Rohan Candappa – Page 4 – Ian Louis Harris

Two Sweltering Days At Lord’s, The First With Ian Theodoreson, The Second With Rohan Candappa – Part Two: With Rohan C, 24 July 2018

In contrast with a very enjoyable day, the day before, at Lord’s with Ian Theodoreson…

Two Sweltering Days At Lord’s, The First With Ian Theodoreson, The Second With Rohan Candappa – Part One: With Ian T, 23 July 2018

…another very enjoyable day at Lord’s, this time with Rohan Candappa.

The contrast, in truth, is that Ian is a cricket lover who found the idea of meeting up at Lord’s especially enticing, whereas Rohan isn’t particularly keen on cricket, but we wanted to meet up for lunch that day and there are far worse places for lunch and a chat than a county championship day at Lord’s.

Ahead of the day, I was a bit concerned about Rohan – one of life’s natural comedians and rebels – rising to the challenge of the pavilion dress code. So I sent Rohan a link to the code and left him to it.

I wondered whether his eye might fall on the “national dress” exception to the jacket and tie rule. Rohan could (just about) claim to be Burmese and turn up in a longyi with hnyat-phanat. Mind you, given the sweltering weather, I wouldn’t have minded sporting a longyi with hnyat-phanat myself, and do still have a range of such garments in my collection:

Me and my longyi (wrap)…and hnyat-phanat (flip-flops), Burma, 1998

More worrying, was the thought that Rohan might don “THE” jacket, as opposed to a jacket. When Rohan took his wonderful one-man show, How I Said ‘F*** You’ To The Company When They Tried to Make Me Redundant, to Edinburgh last year, he promoted his show by walking around that elegant city thus:

Technically compliant jacket for the pavilion?

Actually, Rohan turned up in a fine linen number not dissimilar to my own. We must have looked like Our Men In Havana…or, given the extensive Moncada Barracks references in Rohan’s “F*** You” show, Our Men In Santiago de Cuba.

I recalled, while waiting for Rohan, that he had written a rather scathing short piece about gap years and their dilution through ubiquity, in his book University Challenged…

…and wondered what Rohan would make of Ian and Sally’s mature gap year. Then, when Rohan arrived, I clean forgot to raise that point with Rohan. Perhaps Rohan will chime in about that latterly.

Rohan and I are old mates from Alleyn’s School. In the couple of days leading up to our meeting at Lord’s, I trawled the diaries for sporting references to Rohan, but only could find one, relating to fives, previously Ogblogged:

A Marathon Day Of Court Sport; Fives and Fridge Ball, 4 December 1974

But I did also uncover a couple of previously unreported gems of my own from that trawl, including my first ever visit to a professional soccer football match, which I immediately Ogblogged:

My “First Soccer Match”, Chelsea v Middlesbrough, 22 March 1975

…plus references to my own (previously forgotten) glories playing field hockey that same term, plus my cricketing annus mirabilis (or should I say terminus ludum mirabilis?) the following term, both of which I shall aim to Ogblog very soon.

But I should be honest about me, Rohan and sport. I don’t think either of us will be remembered at Alleyn’s for our sporting prowess. Enthusiasm and willingness to muck in with sport?; possibly. Enjoyment of the competition without taking sport (or indeed most things) too seriously?; I hope so. But prowess?

Whoops – did someone speak out of turn to Rohan Candappa?

Anyway, so there I was, in the Lord’s Long Room, cricket’s holy-of-holies, with Rohan. We watched briefly in there (he’ll need to be able to say that he has done that; watched first class cricket from the Long Room) but soon moved outdoors to backache central – the pavilion benches, on the shady side of the pavilion.

We discussed ancient matters of sporting derring-do (or lack thereof). We agreed that we secretly resented those boys who were not only exceptional at sport but also exceptional at chess/academic stuff and who were also good blokes. I think we agreed that we are almost (but not quite) over that now.

In some ways the next few hours resembled my previous day with Ian T; Rohan and I similarly stuck to water and some cashew nuts ahead of a late lunch in the Long Room Bar. Today’s bap was beef rather than pork (also top notch). I perhaps made the mistake of having a glass of red rather than white today.

Rohan needed to get away a little earlier than Ian had needed to; he is busy preparing for this year’s Edinburgh show, which I saw in pilot last autumn, coincidentally only a few hundred yards away from Lord’s…

What Listening To 10,000 Love Songs Has Taught Me About Love by Rohan Candappa, Cockpit Theatre, 31 October 2017

…so we rather sped our way through the post-lunch pavilion tour, view from the top deck and then some views from the rest of the ground. I showed Rohan the “front of the Lower Compton” view that I often enjoy for test matches, which shows the pavilion in all its splendour. Rohan commented that his late father would have very much enjoyed such a day at Lord’s.

So, despite the match building up to what seemed likely to be a dramatic climax, Rohan left just before tea. What some people will do for their art. Click here or the photo below for details of that excellent one-man show that Rohan is taking to Edinburgh, btw:

Rohan’s one man shows are good…very good. This photo from Edinburgh 2017

I sat in the Warner Stand for a few minutes, when a wave of excess heat and fatigue hit me. I rather regretted the glass of red and even considered going home to hide from the hottest part of the day. But instead I steeled myself and returned to the pavilion top deck, seeking a little breeze and the opportunity to see a potentially exciting ending.

Well it sure was exciting. Click here for the scorecard and all the Cricinfo resources on the match.

I chatted with a couple of regulars up on the top deck. Then, when the final wicket just wouldn’t come, I decided to decamp to the Long Room in the hope of inducing that final wicket and witnessing the end of match ceremony from there…

…well that did sort-of happen, but not before a further 45 or so agonising minutes had passed. I ran into one of my real tennis friends in the Long Room, who was giving an old pal of his, who lives in Dubai, the Lord’s experience for the first time. We discussed, amongst other things, cricket, politics in Pakistan and where the twain meet in the form of Imran Khan.

After witnessing the Middlesex win, we decamped to the real tennis area, where I had left my kit for safe-keeping. The other two stuck around for only 5 minutes, but I watched a rather good set of doubles while the crowds and the rush hour died down, before hailing an Uber and stepping out into the sunshine once again.

