently picked up by the little girl.

Similarly strange was the structural similarity between Jan’s and Julie’s story, which was also about a troubling phone call picked up by someone other than the intended recipient of the call. Julie’s was not set in a particular bygone year, but the details within the story suggested 1970s as well.

David’s story was about a character who bought a vintage GPO rotary telephone through the internet and, as a result, got a phone call more than he had bargained for.

All of The Phone Call stories were charming, thought-provoking and enjoyable to hear. It was also very pleasing to spend time with the ThreadMash gang again, even though we were a somewhat depleted group on this occasion.

Sadly, Kay, who was going to join us, was unable to attend due to the recent death of her mother. Yet Kay made a charming contribution to the collection of stories by e-mail a couple of days later:

“Here is my belated contribution to “The Call”. In the endless process of clearing out my mum’s house, we found the tin in which I used to save my phone money when I was a kid. Like many others, I was expected to pay for my calls!”

They say a picture is worth a thousand words and my goodness that picture of Kay’s is worth at least that many. But Rohan had instructed us to limit our stories to a maximum of 800 words. Honestly, some people can’t comply with the simplest of instructions from the ThreadMaster.

Blooming Heck I Was Out A Lot That Week, 23 to 26 May 2023

Thanks to David Wellbrook for the above picture of me, him & Rohan Candappa

Tuesday 23 May – Brasserie Zédel With Wellbrook & Candappa

I’ve known Rohan Candappa & David Wellbrook for very nearly 50 years now. Rohan is very good at keeping in touch and occasionally just saying, “let’s meet” and/or “there’s something I want to chat through with you fellas”.

We responded to the call. David booked Brasserie Zédel, a favourite place of his. As it happens, I had wanted to try the place for some time, ever since I discovered that my grandfather, Lew Marcus, worked there for decades as a barber in the Regent Palace Hotel, rising to the giddy heights of manager I am told:

Turn It Up To Max & Spit: The Baltic Origins Of My Mother’s (Marcus) Family Revealed

Lew’s older brother Max no doubt played music there on occasions, although David de Groot’s Piccadilly Hotel Orchestra was his main gig.

The interior is like an Art Deco fantasy. Here’s a link to someone else’s photo of the glitz.

Anyway, we were there to chew the fat, catch up and the like. I think I have persuaded Rohan and David to provide some “Fifty Years Ago” reflections on the opening overs of our Alleyn’s School career, as I remember so little about the very early days and didn’t start my diary until January 1974.

Rohan wanted to discuss his thoughts on positive proposals following his extensive fundraising around mental health, not least reframing the language used around that subject.

It became a little difficult to have profound conversation once the jazz trio got started. With two of them sporting flat caps, I thought they might name themselves “Jazz & Dave”.

Always good to catch up with those two. Good food & drink at that place too.

Wednesday 24 May – Kapara With John White

My turn to choose, John’s turn to pay. I Googled for new restaurants that are getting rave reviews and soon landed on Kapara, ironically located just across the way from the slightly crazy Manette Street Shule where my father’s family hung out in the 1920s.

The Only Known Relic Of Grandpa Harris Reaches Its Hundredth Birthday, October 2022

The service was sweet and attentive (apart from one lad who kept approaching our table with other table’s dishes) and the food excellent.

They are big on small plates there, which made the tasting menu a sensible way to try the place out.

This is a link to a similar set menu to the one we ate. Ours had bream rather than snapper and didn’t have the soup.

Always great to catch up with John – it had been a while so we had a bit of catching up to do. But we shall be seeing each other again within the month, along with “the girls” and Pady. Part of our catching up comprised planning that gathering.

Thursday 25 May – Lord’s For Sunrisers v South East Stars & Middlesex v Surrey, With Janie

Cullen Bowls To The Curran Brothers

Our plan, which more or less worked, was to get to Lord’s around 15:00 and watch as much of the double-header as took our fancy. The weather smiled on us, for sure, so we took root in Janie’s favourite place, the pavilion sun deck.

In truth, the afternoon women’s game, between the Sunrisers and South East Stars, was somewhat of a damp squib, both in terms of the cricket and also the atmosphere…or lack thereof. Midweek afternoon games work great when youngsters are off school. In term time, the timing virtually guaranteed a tiny crowd before the evening.

A reasonable number of member stalwarts (MCC and MCCC) turned up for both matches, but there was almost no atmosphere for the women’s match, which is a shame.

There was a decent (but not full) crowd for the Middlesex v Surrey fixture.

