A quest for the locations in the novels of Haruki Murakami and other travel musings

The kids are alright …

So I get a glimpse of a possible future as we go to see Care at the Young Vic. It’s a harrowing watch, featuring life in a care home for elderly and dementia-affected people. Alexander Zeldin’s play and his own direction of it pull you right into the care home where the brilliant Joan played by Linda Bassett is convinced her daughter Lynn – Rosie Cavaliero – and her grandson have come to take her home.

The confusion of dementia, the emptiness of the days, the loneliness while always being surrounded by others are all poignantly present in the script which has a few moments of humour and one of agonising pathos as one resident mistakes another for his late wife and they hug. As characters die off they join us in the auditorium enhancing the sense of our involvement. The final scenes are horrendously powerful and reinforced my support for the Assited Dying Bill – please get it through!

At the other end of the mortal scale, there were some 80 primary school students, 50 secondary students alongside the Orchestra of the Age of Enlightenment for its annual community opera Life of the Sea. I was invited as a friend to attend the rehearsal and had also booked for the show in the evening. Devised by Hazel Gould, it takes the form of a TV chat show with young performers as guests. These include young musicians and dancers, a rock band and string players in various stages of school who form the Fiddlers on the Reef. The final guest is an adventurer who had discovered a new island in the Pacific Ocean. This of course transpires to be the vast area of accumulated plastics which we dump all the time and subtly delivered ecological messages are delivered. Given the maritime theme there was Purcell and Handel mixed with sea shanties and sequences written by James Redwood – a regular collaborator alongside writer Hazel with OAE’s Education Director Cherry Forbes. I’d really like all politicians who support cuts to the arts to be made to come and see shows like this as the depth of talent on show, the confidence-building association with professional actors and musicians and the sheer joy of artictic collaboration need to be appreciated by those holding the purse strings. A big thank you to all the kind people who donated time and money to ensure that activities like this can so enhance young peoples’ lives. With adequate resources and places to gather the kids are alright.

Next up were a couple of dining outings – the City Orns first Thursday meeting was small with just Fran, Richard and me at Fish! in Borough Market. On the way (ish) I popped into Yoshino to pick up my next supply of gyokuro from Lisa and had the opportunity to admire Bansky’s brilliant installation in Waterloo Place. How they did it is miraculous and I like this shot with the gilded statue representing the pinnacle of the establishment on the Atheneum Club in the background – shame they couldn’t clear the scaffolding away for me.

During dinner Richard – Surrey cricket member asked if I’d like to go to see Hampshire – my team – at the Oval on Monday. I said that would be lovely and should we go on afterwards to see Glengarry Glenross at the Old Vic after the match. Tickets booked and a pleasant evening ensued with a nightcap in Brindisa Tapas round the corner. Friday lunch at the Union Club – very non-establishment with friends Dede, Yvonne and Gwyn has been known to go on until rather late. Indeed as we left at six, there was an “Are you still here?” enquiry from reception. We had been enjoying their lovely roof terrace so away from the main areas. This was a very responsible visit for us – we must be getting old.

The Oval visit was a washout – Richard never made it at all and I saw 18 overs of cricket amid the rain delays. The weather ensured that the game ended as a draw which I’ll take as this has not been a great start to Hampshire’s season. I met Richard in the backstage bar at the Old Vic and then we went to see Glengarry Glenross. I had seen a version at the NT in 1983 and at the Playhouse in 2017. I like the play for its rapid fire dialogue among unscrupulous estate agents vying for a prize Cadillac, a set of steak knives or the sack depending on their position on the monthly deal closures board. For this revival director Patrick Marber had chosen to go with an all female cast with Indira Varma and Rosa Salazar as the leads.

I found it initially odd that they didn’t change the characters’ genders but followed the text to the letter. Soon it didn’t matter as the drama of backstabbing, conning and horsetrading, burglary and deceit just took over as it had before. It was done in the round as is all of this Old Vic season and it worked well in the office scene but the opening in the Chinese restaurant was a bit sketchy with a couple of hanging lanterns suggesting the space. It occasionally got a bit shouty but in all it was another very enjoyable encounter with a very fine play.