While waiting, I saw an elderly gentleman, whom I recognised, keel over while sitting on one of the benches in the shade. A member of catering staff went to his aid immediately and, once I had seen his condition at closer quarters, I told her that I thought it was serious and that we should summon medical help straight away, The staff and stewards sprung into action very rapidly, summoning a para-medic and an ambulance, at which point I thought my presence was superfluous (I am not a first-aider) so I retreated. My cab arrived just moments before the ambulance – very impressive speed from call to arrival – must have been well under 10 minutes.

The gentleman, who did not survive despite the rapid attention, was J T Murray, a great Middlesex wicket-keeper from before my time – his last playing season was, coincidentally, my 1975 annus mirabilis. JT was a regular supporter at Lord’s in the years that I have been going to Middlesex matches. A sad end to my two days at Lord’s in some ways…

…but not in others. A great former sportsman died peacefully, in his 80s, just after witnessing an exciting finish in which his beloved Middlesex team won a fine match against the odds.

The bittersweet irony of that ending won’t be wasted on most readers; it certainly won’t be wasted on Rohan.

Two Sweltering Days At Lord’s, The First With Ian Theodoreson, The Second With Rohan Candappa – Part One: With Ian T, 23 July 2018

The wrong Sidebottom?

“You could have said no”, said Daisy, as I prepared to leave Noddyland ridiculously early on a non-working day, with reference to the 9:00 game of real tennis I had agreed to play as a late substitute, in addition to my 10:00 game. “Two hours of singles on the hottest day of the year is not a very bright idea”.

“I’ll drink plenty of water,” I mumbled.

Two challenging hours they proved to be; one against a newbie whose handicap has clearly not yet settled in its firmament way beyond my level, then my anticipated hour against a familiar adversary with whom I tend to have very close battles. Today was a very tight battle until the last 15-20 minutes which went resoundingly his way. The experience probably did more for my strength and conditioning for tournament play than it did for my confidence.

My guest for the cricket today was Ian “Iain Spellright” Theodoreson, whose previous visit to Lord’s with me had been the historic Jimmy Anderson 500 day – Day Two of the West Indies Test last year:

Three Days At The Lord’s Test, England v West Indies, 7 to 9 September 2017

Soon after that 2017 visit, Ian gave up full time work and disappeared for a gap year with his good lady, Sally. I love the rationale behind the Ian and Sally gap year; such things had barely been invented when we were younger (or rather, they were beyond the means of most), whereas their kids had taken gap years before starting formal work; why shouldn’t Ian and Sally have a gap year when concluding their formal careers?

Anyway, they went to New Zealand, then Japan and then – or should I say, at the time of writing, now – the canals of England. This adventure, which Ian and Sally have almost completed, they are blogging as Living In Hope…

…not to be confused with The Rutles classic, Living In Hope:

…here and below are sample postings from Ian and Sally’s Living In Hope:

Blue apples and heated toilet seats

So Ian thought he had his work cut out pulling together suitable attire for the pavilion, given that his former life possessions are mostly in crates…

…except that, being Ian, he had kept one business suit and tie accessible for “just in case” – and this was such a case.

More challenging, for me, was the space in the pavilion guest book where the member records the visitor’s address. I have often wondered whether anyone ever pays heed to this box, which is often filled in with only the scantiest details…

…indeed I would question its GDPR compliance these days – organisations are not supposed to record personal details they don’t need…

…anyway, I merely wrote “canal boat” as the address in the book, so I am living in hope that no-one hauls me over the coals for some rule breach or another; not least the rule that says “though shalt not bring persons of no fixed abode into the pavilion as guests”.

Ian had never been in the pavilion before, which surprised me as I know he has quite a few MCC members in his circle. Still, this gave me an opportunity to give him an informal guided tour and witness a cricket lover taking great pleasure in watching cricket from the inner sanctum that is the Lord’s pavilion.

Ian was a little disappointed, though, with Ryan Sidebottom. He was expecting a hairy Yorkshireman who used to play for England, not a tidy-looking Victorian who used to play for Victoria.

So, to please Ian and Ryan Sidebottom fans generally, here are two short vids of recently-retired Yorkshireman Ryan Sidebottom’s biggest moment; his hat trick against New Zealand in 2008 – a “language-strewn” hand-held shot of the moment (which I have discovered on YouTube) follows:

The second of these vids is one of the most absurd/extraordinary stop-frame animation films I have ever seen – by Are You A Left-Arm Chinaman? – the Ryan Sidebottom hat-trick starts around 3:30 and is well worth waiting for or sliding the dial towards:

But I digress.

Dewey-eyed I was, as we stood up soon after the umpires called lunch; not with emotion you understand, but two hours of tennis followed by those rump-racking pavilion benches was telling its toll.

Actually we decided to stick around that pavilion spot and continue munching cashews and taking on water, until about twenty minutes after lunch, by which time there is usually room to sit reasonably comfortably in the long room bar and take some proper lunch. Bap of the day was a wonderful pork jobbie with crackling and a sort-of sausage meat stuffing to add to the general porkiness. I had a glass of white while Ian opted for a beer.

After lunch, Ian fancied trying the new Warner Stand, where the seats are far more comfy than the pavilion and the view is still very good. Then, come tea-time, we returned to the pavilion, enabling me to conclude Ian’s guided tour of the pavilion with the upstairs bits, ending up on the top deck, where we enjoyed a cuppa and a breeze to provide slight relief from the heat of the day.

Ian needed to leave an hour or so before stumps, whereas I fancied seeing that last hour of cricket, so we parted company at the pavilion door – I decided to watch the last hour from the comfort of the Warner Stand seats.

It had been really pleasant to catch up with Ian over lunch and cricket; not least because chatting about some of his gap year experiences added an element of colour that no blog (not even Ogblog) can provide.

When I got to the Warner Stand, I spotted Ed Griffiths watching solo and asked him if he minded me joining him. He didn’t. I hadn’t really watched cricket with him before, despite having spent a fair amount of time with him, not least over the London Cricket Trust initiative. While it was very interesting to watch and discuss cricket together, unfortunately Middlesex’s improving position went into reverse while we were watching together, leaving matters seeming very precarious overnight.