Anyway, we were enjoying ourselves. But the Surrey score batting first seemed high and the chill of the evening was starting to tell, so we decided to go home and watch the almost inevitable ending of the match on TV.

This event was subsequently immortalised on the King Cricket site:

Sunrise without enlightenment – a Sunrisers v South East Stars match report

If anything ever were to befall the King Cricket site, you can read that piece here.

You probably don’t want to see the scorecards but here they are anyway:

Sunrisers v South East Stars

Middlesex v Surrey

Friday 26 May – Dedanists v Jesters At The Queen’s Club

I was delighted to be selected again to represent The Dedanists in this absolutely crucial real tennis fixture with The Jesters.

If anyone from Alleyn’s School is still reading at this juncture, you might be interested to know that the very first Jesters fixture was in late 1928 – a Rugby Fives match between the nascent Jesters and Alleyn Old Boys.

Actually, in truth, this is one of those fixtures where half the people playing are members of both clubs and half the time it’s hard to work out who is representing which club. Indeed on this occasion I found myself (together with Simon Cripps) playing for the Dedanists but playing against our team captain, Martin Village, who paired up with Anton Eisdell.

I’m glad to say I managed to maintain a winning streak in the matter of match play in Dedanists fixtures at Queen’s, having recently lost my Lowenthal Trophy crown there to, amongst others, Mr Eisdell. The piece linked here and below also describes this Jesters fixture from last year.

Finally…Unprecedented Success At Tennis, The Queen’s Club, 11 May & 27 May 2022

It was a thoroughly delightful afternoon and evening – my first (but hopefully not last) opportunity to partner Simon Cripps – who kept getting me out of trouble and who in truth was the key to our success as a pair. Also an opportunity to meet and chat with lots of delightful and interesting people.

It also gave me the opportunity to check up on the progress of the seats I have booked for me and Janie to enjoy the Wednesday of Queen’s this year.

Ah yes, coming on nicely.

Pass Time With Good Company, With “All Good Sports” For A Few Days, Mid October 2022

Rohan “Candy” Candappa & David Wellbrook

Violets & Fatt Pundit With Mark Ellicott, Simon Jacobs & John White, 17 October 2022

For some reason we were all being too grown up to take photos, but this was a special get together reuniting people who had all known each other at Keele for one reason or another.

I had re-engaged by e-mail with Mark Ellicott during the latter stages of the pandemic while writing my “Forty Years On” series, not least to compare notes over Princess Margaret debacles, a cricket match for which I got picked for the craziest of Ellicott-induced reasons and more recently some exchanges over playlists (or, as we used to call them, mix tapes) from 1982.

Mark Ellicott (right), next to Neil Baldwin of Marvellous fame, 2016

In particular the musical aspects intrigued Simon Jacobs, who wondered out loud to me why I hadn’t set up a get-together with Mark.

Simon, in 2019, trying to make a silk purse out of my (then) sow’s ear voice

Actually, John said something similar when I shared my Mark correspondence with him when we met up in the summer. I had no excuse, so I felt duty bound to act.

John questioning my judgement with his eyes and body language, August 2022

I booked a table at Fatt Pundit in Berwick Street and chose Violet’s as a suitable close-by bar for us to meet for a pre-dinner drink.

I played tennis at Lord’s – a draw at singles seeing as you were going to ask – before hot-footing it (via the flat) to Soho.

I arrived at Violet’s, grabbing a table – just inside but suitably quasi-open to the street – about five minutes before Simon arrived. From that vantage point, we observed Mark walk straight past us and then four or five minutes later he returned having got as confused as everyone else by the Berwick Street door-numbering. John arrived fashionably but not ridiculously last.

We had a good chat and a drink at Violet’s before heading a block or two up the road to Fatt Pundit, where the food was excellent and the chat got even better.

A few comedy moments with the sweet waitress whose high-pitched voice is possibly in a register that none of us, given our advancing years, could hear. But the menu was pretty-much self-explanatory, so a mixture of sign language, reading the menu and common sense allowed us to order a cracking good meal.

It was a really enjoyable four-way catch up.

Goldmine With Rohan Candappa & David Wellbrook, 18 October 2022

This gathering was originally conceived in Soho when Rohan and I met for dim sum a couple of months ago:

Dim Sum At New Loon Fung In Chinatown With Rohan Candappa, 2 August 2022

It was basically a “barbeque meats challenge” based on my assertion that the Queensway specialists therein, especially Goldmine, are better than those in Chinatown.