The next day I was at another rehearsal with the OAE – this time a very special one. Sir Simon Rattle had been one of the earliest supporters of the orchestra back in 1986 and when invited back to play in the 40th anniverary season he accepted immediately and elected to play two Berlioz works – the well-known Symphonie Fantastique and the equally brilliant but less performed Harold in Italy. The rehearsal took place in the Henry Wood Hall – previously Trinity Church until the 1960s and now a favourite space for several orchestras on account of its brilliant accoustic. They were working on Harold in Italy while I was there with the viola soloist Timothy Ridout walking around the space visiting various sections of the orchestra as he played the featured viola parts. It was fascinating to hear the interchange between various members and the conductor about stress and pace, intensity and melody. It seems all conductors demonstrate their wishes through dum de dah vocalisation – most mellifluous! On the way back I was struck by the juxtaposition of the spire of Dickens’ church St George the Martyr from 1122 and the Shard from 2012 both fine pieces of architecture gracing the area 900 years apart.

At a pre-concert talk some of the players shared their delight about playing not just ‘historically informed’ but actually on period instruments. For the baroque and classical periods they have to use excellently crafted copies of period instruments since the real ones would have disintegrated. Tonight they were playing on instruments made at the time Berlioz was writing in 1830. Their excitment was palpable.The concert itself was a huge success. In the first part with Harold in Italy Timothy Ridout with his viola approached the stage from the auditorium, as in rehearsal visited most sections of the orchestra and concluded the piece from a box. He gave a sensitive performance with clear tone and wonderful variations to match the mood of Harold’s adventures through the Italian landscape. The Symphonie Fantastique was a revelation with such clarity from the period instruments and varied dynamics in Simon Rattle’s energetic direction. The talk had suggested things to look out for and it did enhance the experience. Brilliant music performed by expert musicians conducted by a genius they are pleased to call a friend of the OAE.

Focusing on events in the Iran-Iraq war of the 1980s Under the shadow at the Almeida is an all too timely reminder of the effects of repressive regimes on women and of life under war conditions. With her husband off at the front, Shideh, played wonderfully by Leila Farzad, is left in her Tehran apartment with her daughter and possibly a malevolent spirit or djinn. Forbidden from continuing her studies to be a doctor because of prior political activism, Shideh is frustrated by her enforced domesticity and becomes increasingly disturbed by physical and psychological damage.

Adapted from Babak Anvari’s 2016 horror film which I had not seen, it was a thought-provoking evening with some very dramatic effects and some fine performances. Especially affecting were the rush to the air raid shelter where all the cast gather below the front of the stage and discuss their fears. And there’s one amazing coup de theatre which I won’t spoil.

The next outing was of a rather different nature. As a patron of the Orange tree Theatre in Richmond, Frances was invited to a sponsors’ dinner in the neighbouring Italian before a performance of Peter Shaffer’s Black Comedy. The meal was tasty and enlivened with theatre chat from various guests. The play is a hilarious farce. What a contrast to the psychological thriller that was Equus! In a brilliant piece of staging alternate scenes are set in pitch blackness representing times when the room was lit and bright lighting when powercuts had reduced the room to darkness. The actors coped brilliantly with this trope delivering witty lines in the dark and bumping into each other in the light. The central plot of a sculptor ‘borrowing’ a neighbour’s furniture to impress a dealer provided lots of fun and some snappy characterisation.

The Courtauld Gallery has an exhibition of Hepworth in Colour. A few years back I had enjoyed a visit to the eponymous gallery in Wakefield. Some of the works displayed in London were on loan from there but, shown in a different contex, took on a new resonance. A number of sculptural works were surrounded by lots of drawings and sketches which I was not familiar with and they gave insights into her approach to colour. In one sphere with panels in yellow, red and black she displayed a surprising side of her as a Watford fan! More common were the pale blues of the sea in Cornwall where she lived most of her life and some elegant painted columns and forms in painted plaster and bronze.

Just across the courtyard of Somerset House is the blockbuster exhibition of M C Escher, the first comprehensive showing of his work in the UK. I thought I’d better go while I was here. And comprehensive it truly is with over 150 works on display alongside artifacts he used to achieve his trademark tessellations, repetitative patterns and the impossible drawings for which he is mostly famed. It’s very interactive with infinity mirror rooms, scale-distorting rooms and spheres which you hold to view yourself in a very different way. I hadn’t realised how much he had been influenced by the patterns in Arabic art he’d seen on a trip to Spain. I was particularly taken by an etching of the Cordoba mosque with its eerie Semana Santa nazareno-hooded figures and it was interesting to see the famous ‘Relativity’ in the original lithograph form and as an animated screen version.

My friend Graham was down from Bradford and we agreed to meet up in the Black Eel in Dalston for a beer and then go to see Quartet in Autumn at the Arcola theatre. This also entailed a short visit to the excellent Five Fingers for a curry on the way to the theatre. I think this was my fourth or fifth visit and the food never disappoints and service is always interesting. Barbara Pym’s novel enjoyed a vogue in the 70s and has now been adapted for the stage by Samantha Harvey whose Orbital won the Booker prize in 2024. As a thirty-something the four bickering, miscommunicating fogeys on the verge of retirement seemed a long way off. Now not so much!