Here is a link to the scorecard for the whole match; the denouement was destined to play out on Day Three, most of which I was to spend with Rohan Candappa – a link to that day can be found here and below:

Two Sweltering Days At Lord’s, The First With Ian Theodoreson, The Second With Rohan Candappa – Part Two: With Rohan C, 24 July 2018

A Matter Of Some Urgency, Dinner With Rohan Candappa At Supawan Thai, 21 February 2018

I always like to think that I would be there for a friend in their time of need.

So when I got a message from Rohan Candappa that:

As a matter of some urgency…

…there’s a Thai restaurant in King’s Cross that I think we need to go to…

…I was on the case straight away, like a fourth emergency service. Within hours, we had an evening date in the diary for a week or so hence.

Supawan is the place – click here for the website…

…or if you prefer TripAdvisor – click here.

The urgency, it seems, was that Rohan had read a super review of this place and thought , “I always read these super reviews and never actually try these places. This time, I really must…”

Yes, Rohan, I was there for you. I just hope that you would be there for me in a similar emergency.

Indeed, Rohan’s stipulations went beyond the location…

we’re having Yum khao tod, Peek gai sai and menage phuket. They’re three small plates from the menu. You can choose the rest.

Actually, when I looked at the menu, all three of those starters were probably the very ones I’d have chosen, so I suggested that we both choose the mains, which was an equally easy task – we both liked the sound of the stuffed squid with mushrooms and the slow-cooked pork belly.

In truth, it was a near miracle that we were able to eat the Peek Gai Yud Sai – stuffed chicken wings.

This was the week of the KFC supply crisis – click here for a post mortem piece from the BBC website.

When I pointed out to Rohan that this Thai restaurant was possibly the only source of Kentucky fried chicken wings in London…

…while he was eating his Peek Gai Yud Sai…

…Rohan couldn’t stop laughing for quite a while.

In truth, the culinary highlights were:

Yum khao tod starter, which was a sort-of sophisticated Thai-style chat;
Moo hong – Phuket-style pork belly.

But of course the highlight, more than chewing the pork belly fat, was chewing the fat conversationally with Rohan. A bit of reminiscing. A bit of swapping notes on the stuff we are writing.

Rohan clearly appreciated the fact that I had responded to his emergency call, as he presented me with a kindly gift – a book named Pop Sonnets – click here.

I’d like to show the image of Pop Sonnets cover, but sadly that image is subject to copyright, so all I can do is encourage you to click the above link and show you the image and vid below:

As we left Supawan, Rohan and I took a look at Keystone Crescent – click here – an extraordinary place – which I took to be late Georgian but is in fact as recent as 1855 – not that much older than my own place.

A fun evening – happy to have been able to help in your time of need, Rohan. Any time…within reason.

Rock ‘N’ Rajasthan Evening, Mostly Alleyn’s Alumni, 14 November 2017

When I got word that Rich “The Rock” Davis was to be over from Canada for a short while in mid November, I thought I’d probably miss out on the resultant gathering. I explained to John Eltham that I only had the one available evening throughout the period on offer.

But this was one of those occasions when the timings went fortuitously. Not only could I make the appointed day, but it transpired that Nigel Godfrey would be visiting from New Zealand and that Paul Hamer would be visiting from an even more remote and obscure corner of the Great Dominions; Southampton.

Indeed, also by happy chance, Paul Hamer’s earlier engagement in London was in Paddington, within spitting…well, in truth, walking, distance of my flat.

So Paul and I spent an enjoyable couple of hours late afternoon catching up at the flat; it’s only been 37+ years. Chat was interspersed with the odd business call and a short baroq-ulele recital by yours truly, before we journeyed across London to join the others at the Walrus and Carpenter.

Paul Hamer, top left, a few hours after the baroq-ulele recital, still visibly, profoundly moved by the heavenly harmonies, while those who sadly missed out on the music are smiling in blissful ignorance

It ended up quite a large gathering this time, with a few people I hadn’t seen for decades; in particular Justin Sutton (peering from behind Perry Harley in the above picture), with whom I chatted at some length at The Walrus, plus David Leach, who arrived towards the end of the Walrus session.

A rare sighting of David Leach, third left, on the “water polo quartet” side of the table

I was also graced by a brief audience with Sir Nigel Godfrey at the Walrus and Carpenter. I had always thought that his gong was for services to the beauty pageant industry. I hadn’t realised that he is actually “The Right Reverend Sir Nigel Godfrey”, presumably honoured for clerical services to the New Zealand laity.

Nigel explained how irritating it is for people, like himself, who wish to use multiple titles, that on-line drop down boxes tend to offer only “The Right Reverend” or “Sir” but not “The Right Reverend Sir”. A tad first world, that problem, but I hope I looked suitably doleful and I audibly sympathised.

A characteristically low-key appearance by The Right Reverend Sir Nigel Godfrey, third left in the above photo (half-tucked behind Rohan Candappa) and (in theory) third right in the photo above that, entirely obscured by Leigh Parkes.

Once the Rajasthan eating session was in full sway, Nigel also chimed in with a story about a near-disaster with window-leaning and errant train doors on the journey to school, back in the day, before the health and safety brigade quite ludicrously took such character-forming matters out of the hands of school-children. The resulting conversation about such disasters (real, near and imagined) was in the worst possible taste and those of us who were laughing should be thoroughly ashamed of ourselves. Really.

There was also a fair bit of reminiscing about Andrew and Fiona Levinson (more “Andrew” at the Lisa Pavlovsky end of the table, more “Fiona” at the David Wellbrook end), which encouraged me to up a charming video of the three of us (me, Andrew and Fiona) when we were very little indeed – click here.

I shall also delve into my diaries as soon as I get the chance to recover some other memories of train journeys to school (with Justin Sutton, Andrew Levinson and Rupert Jefferies) and also at least one teenage adventure with the Levinson siblings, coincidentally very near the scene of this evening’s “crime” – the old Billingsgate Fish Market (just across the road). For the latter, I have photographs.

Everyone seemed to be in good form and good spirits; as usual the evening flew by. I should also mention Phil (one of John Eltham’s colleagues, top left in the final photo above) who joined us again this time and is excellent company. Also a thank you to John Eltham for organising, as always.