It turned into a small-scale Alleyn’s School alum thing. David Wellbrook, being Wellbrook, needed to join in the challenge, not least because Queensway is an alma mater of his where he attended the University of Romance (his wife used to live there when they were courting).

We tucked into plenty of barbeque meats, diverting briefly at the start and end of the lunchtime feast for some dim sum, just in the interests of science.

At school Rohan Candappa was always known as Candy, so it was with great mirth and merriment that David spotted “Candy World” across the street.

Rohan Candappa’s world

After lunch, we retreated to my flat where I showed the lads my centennial family relic, on what was, after all, its century day.

Hamsters v Dedanists At Hampton Court Palace, 20 October 2022

Almost everything that needs to be said about this match is contained in my match report on the Dedanists web site – here…or perhaps best to read it from the scrape here, scraped before the current piece drops down the running order.

For those who don’t like to click and/or who don’t want all the tennis detail – here is an extract:

“It’s a hard rain’s a-gonna fall,” said your intrepid reporter to Carl Snitcher, having braved the 3.5 mile high-pass journey from Notting to Primrose Hill in just over 35 minutes.

“There’s a bad moon on the rise,” agreed Carl, gnomically.

We arrived at a rain-soaked Hampton Court Palace in the nick of time; just as well, as your intemporal reporter was playing in the first rubber. Some might argue that our arrival was actually “worse than two”, but a more substantial discrepancy soon revealed itself; the marker’s sheet was showing a lesser handicap for the Dedanists than the sheet that James McDermott & I had been sent.

In order to avoid a major diplomatic incident, James & I acquiesced to the lesser handicap, yet still somehow contrived to win our rubber, albeit narrowly…

McDermott hitting, me watching

On finally staggering away from the court, your incognizant reporter picked up a message that the Prime Minister had resigned. “That’s the second Liz whose expiration has been announced while I was on the real tennis court in the space of six weeks”, I mused, having been informed of the late Queen’s demise by Tony Friend while I was on the Lord’s court.

I thought I might be the tidings-bringer this time, only to discover that most of the group had learnt the demise of Liz Truss some 45 minutes earlier.

Anyway, this was no time to ponder the fate of shambolic politicians – it was time to tuck into the pies before they too were to become a footnote in history. A positive footnote in the case of the pies of course – once again a delicious choice of
• Chicken Ham & Leek;
• Steak & Ale.

Bread and cheese (yes please) and two species of yummy desert that self-discipline allowed me to avoid, along with the jolly wines on offer…

Pictures by Tony Friend

There’s no better way to lift the spirits on a gloomy, worrisome day than a day of pastance with Dedanists and Hamsters. Symbolically, as the nation’s political shenanigans moved on to its new phase, the heavy clouds and rain of the morning had lifted to reveal a gorgeously bright, sunny evening as we all left.

“So foul and fair a day I have not seen”, said Carl, gnomically, as I dropped him home.

“Pass time with good company”, I replied.

Dim Sum At New Loon Fung In Chinatown With Rohan Candappa, 2 August 2022

Are you a fan of dim sum?

…asked Rohan, while we were messaging each other to make the arrangements for a lunchtime meet up.

Is the sky blue, is the Pope a Catholic, do bears shit in the woods and is a pig’s arse pork?

…I felt like replying, but instead I sent Rohan a link to the Ogblog piece about my first ever dim sum experience, so long ago it was before I had even met Rohan…whom I met when we started Alleyn’s School in September 1973:

From Yan Chow (Or Do I Mean Yang Chow?) In Streatham To Dim Sum In Soho, Chinese New Year, Probably February 1972

In that case, let’s meet at 12:30 in the middle of Gerrard Street.

Great, I thought, this will be my first visit to Chinatown for years and I miss the place.

My childhood memory of trying dim sum for the first time must be my favourite anecdote about dim sum in Chinatown, but I do have another treasured memory on that topic.

In the mid to late 1990s, while working with the late, great Professor Mike Smith, we found ourselves nearby and decided to continue our discussions over a dim sum lunch. Studying an extensive card, I wondered whether Mike had ever tried duck tongues – a dish I had tried before (I think in Hong Kong) and rather liked. Mike said he was up for anything and thus we ordered, amongst several other things, a portion of tongues.

Mike Smith, normally calm

On tasting the anatine delicacy, Mike freaked out.

Oh my God – they’ve got bones in their tongues! Ducks have bones in their tongues! Uggh.