The humour of Pym’s writing has been retained in the adaptation and the characters each have opportunities to explain their lives of disappointment, underachievement and give rein to their hopes and fears. Four actors sitting talking often with their backs to you is not an easy setting to manage but the experience of Dominic Dromgoole as director and of his four excellent actors makes this an evening of entertainment and emotional engagment.

I think I’ve mentioned before Gitabina, the Bengali musical group curated by my friend Rumy Haque. They had a concert in memory of Rabindranath Tagore at the Brady Arts and Community Centre in Whitechapel on Saturday. I went along with my BBPC colleagues Shamim and Samaha and got a brief hero’s welcome as I had just consulted Cricinfo to see that the Tigresses (Bangladesh Women) had soundly defeated Pakistan Women in the T20 Womens World Cup. Given the political history of the two nations this victory was especially sweet. I met several friends and acquaintances and then went into the main hall for the concert which combined singing with recitations of Tagore’s works. Rumy had helpfully provided translations for several of the songs and the readings were delivered so powerfully that detailed understanding was not required to appreciate the content of the core messages. Another interesting facet was the real time painting of portraits of Tagore in his youth and as an elderly statesman. Like being at Sky’s Portrait Artist of the Year with added music. An enjoyable evening out with a difference.

I set off early for the Henry Wood Hall for another OAE rehearsal. It’s hot and when I arrive at Lee Station there’s a train on the platform and a stream of would-be passengers coming towards me. “No trains from Lee for several hours,” says one so I join the downward flow and get a bus to Lewisham and then a train to London Bridge and walk to the hall in good time for a susprise opening. Conductor Maxim Emelyanychev calls the rehearsal to order and the strains of Happy Birthday ring out. This was a special treat for Rebecca Bell a violinist celebrating her’s today. As before, observing the conductor explain his wishes to the band was fascinating. Lots of da, da, dums and jumping in the air for “more emphasis here”. The concert of Brahms, Dvorak and Hadyn tomorrow looks like being another real treat. Just a block from Trinity Church Square is Great Dover Street along which runs the 21 bus with its destination panel saying ‘Lewisham Shopping Centre’ so no hassle with trains on the way back and a short walk to the blessed 273 to get me home relatively unaffected by the 35 degree heatwave which looks set to continue. I was glad of my gamcha from Dhaka – a scarf of quick wicking cotton that keeps the sweatiest Englishman in the world – me – from the ravages of the midday sun.

And so to the concert itself. Billed as Brahms’ Last Concert, the programme replicated the concert from 7 March 1897 in Vienna, the last time that Brahms heard his own music performed as he died just a month later. Starting with the massive fourth symphony was completely counter-intuitive to a modern concert going audience – but it worked as it filled the first half of the evening with all the emotions. Joyful dance, slow intensity and a mournful brooding final section with perhaps a hint of hope make this a very emotional ride. In the second half Steven Isserlis played Dvorak’s cello concerto with flair and passion – at the pre-concert talk he said he played the first movement on a record obsessively at the age of ten and still loves it today. It showed. The Haydn symphony gave the evening a lively conclusion with its dance beats and final headlong rush across the fields in pursuit of who knows what. Whatever it is, it gave the work its nickname of The Hunt – the final movement is actually called La Chasse on the manuscript. It was a fitting conclusion to the first half of OAE’s 40th anniversary season which they take up again in October at the Southbank after stints at Glyndbourne and the Proms.

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Maybreak

The momentous decision in early May was to sell my car. So I now have a car-free drive!

I’ve been a car owner for 60 years so this was a big step but insurance and running costs were becoming unsustainable, I travel in London by public transport for free and when I go elsewhere there are trains and buses. And my car insurance premium alone will pay for lots of minicabs when I’m feeling lazy or access is difficult by other means. Big mental adjustment but so far so good. I managed a recording session in Greenwich and my weekly shop three times now by bus – and all for free.

My daughter and son-in-law introduced me to the Venezuelan pianist Gabriela Montero who was performing at Milton Court at the Barbican on May 1st. We met for a pre-concert dinner at Pham Sushi which I’ve walked past many times but never been in. It was excellent! I didn’t know the pianist’s work but she played an exciting programme under the umbrella title Iberia with pieces by Albeniz, Granados, Alicia de Larrocha, Soler and Mompou and Spanish-flavoured pieces from Scarlatti, Chopin, Liszt and ending with Ravel’s Rhapsodie Espagnol. The Spanish aspect appealed of course and she is a vibrant and expressive performer who played with nuance and verve. I’m glad to add her to my list – thanks Jo and Chris.