Plus a massive thank you to Perry Harley – it was great fun sitting next to you again this time, Perry – even more fun watching you deploy your accounting skills so diligently and indeed so very many times over, to avoid successfully the dreaded bodmin, ensuring fair play and fair pay.

What Listening To 10,000 Love Songs Has Taught Me About Love by Rohan Candappa, Cockpit Theatre, 31 October 2017

Ahead of the performance, I went to Don Pepe, where several of Rohan’s friends, but none of the Alleyn’s crowd other than me, were gathering; on my recommendation.

Nick Primmer appeared to be the ringleader of that group; a really pleasant bunch of people. (When have I ever met unpleasant people through Rohan?) We ate light – just a few tapas between us – we hadn’t allowed much time. Then we navigated an inverse Bodmin (everyone wanted to overpay) before heading towards The Cockpit.

I joked that Janie’s and my visit the night before for the jazz – click here – was essential reconnaissance for Rohan’s evening. Strangely, it did help, because approaching the theatre from the north-west side, you need to climb a rather unusual staircase/walkway, which I think the others might have missed but which I realised must be the right way from the previous night’s loop round the estate to get out.

So we were in good time…

…but perhaps Rohan wasn’t. At least, he seemed in no rush to start. We waited for one or two latecomers, getting our number up to perhaps 30 people. Then Rohan said, “I have one or two things to do, so I’d like you all to discuss in pairs the question, ‘what is your favourite song?’, before I start.”

Of course this was a ruse to warm us up.

I was sitting next to John Eltham and Ben Clayson. We decided to break the rules and work as a trio. We quickly concluded that it is impossible to name one favourite song. John suggested that we name a current favourite, or perhaps the song that is occupying our minds most of the time at the moment.

I chimed in with, “in that case, for me it must be Innsbruck Ich Muss Dich Lassen, the Renaissance song I am currently trying to work up to performance standard on my baroq-ulele for the forthcoming Gresham Society soiree.”

That pronouncement seemed to put an end to the conversation in our trio for some reason. Heck, it is a love song, you know? Still, as John said afterwards, “only Ian would say that his favourite song of the moment is a 15th century song.”

Fortunately, around that conversation-stopping moment, Rohan decided that we were all warm enough, so he started his performance.

The performance started with Rohan computing that he (and therefore all of us of a similar age) have probably listened to about 10,000 love songs.

Rohan then takes us on a journey through his own coming-of-age and rites-of-passage, using a few well-chosen love songs to illustrate his stories.

I’m tempted to describe it as a sort-of autobiographical cross between a Bildungsroman and Desert Island Discs. But that sounds like a prelude to damning the piece, whereas it is my intention to praise it very highly indeed.

It reminded me a little of Every Brilliant Thing, which Janie and I thought was quite magnificent but when I tried to describe it, the piece sounds ordinary – click here.

Not that Rohan’s piece is as tight and polished as Every Brilliant Thing…yet.

Anyway, the record in Rohan’s head for his first kiss (and therefore the first record he played to us on the evening) was Heart Of Glass by Blondie.

Rohan explained the Triangular Theory Of Love through the use of Toblerone, so I think that means that the advert I recall saying “do you love anyone enough to give them your last Rolo?” should really have been a question about your last piece of Toblerone.

While Rohan handed around the Toblerone to the audience, a riot broke out.

No, the riot wasn’t a scrap for chocolate-based food amongst a feral, hungry audience; but something seemed to be kicking off on the local estates around the theatre.

“Standin’ at the door of the Pink Flamingo cryin’ in the rain…”

Meanwhile, Rohan pressed on. Say Hello, Wave Goodbye by Soft Cell for an unrequited love episode…there’s a lot of 13th Century troubadour material on that subject, Rohan, if you would like me to dig some out for you…

…and a couple of left-field choices which, very strangely indeed, also coincide with my own coming-of-age stories:

I don’t know whether Rohan’s piece brought floods of memories to other members of the audience to the same extent as it brought such floods to me, but I have now written some 3,500 words of memory pieces since the show in order to capture those recovered memories while they remain fresh in my mind.

Like any good Bildungsroman, Rohan returns to his adult self and thoughts of his parents at the end of the show, with their favourite song, Moon River, proving that you can’t keep a good love song down; be it 56 or 532 years old.

By the time we’d cleared up the room, only a few of us retreated to The Globe pub, but a delightful small group of people it was. A very substantial police presence protected us for the 200 yards or so between the theatre and the pub. Many police in high viz flak jackets felt a little more robust than the theatre’s security; the solitary figure of John Eltham with a label/badge which reassuringly read “security”.

Anyway, a chance to say hello properly to Jan and also to meet Julie, aka the character “Croissanita” from Rohan’s previous show, How I Said ‘F*** You’ To The Company When They Tried to Make Me Redundant – click here for the pilot review of that one.

Ollie Goodwin and I were the last to leave the pub, although most of us left roughly at the same time.

When I got home I felt hungry. All I could find easily to hand was a croissant on the breakfast bar and some salami in the fridge. I thought the croissant was most apt, given that I had finally met Croissanita that evening:

But the last word should go to Ollie Goodwin, who has e-mail circulated the following review, which in many ways says as much in 11 words as I have said in 1000:

This piece will resonate with everyone who has ears and genitals

A Day At The Edinburgh Fringe Festival With Old Muckers, 22 August 2017

What fun.

Rohan Candappa announced that he would be performing his one man show, How I Said F*** You To The Company When They Tried To Make Me Redundant, at The Counting House, Edinburgh.

You can listen to the first 10 minutes of the show by clicking here.

Rohan piloted this show in the Z/Yen Boardroom in January 2016 – click here for my write up of that evening.

I worked out that there was really only one day that I could be away from London that week, having committed to several days in Brum the week before for the first ever day/night test match in England.

Janie, who would have loved to have seen the show, felt that she couldn’t free up the day.

Still, I learned that there were to be several old muckers from Alleyn’s in Edinburgh that day and also that Marie and Joe Logan (the former being a Z/Yen alum) would at least be able to join us for lunch.