Even after we agreed that the bone-like core of the duck’s tongue was probably hard cartilage rather than bone, Mike was too discombobulated by the discovery to eat any more of that dish…

…which, to anyone who knew Mike well, proves that he was seriously discombobulated. Indeed, Mike told the “dim sum discovery that ducks have bones in their tongues” story to anyone who’d listen for ages after the event.

Returning to 2022, I wondered whether Rohan had chickened out (or should I say ducked out) of picking a venue, but it turned out he had a specific venue in mind all along: New Loon Fung. As we entered, I was pretty sure this was the same venue as the Mike Smith tongue incident all those years ago. Seeing duck tongues on the menu pretty much confirmed my theory – you don’t see those on the menu in many dim sum places in London.

I told Rohan the story. Of course he agreed we needed to order some, along with the several other things we both wanted to try.

Perhaps the waiters had a sense of foreboding about non-Chinese people ordering a delicacy so quintessentially Chinese as duck tongues. The restaurant was heaving by the time we placed our order, almost exclusively with people who were visibly Chinese or at least of Chinese origin.

We asked a couple of times for the tongues, once it was clear that all our other dishes had long since been delivered. Eventually our portion came:

Duck got your tongue, Rohan? He sure doesn’t look 100% sure

We “toasted” Mike, each of us with a tongue on our chopsticks, Rohan tried that one tongue, then he deferred the rest of the plate to me, leaving me in a similar position, plate of tongues-wise, as I had been in 25 or so years ago with Mike Smith.

I’m old enough and ugly enough now that I don’t do anything I don’t want to do…

…said Rohan, when I pressed the point, just to be sure he wasn’t simply deferring my chosen delicacy out of politeness.

I guess I might be on my own in the matter of liking the duck tongues dish – I recall Janie not much liking it either.

Rohan and I chatted about many things, including how most of the eateries we knew from the old days had gone from Chinatown – New Loon Fung being a rare perennial. I think it was known as Dragon Phoenix “back in the day”, but it looks and feels like the same place of old.

After parting company with Rohan, I took a stroll around Chinatown, confirming that most of my old haunts had vanished.

Strangely and most coincidentally, I got an e-mail from Michael Mainelli about 48 hours later asking me if I could recommend a place in Chinatown for him and the family to go to after a show – all the places he remembered had closed down since his last visit.

I was able to provide some helpful advice. Really I should put the time from my afternoon off onto my timesheet as R&D for the business. Only joking, only joking.

Serious business, this dim sum eating

Three Vignettes From The Adverb Colander, December 2021

Rohan Candappa’s Adverb Colander

In a month during which almost everything was cancelled, apart from work, charity, exercise and political shenanigans…

…the adverb colander has literally (did you see what I did there?) helped to keep me sane. This relative sanity, despite the fact that the adverb colander is one of Rohan Candappa’s crazy ideas.

Last year, Rohan wrote and narrow-casted (within our little ThreadMash writing community) an adverb-inspired vignette each day during advent, having asked the ThreadMash community to send in three adverbs each. Rohan would draw that day’s adverb from the colander depicted above.

This year, Rohan again asked us all to chime in with adverbs, but this time the colander randomly allocated out those pesky modifiers for all of us to have a go…or two…or three.

I offered up:

Undeniably, Infrequently & Tediously.

The colander responded with the following adverbs for my inspiration:

Deeply, Rigorously, Nerdily.

Here are my three vignettes.

Deeply

An Spailpín Fánach, Tuckey Street, Cork by Mac McCarron, CC BY-SA 2.0

I don’t much like soccer football. I’m certainly not one to be deeply affected by a football match. But one match is deeply embedded in my psyche.  The Republic of Ireland v Albania in May 1992. 

Bobbie and I went to Ireland for a week at that time. My first proper break since my back injury two years earlier and my first ever visit to Ireland.  I didn’t take a camera and I didn’t take a notebook, making it the least documented trip I have ever taken abroad.

That football match between Ireland and Albania dominates my memory for two reasons. 

Firstly, I remember that, in the build up to the match, the Irish media was full of news about the visiting Albanian team.  Initially RTÉ news worried, on behalf of the visitors, because the weather was unseasonably cold in Ireland and the visitors reported an insufficiency of warm clothing. Two days later, RTÉ news appealed to the people of Ireland, asking them to stop sending jumpers, cardigans and the like to the Albanian team’s hotel, because the visitors were now inundated with warm clothing.