Then she returned to the stage for the unprogrammed part three of the concert in which she improvises on themes suggested by the audience or of her own choosing. The first suggestion was ‘Mamma Mia’ which she took on board and proceeded to amuse us and herself i suspect with a wonderful set of variations on a theme by Abba! Next she worked around a theme of her own which was a rather introspective, musing piece with a lower tempo but very affecting.

Her final improvision was on the Beatles’ ‘Here comes the Sun’ which started in the Baroque era and reminded me of Purcell before veering off in all sort of directions which echoed at different times the Keith Jarrett Cologne concert, Scott Joplin ragtime and the blues. Brilliant! And who says classical players don’t like to improvise! As Gabriela said Bach, Beethoven and Liszt all just sat and made it up as they went along so why not me?

Having just heard a song about the sun, my walk home from the station was blessed by a wonderful night sky with a Murakami Moon. As fans will know a double moon is a big feature of Haruki’s novel 1Q84. The appearance of this two disc moon took me back to that amazing book and our time spent looking for locations in his novels which, of course, was the original inspiration for this blog. As a classical and jazz music fan, he would also have loved Gabriela Montero’s improvisations.

The bank holiday weekend saw some decent weather for gardening so the place is looking a bit better now and on the Tuesday I was booked in for a lecture by the Guardian editor in chief Katherine Viner at the Conway Hall. However with Spain still in my soul from Friday’s concert I decided to go via the National Gallery and take in the Zurbarán exhibition. It’s the first time a full array of his work has been assembled in London and included works on loan from an impressive number of sources – hats off to the curators we know how difficult loans can be! I had seen his works in the Prado and Thyssen-Bornemisza in Madrid and a portrait in the wonderful Isabella Stewart Gardner Museum in Boston. I knew he was part of the great Spanish Baroque era alongside Velazquez and Murillo but had ignored many works dismissing them as being too religious for my taste. He did paint a lot of altar pieces some of which are huge and here; some with panels back together for the first time since their commission, and lots of saints and immaculate conceptions. However I was delighted by what I saw in the gallery. He has a real grasp of chiarosuro second only – if you insist – to Caravaggio. I have never seen painting of fabric done with such detail and emotional effect. The holes in Saint Francis of Assisi’s sackcloth robe give sainthood a whole new dimension. The faces of the characters were so intimate and distinctive, their settings often so scarce that you felt the painting was actually a sculpture. I wasn’t converted but I did feel the power. When he turned from religion to still-lifes the attention to detail and imaginative impact was amazing. The highlight for me was Agnus dei – OK religious title but with a touch of irony – as it depicts a bound lamb ready for slaughter. You could smell the lanolin and feel the coarse wool of the curls on this poor creature’s fleece. And it is possibly not yet dead but aware of its fate. A masterpiece.

A pleasant early evening stroll through Covent Garden and Holborn brought me to the Conway Hall a suitable venue for a talk about independence in journalism given the history of nonconformist and ethical mores of its occupants over the years. Katherine Viner spoke about distinguishing fake news and fake reality, the threats and uses of AI and the importance of the Scott Trust in ensuring that The Guardian remains an independent voice unaffected by media moguls or profit-motivated owners. The commercial model relies on 1.5 million people like me who subscribe to the outlet in the hope that it will continue the fine work it does already. For someone who has been reading the paper since it had Manchester attached to its banner, she was inspiring and cautiously optimistic.

That was my first outing without walking past the car on my drive – no problem as I never use it when going into the centre for concerts, theatres etc. However Wednesday was the appointed day to record the next Robin Reader audio for International Language Teaching Services and Hueber Verlag. The recording engineer Mark Smith and I do a couple of these each year

Mark’s studio is part of Jools Holland’s Helicon Mountain complex in Greenwich to which I normally drive. A quick consultation with Citymapper indicated that I could get a bus to Blackheath and another to Westcombe Park Station right next to the studio. It worked and took me 30 minutes of free public transport as opposed to 20 minutes in the car. The session went well with archaeologist and actor Mandy Weston who showed her voice versatility as a variety of Australians ranging from 5 to 70 years of age and male and female characters. They finish up as downloadable files in books like Joining the Circus that we recorded last year with Gyuri Sarossi.