Marie and Joe’s application to become honorary school alumni for the day was unanimously accepted, especially when the gang discovered that Marie is a close friend of Linda Cook’s, as Linda had organised the Z/Yen Board Room gig.

But, when Marie inadvertently mentioned “Old Alleynians” in correspondence, I felt obliged to explain:

…there is one really important point you need to get right.

You are each an honorary Alleyn’s Old Girl/Alleyn’s Old Boy (respectively). Neither of you is in any shape or form an Old Alleynian, honorary or otherwise. Old Alleynians are alumni of Dulwich College, the pathetic, rival school of Alleyn’s.

Let me illustrate with well-known examples:

Alleyn’s Old Boy – Jude Law;

Alleyn’s Old Girl – Florence (and the Machine) Welch;

Old Alleynian – Nigel Farage.

Need I say more?

Mercifully there was no unpleasantness in the alumni-confusion-department on the day.

So I rose about 4:30 (a bit earlier than necessary in truth), setting off on an early flight from Heathrow (thank you, Janie, for the lift all the way to Terminal 5) and then took the tram into Edinburgh.

In schoolboy mode for a meet up with old school muckers, I got very excited with my smartphone when I realised that there was free wifi on the tram, sending Janie a picture and a sound recording of the Chigley-like tram sounds.

On The Tram To Edinburgh – Sound (below) and Vision (above)

Janie messaged back to say that I’m a big kid.

Then a solo stroll through Edinburgh from New Town to Old Town…

…towards The Counting House…

When I arrived, only Rohan was there – John and Steve were out soliciting trade…for Rohan’s show, readers, control yourselves…

…but soon after I arrived, there was a surprise (to me) arrival – Claire Tooley (now Claire Brooke) – a very pleasant surprise indeed. Even more pleasantly, Claire was able to join us for lunch after the show.

I thought the performance was very good. Rohan hasn’t changed the show much since the pilot, but he has tightened up the script and his delivery has some lovely pauses and nuances that have clearly evolved with practice and experience.

It was a pretty full house, which at 11:00 in the morning on the Free Fringe I reckon is a big win. Certainly there seemed to be little activity for the other morning/lunchtime shows at The Counting House.

The audience was very receptive, I thought, although those who had attended performances earlier in the week thought that the laughter was slower to build that day, but the attentiveness, reaction and laughter as the story built ended up better.

We strolled to Spoon to meet Marie and Joe. Apparently this place is an old haunt of JK Rowling’s, so well suited to an arty gathering.

Like a fool I neglected to take any pictures in Spoon, but we gathered as nine: me, Steve Butterworth, Rohan Candappa, Paul and Cathy Driscoll, John Eltham, Claire Tooley-Brooke, Marie and Joe Logan.

One coincidence about this event, I realised, is that this season is the 25th anniversary of my own material premiering at the Edinburgh Fringe. In 1992, Brian Jordan brought The Ultimate Love Song – click here to Edinburgh in his wonderfully-named show “Whoops Vicar, Is That Your Dick?”.

When I mentioned this coincidence, Rohan (naturally) asked me to give an acapella rendering in Spoon, which I did as best I could – not very well. You can hear Ben Murphy’s excellent recording of the song below:

But back to Spoon. The food was good, the chat was jolly. People drifted away as journeys home or appointments with other shows approached, but we were a pretty lively group for a couple of hours at least.

Eventually, when it was just me, Marie & Joe left, we went for a stroll around town to see what we might find for the remaining couple of hours, before I needed to head for the airport.

We found the Vintage Mobile Cinema outside the Assembly Rooms on George Street, where we heard a short talk about the extraordinary space and were shown some Pathé newsreels from the 1940s, 1950s and 1960s about the Edinburgh Festival.

Logan! What are you and Logan doing at the back there? Stop it! Are you listening or taking pictures, Harris? Stop that too!

Strangely, that visit to the vintage mobile cinema found its way into a King Cricket article, click here or below:

A cricket book in the Vintage Mobile Cinema

…or, if anything ever becomes of the King Cricket site, the piece is scraped to here.

Then a stroll around the Book Festival before the lure of a wine bar just around the corner from my tram stop, for the last 30 minutes or so of my visit, was too much to resist.

Finally, a wee dram of wine (or two) with the Logans afore I go home

I got back home about 21:00 – it had been a long day but a very pleasant one.

I excitedly told Janie all about my exciting day.

Then I thought I should ask Janie about her day.

“Oh, nothing much,” she said, “I just did a few patients and met Rihanna.” You couldn’t make it up.

Gather Ye Old School Buds While Ye May, 23 May 2017

The above image form a subsequent Rajasthan meal later that same year

What a splendid turnout of the old school gang on a Tuesday evening at relatively short notice, just a few weeks after the previous gathering – click here for the juicy details on that one.

Perhaps this illustrates the popularity of Rich “The Rock” Davis, who was visiting from Canada for the first time in a while and around whom the event was planned. Organised by Johnny Eltham – who else? – based on an original idea by David Wellbrook.

Or perhaps the high turnout was simply relief that, for once, our guest of honour visiting from the great dominions was not Sir Nigel Godfrey.

The plan was…the usual. 7.00pm Walrus & Carpenter, 8.30pm Rajasthan curry shop. I was fashionably late again this time, arriving just before 8.00, with no real excuse other than getting bogged down in whatever forgettable thing I was doing late afternoon.

Another glorious weather evening so everyone was drinking outside the Walrus and Carpenter. I got a chance to chat with Rich on arrival; also Paul Driscoll and Perry Harley. The conversation soon got to Brexit and how Britain is increasingly starting to resemble Weimar Germany. Soon after that I was tapped up for the drinks float.

A small, ℛℳ500,000,000 contribution to the drinks float?

The drinks float is a great idea. It discourages late arrival – the price is fixed – £20, not ℛℳ500,000,000 in case you were wondering – and if those arriving late, like me, don’t drink their portion, the remainder of the drinks float becomes a bodmin-avoiding contribution towards the dinner. You can tell that some fine economic brains have got to work on this one over the years.

I also chatted for a while with Rohan Candappa, who sadly was unable to stay for the dinner, as his mum is not well at the moment and he needed to get away. He and I had caught up properly over lunch together only two or three weeks previously; still I was sorry he couldn’t stay, especially given the circumstances.