A deeply charitable nation, the Irish.

Also a nation deeply passionate about their sports teams.

The Republic of Ireland had done unexpectedly well in the 1990 Football World Cup. This May 1992 match was at the start of the qualification campaign for the next World Cup.

By the time the night of the match arrived, Bobbie and I had moved on from Dublin to Cork. Bobbie is a keen football fan whose dad was Irish. We resolved to watch the match in a suitable-looking pub near our hotel.

As usual in Irish pubs, Bobbie and I were warmly received as guests.

There was much genial chatter about the warm clothing news items. The vibe was also charged with keen expectation. The throng expected their now-successful Ireland team to win a qualification match against Albania.

At half time and beyond, with the score still at 0-0, the atmosphere in the pub became tense. Bobbie whispered to me that we should make a hasty exit if the match failed to go Ireland’s way.

Mercifully, Ireland scored a couple of goals in the last half-hour of the game, turning the mood into a memorably shebeen-like party, with plenty of drinking, singing and dancing, until late into the night.

Rigorously Draft v1.0

Not SARS-CoV – other coronaviruses are available…

Sally was super proud of her efforts over the past few months. The Advercol plc Covid Protocol Guide: DRAFT v1.0. Fifty carefully crafted pages, cross-tabulated with government guidelines, referencing journal articles on Covid protocol best practice and in-depth consultations with diverse Advercol stakeholders.

Last Friday, Sally had finally submitted the fruits of her labours for internal review to her boss, Jonathan, The Human Resources & Organisational Development Director.

Around 11:00 on Monday, Sally received a meeting request for a Zoom with Jonathan to discuss the Draft Guide.  A 15-minute slot on Thursday afternoon at 16:45. Jonathan must be pleased with her work, otherwise he would have scheduled a longer session to go through the document with her in detail. Sally clicked the accept button with a satisfied grin on her face.

Over the ensuing days, Sally imagined the reaction her diligence might have engendered. A nomination for a National HR Award, perhaps. Her work would fit well in the HR Innovation category and/or possibly Health & Wellbeing.  A Best In Show award, even, would not be beyond the bounds of possibility.

Yes, this Covid Guide assignment might well turn out to be career-defining for Sally. It had required attention to detail and boy had she deployed her trademark rigor. No wonder Jonathan had chosen her ahead of “Sloppy Simon” for the task.  Simon had acquired his unfortunate epithet before lockdown, when Jonathan had described Simon’s attempt at a revised Diversity and Inclusion Policy as “sloppy”, in front of the whole team. Poor Simon.

Thursday afternoon couldn’t come soon enough for Sally. She clicked the link as soon as the clock on her computer clicked from 16:44 to 16:45.  It seemed to take an age for Jonathan to arrive, just after 16:51.

“Afternoon, Sally”, said Jonathan. “Let’s try and keep this brief.  I need to take the kids to their after-school activities at five. OK? Great. Covid Guide. You’ve clearly put a lot of effort into this.”

“Thanks, Jonathan”, interjected Sally, “I’m glad you noticed”.

“Yes. Right. Thing is, Sally…”, Jonathan continued, “this Covid rules business is a bit of a moving target, don’t you think? I mean, the government changes tack more often than most people change their undies…”

“…indeed, Jonathan”, said Sally, “that’s why I have written protocols to cover so many eventualities…”

“…so we don’t want to over-complicate matters ourselves, do we, with too many in-house rules and stuff?”, continued Jonathan. “We could do with something a little more high-level and generic, don’t you think?”

“…umm, well, I thought…”

“…yes, indeed. So I have asked Simon to come up with a couple of pages. Quick and dirty. That should do us for now. This more detailed material might come in handy later, if or when this whole Covid thing ever settles down. OK? Oh, and Sally – let’s have a little chat about time management and proportionate effort at your next appraisal. OK?”

Nerdily

Oxyman / Covered walkway leading to Ladbroke Grove Sainsbury’s

“I’m leaving you”, said Emily.  “It’s the final straw. Everything I do, you criticise and redo nerdily.”

Stuart was taken aback. “But all I did was rewrite the shopping list in logical, aisle-by-aisle, item-by-item sequence. That’s basic logistics. It saves loads of time at the supermarket. Who wants to trudge back and forth in that crummy place, wasting valuable time?”

“I do”, Emily yelled. “I want to wander aimlessly around the aisles if I choose to do so. Sometimes, I want to spot and buy goods serendipitously.  I want to live – I want to be free”.