Then it was off to the Donmar for Mass. This is an incredibly tense watch but great theatre. A church hall provides the setting for a restorative justice session and reminded me a bit of James Graham’s Punch that we saw at the Young Vic last year. But the one accidental punch that caused a death in a night out in Nottingham was overshadowed by a school shooting in the US. Here the parents of the killer and the final victim meet to see if there is any possibility of forgiveness. As a static ‘sitting at a table’ scenario it was enhanced by a revolve operating at different speeds as the dialogue unfolded. We waited to meet the two sets of parents as the room was prepared by church staff and details were checked by the mediator but the tension was palpable from the start. Cast and direction were excellent and it once again made you wonder who on earth could support the right to bear arms for anyone who chose to do so.

Given my comments about religion in the context of Zurburán it may seem a little odd that I’m attending the opening concert of the London Festival of Contemporary Church Music in a church in Knightsbridge. Well the concert is given by the choir Pegasus in which my son Tom sings. So I met up with my friend Jadwiga in a nearby pub, The Grenadier, for a catch up before the concert. Good beer and wine, good atmosphere inside, sun shining outside – what’s not to like. The concert was filled with interesting music from composers I knew of and three new commissions for the LFCCM festival. Two of the composers Cassie White who wrote one of the new pieces and Roxanna Panufnik spoke about the motivation for their pieces. Roxanna was particularly interesting in the context, being a practising Catholic who is also a Jew and her Love Endureth showed her concern for interfaith music-making with Spanish Jewish elements woven into this two-choir piece. Cassie White’s Arise my Darling was a lyrical flowing setting of the Song of Solomon. There were one or two familiar items but on the whole the music was fresh and new to me. One of the highlights was a piece by a young Polish composer Zuzanna Koziej setting the Lord’s Prayer which was followed later by another of her works with a setting of William Blake’s The Lamb – they are becoming a thing this week! She is clearly a talent to watch. We had a chance for a chat to Tom and several of the musicians and composers after the concert with a glass of wine so all in all a rather lovely evening. The only flaw was when, hidden behind another bus I boarded what I though was a number 9 bus to take me to Charing Cross which when it started going up Shaftesbury Avenue I realised was actually a number 19. The extra walk from Cambridge Circus probably did me good.

Matthew Altham conducting Pegasus in St Paul’s Knightsbridge

After a heavy football-free weekend of gardening, it’s back to the theatre to see the new NT production of Les Liaisons Dangereuses. Oh what a contrast to my memory of the 1985 London original! That was in the dark bowels of the Barbican’s Pit studio theatre with a louche set all cream silk and warm lighting – actually the NT’s poster makes you think there will be a reflection of this – although Valmont (Aidan Turner) and Mme de Merteuil (Lesley Manville) are appropreiately lying in letters rather than sheets – it was an epistolary novel by Laclos before Christopher Hampton adapted it for the stage.

But no! As I walked in I thought I was in for Michael Frayn’s Audience as we were all reflected in a massive mirrored set. The mirrors proved to be the facade of boudoir rooms on casters that were swirled about throughout the production by a series of dancers with some elegant choreography. The production might heve been called Les Liaisons Danses Heureuses as music and movement were an essential part of the concept. What emerged was the sadistic rivalry of the two principals played out in this this great reflective space which pointed up the multi-perspective nature of the novel where you never knew who was telling the truth – if any. What shone throughout was Christopher Hampton’s pithy dialogue delivered well by all the characters. As with Indian Ink at Hampstead last year it was interesting that tonight’s lead Lesley Manville had played the ingenue role of Cecile in the original with Lindsay Duncan and Alan Rickman as Merteuil and Valmont. Were notes given in rehearsal to Hannah van der Westhuysen this production’s Cecile?

I am glad to have seen this new interpretation of a fine script, but I suspect it will not last as long in my memory as that evening in the Pit where we were intimately involved in the vicious tussle of love and loathing so elegantly played out. In Marianne Elliott’s version there were a few very effective transitions, breathtaking ballet and excellent acting by all – Monica Barbero grew impressively into her debut stage role as the object of Vamont’s lust-turned-to-love as Madame de Tourvel and the dancer Lucia Chocarro was all sinuous sexuality as Emilie. Lesley Manville was outstanding. Aidan Turner was fine but up against Alan Rickman!