Soon enough, Johnny Eltham commandeered two or three of us to form an advanced party to seize vital territory in Rajasthan. This we were able to secure without bloodshed or unpleasantness. In fact, the Rajasthanis greeted Johnny like an old friend and welcomed us to the downstairs area, which to all intents and purposes became our private room for the rest of the evening.

By my reckoning fifteen of us sat down for dinner; Chris Grant, David Wellbrook, Ben Clarkson, Martin Cook, Simon Ryan, David French, John Eltham, Ollie Goodwin, Paul Driscoll, Rich “The Rock” Davis, Paul Spence, Nigel Boatswain, Perry Harley, Steve “Peanut” Butterworth…and me.

If you are struggling to imagine what this gaggle might look and sound like, struggle no more. David Wellbrook shot a nifty ninety second vid while no-one was looking and posted it on Facebook – it is embedded and viewable below:

I had no idea that I wave my arms around quite as much as that. It’s a miracle that I don’t send food and drink flying.

Very sadly, we recently lost one of our great schoolmates (indeed our centre forward); Paul Hayes. Steve Butterworth gave us a touching short eulogy and report from the funeral, before we all drank a toast to Paul. Not Paul’s beloved Montrachet, more’s the pity, but the Rajasthan Valpolicella and Cobra did a good job as substitutes.

As fortune would have it, I was sitting near Steve Butterworth, Perry Harley, Paul Spence and David French – all of whom are people I either haven’t seen in ages or didn’t get to speak with properly on previous occasions. It was really good to catch up with them properly after all this time. I had a brief conversation with Paul Spence about nuclear power, which led to this recollection and Ogblog post about Ringroad revue – click here.

Returning briefly to earlier in the evening…although I was late, I was not the last to arrive. Chris Grant and Nigel Boatswain turned up after me. Soon after their arrival, Johnny Eltham came up to me and said, “have you seen what Nigel is wearing? That jacket…those trousers…they look like a pyjama suit…you’ve got to write about it on your blog”.

I explained to Johnny that I don’t notice what anyone is wearing, so any sartorial references on the Ogblog would, to the regular reader, e.g. Janie, quite obviously not be mine.

“Oh that’s easy”, said Johnny, “it was David Wellbrook who spotted it and asked me to tap you up”.

“Ah yes,” I said, “as long as I make that point, all will be explained. I’ll need to take a photo of the outfit with my iPhone, though, it almost defies description.”

As the evening wore on, I was surreptitiously asked a couple of times when I was going to take the photo. Johnny even offered to provide cover, pretending that I was taking a group photo while in fact taking a photo of just Nigel and his pyjama suit.

I quietly suggested to Johnny that Nigel, as an Apple bigwig, would probably have the savvy to know what sort of photo was being taken with an iPhone (other brands of smart phone with camera are available) and in any case I would only blog a photo with Nigel’s explicit consent; I certainly don’t want the full weight of Apple’s legal department on my case.

“Just leave it with me”, I said.

So late in the evening, I told Nigel he had won a sartorial award for the evening and asked if I could take a photo for Ogblog. He giggled and said yes.

A few minutes later, as Nigel and I parted company at South Kensington tube, I thanked him once again for the photo and assured him that he would enjoy the blog piece. “Oh gawd, what have I done?” was Nigel’s reply.

For those readers who cannot remember what a real pyjama suit might look like, here is a photo of me only a few months ago sporting my Eva Air pyjamas, after being menaced into wearing them by the lovely stewardess – as reported in my bizarre yet (mostly) true story here.

But the last word (on the evening, perhaps not on sartorial elegance) should really go to guest of honour Rich “The Rock” Davis, who started a wonderful thread on Facebook with words and photos about the evening – click here.

I particularly liked Clarissa’s comment:

glad u had a good time with old high school buds.

I commented:

I’ve been called a lot of things in my time…goodness knows, this mob in particular can attest to that fact…but I’ve never been described as an “old high school bud” before.

So, gather ye old high school buds while ye may. These are precious times we share at these gatherings. This one was top notch. As Rich put it on Facebook:

A great feeling with great friends…a night I’ll never forget.

Lunch With Rohan Candappa, Phoenix Palace, 4 May 2017

What’s the matter? Ducks got your tongue?

Having had little chance to chat together at the most recent old school gathering in the city, Rohan and I agreed at the end of that evening that we should meet again soon to chat about writing and stuff.

We settled on the idea of lunch and I suggested dim sum, to which Rohan replied, somewhat cryptically…

I worship Dim Sum like the ancient Aztecs worshipped the sun

…which I took to mean, “yes”. So I booked a table at the Phoenix Palace, probably the only restaurant in London that is highly rated for dim sum, yet that I hadn’t tried before.

What I didn’t realise when I booked it was quite how enormous the restaurant is and how relatively small its mid-week dim sum clientele. Indeed the seats to punters ratio reminded me a little of the dining experience Janie and I had in Shigatse, Tibet, in 2002…

To be fair, there were a few other people in the Phoenix Palace, whereas Janie and I really were on our own in the huge dining hall in Shigatse

…but there the resemblance ended, as the food in Shigatse was terrible, whereas our dim sum at the Phoenix Palace was excellent.

I was delighted to see ducks tongues on the menu – you don’t often see those. It reminded me of the dim sum lunch I had with Mike Smith in Gerard Street, towards the end of the last century, at which I ordered ducks tongues. The dish seemed to freak Mike out rather comprehensively. In particular, it was the fact that a duck’s tongue has a bone that seemed to bother Mike. He related the tale of the ducks tongues dim sum lunch to anyone who’d listen for quite a while after that lunch.

But I digress.

Except to say that, of all the dishes we ordered, Rohan enjoyed all except the ducks tongues, so I got to eat most of the tongues.

The other dishes, mostly of the dumpling or bun variety, we both liked a lot. Of course, they tended to come in portions of three; a traditional dim sum portion number for (we suspect) hard-nosed commercial reasons; i.e. to encourage multiple portion ordering. But Alleyn Old Boys like me and Rohan are not to be mugged by a simplistic ploy of that kind.