There was a long silence. Emily looking for signs of reaction on Stuart’s face. Stuart studiously avoiding Emily’s glare.

“Get real”, said Stuart. “Anyway, there’s no such word as nerdily”.

Emily jolted, then asked, “how the hell do you work that out?”

Stuart explained. “Nerdily is not in the Microsoft spellcheck and, more importantly, it’s not in the Scrabble dictionary. No. Such. Word. As. Nerdily.”

“Be that as it may, Stuart”, said Emily, “but everything you say and do, you say and do nerdily”.

“What If this Adverb Colander Thing Goes Viral?” I Hear Many Readers Ask

We’ll need a bigger colander…

…like this FoodCycle one which Janie and I helped rescue from the Greenhouse Centre kitchen – but that’s another story:

But Me No Butteries, Virtual Buttery Gathering Of Alleyn’s Alums, 14 January 2021

This lockdown business is nobody’s idea of fun, but Rohan Candappa has been putting in some hard yards in setting up some meaningful distractions and social interactions.

This “Virtual Buttery” session was the third such gathering of the Alleyn’s School “Class of 1980”. I wrote up the first of those gatherings in the autumn:

A Virtual Gathering Of People Who Left Alleyn’s School In 1980, 12 November 2020

It wouldn’t be Alleyn’s School without homework. For this third session, Rohan (egged on by Nick Wahla) asked some exam questions:

Nick Wahla’s suggested a question to ponder: “What advice would you give to someone about to leave Alleyn’s?”

It’s a good question, and one which I am obviously going to claim credit for. But I’d also like to twist it around a bit. My question is: “What advice would you give yourself if you could go back and talk to yourself on the day you left Alleyn’s?

I chose to answer this question by Ogblogging about the day I left Alleyn’s School…

The Day I Left (Alleyn’s) School, 27 June 1980

…and confessing to the music I was putting onto my mix tapes at that time:

Mix Tapes From Around The Time That I Left Alleyn’s School, Late May To 28 June 1980

Anyway, loads of people turned up again…but not Nick Wahla – he of the exam question. Typical.

I took the headline screen grab more than an hour into the event, so several people had already come and gone by then.

Again we had participation from across the globe:

  • Neal “Mr” Townley in Sydney,
  • Andrew Sullivan in Phnom Penh,
  • Richard Hollingshead in Washington (desperately trying to convince us and himself that Washington State is a long, long way from security-alert-ridden Washington DC),
  • Paul Deacon and Rich “The Rock” Davis claiming to be in Ontario’s freezing cold lockdown, although I have a sneaking suspicion that they might actually be sunning themselves in the Caribbean, as seems to be the Ontario way,
  • Mark Rathbone, claiming to be in Purley, then Purely and eventually confessing to living in Kenley, a totally different place noted for famous current and former residents such as Des O’Connor, Peter Cushing, Harry Worth, Karl Popper (ironically, given this empirical falsification of the “Mark Rathbone lives in Purley” theory) and Douglas Bader – all together now – Da, da-da, da-da-da-da, da-da, da-da, da-da-da-da…or do I mean da-da, da-da-da-da-da, da-da, da-da-da-da-da-da-da…?

…I digress.

It is hard to summarise the answers to the exam questions, not least because everyone had a slightly different take on them. One theme that ran through the answers is learning quickly post school how to be yourself and follow your heart/instincts in what you want to become. Many of us suspect that we had more freedom to “find our own way” back in 1980 than pupils finishing their ‘A’ levels have now – as the route from school to career via university seems to be a more defined path now.

Some raised the matter of careers advice (it’s lack or paucity), others the more informal aspects such as teachers instilling us with confidence, arrogance or in some cases diffidence.

Naturally this led the conversation on to discussion about memorable teachers, good, bad or indifferent. Mr Jones got off pretty lightly considering he wasn’t there…

…which is more than can be said for David Wellbrook, who should have known better than to defy the wishes of Rohan Candappa by going AWOL, if Rohan’s opening remarks were anything to go by. Rohan’s willingness to turn on a loyal follower for the slightest slight is almost Trumpian in its intensity.

But then, as Rohan pointed out when the conversation turned to the vexed question of teasing, banting or bullying, we weren’t saints back then and we are hopefully a bit more grown up about it now. Well it was easy for him to say that AFTER the invective of his opening remarks.

Heck, I’m kidding. It was fun again and it seemed astonishing when Rohan pointed out that those of us who were around for the whole event had been gassing and listening for two hours.