In the middle of a hatrick of theatre outings was the press night for Stage Kiss at Hampstead. What a feast of bad acting, dreadful scripts and fun slapstick! But in Sarah Ruhl’s writing there’s always a serious note as well. When ex-partners are called on to kiss passionately in the play they are both cast in, will old feelings return? Directing farce well is quite a trick and Blanche McIntyre pulls it off brilliantly. Sets, wardrobe and wooden acting take us back to the bad old cliches of “acting” – stilted, mistimings and collapsing the props all detracting from the drama. But the cast also have to act in the real world as well as the artificial one. Within the two very bad plays which Ruhl must have loved writing is a serious examination of what actors are asked to do, what theatre means to its audience and how relationships develop, diverge and reconvene. MyAnna Buring and Patrick Kennedy as She and He were brilliantly supported by the other cast members. A very funny evening but one which also made you ponder some fundamental attitudes about life and the theatre and relationships. And afterwards Frances and I had the pleasure of sharing a tube ride back towards our various homes with Blanche and her partner Gyuri.

More theatre about theatre on Friday when a former colleague of Fran’s from Boston, Vicky and her husband John, joined us and Farzana for a delightful and delicious dinner at Yoshino followed by Grace Pervades by David Hare at the Theatre Royal Haymarket starring Ralph Fiennes and Miranda Raison as Henry Irving and Ellen Terry. There’s a trend here as we had the Divine Mrs S about Sarah Siddons at Hampstead last year and a while back Kean and The Dresser which Ronald Harwood based on Donald Wolfit. I wonder who is writing the play about Laurence Olivier or Peter Hall – characters large enough to fill the stage posthumously. As the previous evening the intermingling of professional and personal lives was a key factor in the story which was extended with contributions from Ellen Terry’s children during her fame and in her dotage in her Kent home of thirty years. This involvement of the Bloomsbury set with Edith played by Ruby Ashbourne Serkis, who was so good in Indian Ink last year, and is in a lesbian throuple one of whom has been dumped by Vita Sackville West, sets the play in an much wider context. The other child Edward Gordon Craig is a narcissitic self-proclaimed genius who has some great scenes with Stanislavski in Moscow – more exploration of theatrical styles. There are some moments of great hilarity as when Terry suggests to Irving that he might perhaps look at other actors rather than the audience and when chided about his deliberation Irving says he will ‘strive to be more last minute’ and his expletive rendering of the name of the new radical playright Shaw epitomised his contempt for all things modern.

Through the trials and tribulations of Irving’s running of the Lyceum Theatre Hare makes some pertinent points about patronage and funding, staffing levels and audience expectation. The design with animated backcloths, stage within a stage and period costumes were excellent and it was a thoroughly engaging and entertaining look at the nature of theatre and its importance in society. And about relationships with actors and with families.

Godot’s To Do List by Leo Simpe-Asante was a curtain raiser at the Royal Court before Gary Oldman took the stage for Krapp’s Last Tape, itself originally a curtain raiser for Beckett’s Endgame when it first played at the Royal Court in 1968. The 19-year-old music and drama student Leo won the Royal Court’s first Young Playwright Award in 2025 and now has the accolade of his work appearing alongside that of Beckett. At the post-show Q&A he said the motivation was to wonder what kept Godot so late. So his play sets Godot a series of increasingly surreal tasks to detain him from his appointment. It is very funny, prefigures the Beckett perfectly and was delivered splendidly by Shakeel Haakim on stage and the ephemeral taskmistress voice of Flora Ashton who we only see at her deserved curtain call. A truly stunning piece of work for a 19-year-old and finely directed by the Court’s Resident Director Aneesha Srinivasan.

And so to Krapp. Gary Oldman was magnificent in every aspect. He designed the set, directed himself and performed the musing monologue with his younger selves superbly. The pregnant pauses, the occasional moves from his desk from light to darkness all added to the impact of this most personal of Beckett’s plays. In the Q&A he revealed himself as a thoroughly likeable person with a great rapport with the young playwright sharing the stage with him and Artistic Director David Byrne. Asked about directing himself he said that having not been on stage for 30 years he’d had plenty of preparation as “you don’t get much direction in films”.

Before making my first visit to Camden People’s Theatre to see Nomakhwezi Becker’s Holding Ground, I went to see The Christophers at Picturehouse Central. The performances of Michaela Coel and Ian Mckellen were absolute magic in a film that examines quirky relationships, the nature and value of art and is a whole lot of fun as well. James Corden and Jessica Gunning as grasping children are great support.

I had heard some of the themes explored in Nomakhwezi’s workshop at the Whitechapel Gallery last month and was interested to see how she would entertain and educate us in an hour-long solo show. With a mixture of Xhosa, German and English she took us on an exciting journey across countries and cultures. We joined in at times copying her movements cued by a blast of her whistle. She talked of culture at home in South Africa and the inability to touch both sides of her life simultaneously now that she’s based in London. Beading, fabric dying, cooking and storytelling were all prominent in what turned out to be both informative, entertaining and engaging combining continents, customs and cultures in a fascinating way.