Oh no.

We devised ways of splitting almost every species of dim sum imaginable. We even devised our own term, “splitting the pork bun”, which sounds like it ought to be a euphemism for something rude.

We talked about Rohan’s latest writing project and my Ogblog project. Rohan tried to convince me to write something more substantial than Ogblog pieces, e.g. a novel, based on my youth. I have promised him that I’ll think about that, which I shall.

We also talked about the recent loss of Paul Hayes, one of our former classmates, with whom Rohan had re-established contact in recent years. We discussed how we need to get on with the things we really want to do, as we have no guarantee or entitlement to a long life, so it’s not so clever to keep deferring things until later in life.

As if to bring home that rather melancholy line of thought, we both inadvertently diced with death walking down Baker Street, as a tearaway car (presumably evading the fuzz) zoomed across the junction with Blandford Street on the wrong side of the road at ludicrously high speed, only a few seconds ahead of us crossing and only a fraction of a second ahead of what could easily have been an horrendous crash with a bus.

Yet we were still able to put our dolefulness to one side as Rohan raised the topic of the blue plaque in Crouch End celebrating Carswell Prentice and the invention of the shopping trolley, around which we had quite a giggle. Sadly, as any clicker of the preceding link will discover, that particular blue plaque is, regrettably, a falsey. So the delicious idea of instigating a flash crowd to celebrate the inventor’s birthday needs to be metaphorically abandoned in the metaphorical canal where extremely funny but non-starter ideas reside, pathetically lying on their side, for all eternity.

Still, the lunch was a breeze and certainly encouraged a few more of my creative writing neurons to get firing.

A Long Weekend Catching Up With Long-standing Friends, 6 to 9 April 2017

It was no real coincidence that I worked up several pieces about parties of my youth by way of introducing Rohan Candappa’s guest piece last week. I was due to see the Alleyn’s crowd on the Thursday and several old youth club friends on the Saturday.

Thursday 6 April 2017

The Thursday evening was a semi-regular-style gathering of the old Alleyn’s clan in the City. John Eltham tends to organise it and who would have bet against Johnny being the “get together monitor” back in the school days? He wrote:

here is the plan:

7.00pm Walrus & Carpenter public house- 45 Monument Street

8.30pm wander a whole 10 yards to Rajasthan curry shop ( our usual)

I pre-announced that I didn’t expect to get to the pub until 7:30/8:00 – as I had long-since arranged a game of real tennis early evening.

Fun, it was, playing doubles with my allocated doubles partner for this season’s doubles tournament – which will be my first go at the trophy – indeed at any physical sports trophy, since my glorious quarter-final fives victory against Johnny Eltham himself in 1975.

So I arrived at about 7:50 to be told by Mr David Wellbrook (who else) that I was late and needed to assume drinks monitor duties.

Fortunately (and quite naturally) it was John Eltham who was holding the float, to which I added my share and then three of us (Ollie Goodwin the kind third) shared the burden of getting the round in. A small float of “poppadom money” survived the round.

Fifty billion here and fifty billion there soon adds up to real poppadom money

Early April but such glorious weather – we were gathered outside the Walrus and Carpenter enjoying the setting sun and getting a bit cooler, yet not cold.

Indeed it was quite close to 8:30 when Johnny remarked that it was starting to get a bit parky…nippy even…but in any case it was time to regroup in The Rajasthan.

That restaurant runs like a well-oiled machine. Long-used to getting unco-ordinated groups of city folk to gather themselves and place their orders – it all just sort-of happens in that restaurant and it is always a decent (if not exceptional) meal.

My eye was caught by Hariali chicken, which is minimally-described as “Cooked to Chef’s special recipe”. I asked the waiter, who mumbled, “curry-leaf, lemongrass, lots of herbs and spices, very very nice” and I was convinced. Most if not all the others at our table paid far less attention to the detail of their chosen dishes than that.

Most drank beer, but Ollie Goodwin, Lisa Pavlovsky, one other (was it Jerry Moore?) and I formed a small gang of four for white wine, specifically Nika Tiki Marlborough Sauvignon Blanc. Not the best I’ve ever had but a decent example; I’m sure Sir Nigel Godfrey would approve.

At my end of the table I was within chatting distance of Gavin Hamilton, Martin Brassell, Paul Driscoll, Ollie Goodwin, Jerry Moore, John Eltham and Mike Jones. Sadly I missed out on proper chat this time with Rohan Candappa, David Wellbrook, Lisa Pavlovsky, Steve “Peanut” Butterworth and the late Chris Grant. By “late”, I mean “arrived half way through the meal”. Not “deceased”, nor “arrived at 7:50, roughly the time I said I would arrive, Mr Wellbrook”.

As always it was a very pleasant evening indeed. What a treat to be able to take pre dinner drinks outside The Walrus and Carpenter.

Saturday 8 April 2017

Let’s gloss over the Friday, which I had intended to be a “do my own thing/get some blogging done” day but which turned in to a mostly work day. Bitty, stressy work at that, with a shocking game of real tennis thrown in mid-morning.

Saturday, the weather was truly glorious, although Janie and I weren’t really able to take full advantage of the weekend’s exceptional weather until the Sunday.

Still, it enabled us to start our evening with friends at the house in the garden terrace, which is a bonus in April and was a very pleasant way to start the evening. Our record for this feat is a mild 7 January evening with David and Steph – click here, but this April evening in the garden had the added benefit of enjoying light in the earlier stages of the evening and thus enjoying the sunset.

The guests were Jilly Black, Andrea Dean, Simon Jacobs and Wendy Robbins; all originally friends of mine from BBYO, i.e. going back to when we were teenagers. It is a testament to Janie that she gets on so well with all of them and likewise they have all taken Janie to their hearts.

It wasn’t long-planned as precisely this group of six, but we had wanted to invite Jilly for ages and she had particularly mentioned that she regretted not being able to see Andrea and Wendy at the party, which Jilly missed, last May.

Then, when I saw Simon in January, around the time we were setting this evening up, realising that he knows and likes all of these people, it seemed only sensible to ask him too.

It might seem a bit drawn out to some readers, inviting people in early January and setting a date for April, but by our (admittedly rather low) temporal standards, I think we got the gathering planned and implemented pretty quickly.