The hottest (at that point) May day ever made me reach for my sweat-repelling Bangladeshi gamcha (thanks Zaki) as I headed off to the Betsey Trotwood in Farringdon to see Ian Prowse perform his annual intimate show here. The show got underway with a set from the excellent Banjo Jen a Sheffield-based singer-songwriter and excellent dancer. Then TUC Secretary General and folk singer Paul Nowak did a guitar-based set with Heidi Smith on violin with a Palestine support anthem included. That line-up was perpetuated as Laura Macmillan brought her violin to join Ian for a rousing session for the Pele-Prowsey family that had gathered in this fabulous little pub where I had previously only been for poetry sessions upstairs with BBPC and Exiled Writers Ink.

Laura Macmillan, Ian Prowse and Banjo Jen at the Betsey Trotwood 24 May 2026

The highest May temperatures ever recorded in the UK were the talk of the Bank Holiday weekend. I was lucky enough to spend a couple of days pressure washing my patio to remove a year’s worth of algae and dirt. Lots of cooling spray mingled with the sweat! It had cooled a litlle for my Wednesday trip to the Royal Festival Hall to hear the OAE play Haydn’s The Creation under Czech conductor Vaclav Luks. The blog is getting quite a lot of religious input this month one way or another. I’d heard this oratorio before but with the appropriate period instruments and a modest choir, the clarity of Haydn’s brilliant writing was totally apparent. In a pre-concert talk Luks and Dr Rachel Stroud explained the complex origins of the work’s libretto – turned down by the more famous Handel – with versions by various hands in English and German and the decision to perform tonight in German. Luks argued that the music was written to accompany the sounds of sung German and that trying to fit it to the different rhythms and cadences of English lost a lot of impact and empathy. Certainly his work with the orchestra and singers was such that I thought I was hearing this work for the first time. It contains descriptive writing of the highest order – quite what audiences in 1798 made of that massive opening note and the subsequent discordant portrayal of chaos from which the creation was to ensue, I can’t imagine. However they clearly loved the rest of its depiction of water, light and especially the humorous treatment of the creation of animals and man followed by Adam and Eve’s blissful time in Eden, since it ran for many performances and is a firm part of the current orchestral repertoire. Emotional tugs at the heartstrings, belly laughs at some of the musical tricks and the sheer energy of the finales to each part had the hall erupt with applause. A truly stunning creation.

The revivals keep on coming don’t they? My last culture trip in May was to Peter Shaffer’s Equus at the Menier Chocolate factory. Frances and I had a delicious tapas supper beforehand at Brindisa in Borough Market and walked along Southwark Street to the theatre. I’d seen the original NT production with Alex McCowen and Peter Firth as psychiatrist and patient, then the controversial 2007 revival with Richard Griffiths and Daniel Radcliffe – both fresh from Harry Potter fame and people were shocked to see Daniel naked on stage. Tonight Toby Stevens played the psychiatrist and Noah Valentine the young Alan Strang who was being assessed after blinding six horses. The theme has never been an easy one but this production by Lindsay Posner was truly outstanding. The cast were all excellent – as written in stage directions they were all present throughout, as audience members in this production so you were right in the thick of the action, especially as the space is tiny with only 180 seats.

The boy’s father was played by a fellow Watford season ticket holder and Hornet Heaven podcaster Colin Mace with whom we enjoyed a post show drink and a chat. A striking feature of the show was the horses portrayed by six actors whose movements were brilliantly choreographed by James Cousins. At one point they all combined to form one horse with a rider astride and your breath was just torn away. Shaffer’s psychiatrist’s teasing out of the reasons for the boy’s horrendous act were twisty and unconventional and left you with lots to think about current mental health issues with the young obsessed with social media. A fine play and a very fine revival.

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Cultural continuum

My first outing in April was to an event in the Whitechapel Gallery called Threading Words. The poetry group of which I’m a trustee has some connections with the organisers Babel’s Blessing. This charity arrnages language tuition in many tongues for recent immigrants to help them play an active part in British society. This session was led by a South African-German artist Nomakhwezi Becker who took us through a fascinating couple of hours of self-exploration based on her insights from Xhosa and other African cultures with a modern European gloss. Who knew that the intricate beadwork patterns so much a part of Zulu culture sent explicit messages such as ‘I fancy you’ or ‘Stay away’? I had a chance to chat to Khwezi and the Babel’s organiser Marina Castrillo and hope to see them both at our next BBPC gathering at the end of the month.