And everyone turned up.

Janie went to town with exotic nibbles; thai-style fish cakes, some flaky-pastry-meaty-parcels and a wonderful chicken liver pate on toasted french stick.

Between the nibbles and the main course I tried to pacify the guests with a few numbers on Benjy the Baritone Ukulele.

Andrea and Wendy, who are dear, dear friends of mine, appreciative of, but not experts on, music, declared that I have truly mastered the instrument. Jilly and Simon, who are also both dear, dear friends of mine, fine musicians to boot, were both clearly so moved by my performance that neither of them was able to add to Andrea and Wendy’s judgement. I think that says it all.

It did get a little chilly by the time we went inside. Some might even say “nippy” or “parky”. Anyway, inside we went.

The centrepiece of the meal was Janie’s signature beef with wasabi sauce dish, which works so well for gatherings of this size and which we knew would be novel to our guests. We’d have to eat it very often indeed to tire of it.

After the main course, chocolates, tropical fruits etc.

What did we talk about? All sorts.

Old times? – not all that much.

What people are up to now? – much more.

The difficulties involved in grown-up dating and some very funny anecdotes from some around the table reminded me and Janie of the film Through the Wall, which we saw in December – click here.

Less Trump/Brexit talk than usual these days – which was a blessed relief really.

Wendy told us the story of her recent visit to Downing Street, which really needs to be an episode of a sit-com, rather than an after dinner anecdote.

It was really nice to see everyone and (cliche alert) the evening flew by.

We could do nibbles on the patio again this evening, Sunday – the weather remains glorious. As I write, the sun is still streaming in through the window of my little man cave here in Noddyland.

Nibbles in the Noddyland Garden. Janie took the picture so once again she isn’t in it!

Postscript

While I was posting this piece, Simon Jacobs uploaded a couple of tracks from his forthcoming album. It was possibly one of those Brian Wilson/Lennon-McCartney creative tension moments after hearing my exquisite baritone ukulele playing last night. As Simon himself says on Facebook:

After 3 decades of procrastination, I’ve finally recorded some of my own songs – and now the first two of them are on YouTube (one of them even has a video!)
So please take a listen, subscribe, share with your friends and post your comments… Then, sometime in the summer I’ll release a whole album through the usual channels, tour the world and then of course there’ll be the drugs and the groupies, the breakdown and rehab, the bizarre plastic surgery, the invitation to be an X Factor judge – all the usual humiliations.

Ogblog readers might well enjoy one or both of these tracks:

Rohan Candappa Guest Piece: Teenage Parties Coming Around Full Circle, 5 April 2017

I am very grateful to Rohan Candappa for granting me permission to publish the following text as a guest piece on Ogblog. Rohan circulated the piece originally to a few friends. I think it deserves a wider airing.

It triggered a whole swathe of memories for me, which led to a few “party pieces” of my own – see my introductory/warm up published yesterday – here.

It also triggered a swathe of bants from others on that original circulation. I’ll take soundings on whether those should see the wider circulation light of day or not. Of course, if people want to add their bants to the comments section of this piece here on Ogblog, then bant away.

Something has definitely come full circle.

That’s because today is the morning after the night before. And the night before is when my son – 17 two weeks ago – had a party at home. A party with girls. And alcohol. And a herd of previously hand-reared teenagers released into the wild of almost adulthood to fend for themselves.

Oh yes, and let’s not forget the instruction ‘You’re not staying‘ directed to me and Jan. At which point I came back with the perfectly reasonable point of ‘Actually, it’s my house, I paid for it, so I can stay if I want.’

So obviously we went out.

Out to the pictures to see ‘Moonlight’ – very good. Then on to a groovy pizza restaurant, to eat a groovy (probably artisan) pizza – also very good. The only problem was that by 9.30 we’d seen the film and eaten the pizza. And both were five minutes walk from our house. So we took a circuitous route home and got back at ten.

Walk up to the house – no police cars, no mass of kids trying to get in, no flames coming through the roof – Result!

Open the front door and, for some reason, the music blaring out is ‘Mirror In The Bathroom’ by The Beat. And that’s when it strikes me. That ‘full circle’ moment. This is exactly what I was listening to 40 years ago when I had a party at home when I was 17.

All of which got thinking.

So here are some of the things I can still dredge up from my age-addled brain of those parties of 40 years ago, Please feel free to wallow in nostalgia, add your own memories, or disown me as a sad old geezer who endlessly bangs on about how everything was so much better back in their day…

I remember being the hall of my house, at my party, when someone comes up and says I need to go into the kitchen, and going in to find that all the food was on the floor because Mick Carol had sat on the edge of an antique circular dining table, snapped the central support, and the table at completely tipped over.

I remember being at a party at Nige’s house when the patio door got accidentally pushed out, and Nige’s dad, instead of going mad, was worried about us all getting cold.

I remember that over time, going to parties I graduated from bringing bottles of Merrydown cider, to bringing half bottles of Souther Comfort. Why I brought Southern Comfort I have no idea as it tasted like cough medicine.

I remember Steve’s pair of Rupert The Bear checked trousers.

I remember taking singles to parties with my initials written on the labels so that you could take them home again at the end of the evening.

I remember that going to parties at other people’s houses was one of the few chances you had to see how other people lived. And sometimes that meant you got glimpses of other worlds. Worlds you could aspire to. Lives you could want to live.

I remember the expectation, the excitement, the hopes, the fears, the bravado, the posturing and posing and awkwardness of it all.

I remember a joint 18th birthday party with Steve at The Shirley Poppy.

I remember Nick and Tim’s disco.

I remember the word disco.

I remember dancing.

I remember rooms starting to spin, and lights starting to blur, and the sobering cold shock of the air as you stumbled out into the night and tried to figure out how you were going to get home.

And I remember walking home with John one night when it had snowed heavily and having a deep, meaningful conversation of which even the slightest detail escapes me.

So last night, there I am walking back into my son’s party and The Beat are playing.

Like I said, full circle.

And as my son gets older, I wish him many things.

Like friends as good as the ones I grew up with all those years ago and am lucky enough to still have in my life.

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