Nomakhwezi began by telling us about storytelling traditions which are so important in every culture – the screen reads ‘Once Upon a Time’ – and then asked us to identify things that were important to us in relation to colours, scents, the contents of drawers and handbags, the weather and places. I’m not usually a fan of heart searching in public but found Nomakhwezi’s prompts particularly well chosen so that I and those around me wrote copiously in response. I kept the messages that the session elicited and have found them helpful in planning my days.

Some sensational retelling of a well-known story was taking place at the Royal Court Theatre. John Proctor Is the Villain is a retlling of Arthur Miller’s The Crucible by Kimberly Bellflower She relocates the action to a high school in Georgia where a group of – mostly – adolescent girls discuss the play with personal-inspired insights and some startling revelations. It’s set in the noughties and the young women want to set up a feminist society, I guess on the wave of #Metoo.The club is finally establshed after institutional doubts when the teacher suggests boys should be members too. The members all have clear characteritics – swot, rebel, newcomer, plus an absentee with a backstory of great importance to the subsequent revelations. The young cast – three making professional stage debuts – are outstanding and the denoument is a remarkable piece of modern theatre. Photo below courtesy Royal Court Theatre

It is getting a deserved West End transfer in 2027 when it will run at Wyndham’s Theatre from February through to April. Do go and see it – I’ll be going again. Another of this year’s highlights Arcadia is also transferring from the old Vic to the Duke of York’s in June. Miller and Stoppard are getting lots of exposure right now and rightly so.

Having seen part of the technical rehearsal, it was with interest that I went to Hampstead with Frances to the press night for the revival of Michael Frayn’s Copenhagen. You know you’re getting old when you’ve seen the original version of so many plays being revived now – one marking its fiftieth anniversary! I noticed in the technical and tonight that the three actors were miced up and wore earpieces – a growing trend I’d noticed recently. I am used to presenters with lots of technical script to deliver having it replayed through an earpiece so they can be one-take-wonders. But actors! It was clear that Richard Schiff playing Niels Bohr needed some help as he was very stumbly – some kind audience members later said they found it effective characterisation of the older man. Alex Kingston playing Bohr’s wife Margrethe had a few flufs but brought some much needed warmth to the play while Damien Maloney as Werner Heisenberg performed with German efficiency.

It always was a very wordy and complex play with the central mystery about the reasons for the 1941 meeting between the two former colleagues now on opposite sides in the war. As with a number of productions these days the Trumpian overtones were quite obvious and played up in Michael Longhurst’s direction. The real star of the evening was the set designed by Joanna Scotcher with a water-filled moat surrounding the central revolve and hanging light bulbs feeling like so many atomic particles. They also changed colour to suit the mood – in a series of clever lighting effects.

It was well done and thought-provoking but perhaps not the most enjoyable evening in the theatre. The after party more than made up for that with old friends and new chatting about everything under the sun – and drinking far too much. I was more restrained the next evening when I was able to catch up with my friend Rosa over dinner at the Union Club. Rosa is mostly based in a fabulous apartment in Girona nowadays but had to come back to get her car MOTed and various other chores and catch-ups. It was lovely to see her after quite a time and we put the arts world completely to rights during the evening.

The there was another nostalgia trip to see Teeth ‘n’ Smiles having a fiftieth anniversary revival. I saw the original with Helen Mirren as Maggie Frisby, the alcoholic fading rock star, played in the Duke of York’s Theatre by Rebecca Lucy Taylor who I have to say is a better singer and can act too. Coming from Rotherham her accent was spot on. David Hare’s play still feels very much of its time despite a few updating references. But it brought back happy memories of younger times of carefree excess and thoroughly irresponsible behaviour. The set was suitably shabby and the direction by Daniel Raggett (no relation that we’ve yet discovered) was pacy and engaging. I thoroughly enjoyed the depiction of a disintegrating band with its internecine rivalries and battles. And the original music by Nic and Tony Bicat was enhanced with some new songs from RLT or Self Esteem as she is known professionally.

For some mad reason I decided to go to see Watford play against Oxford United. It’s the dog end of the season where we can’t go up or down so there’s nothing to play for but pride and there was little of that on display as we lost 2-0. This lead to a truly toxic atmosphere at the end of the match with the players standing resolutely suffering piled on of abuse from certain members of the so-called support, who are clearly too young to remember what a state the club has been in at several periods of its existence.

I was pooh-poohed by some members of our party for my decision on arrival at Oxford Station to head off to the Ashmolean Museum rather than heading straight to the pub.

For once I made the right call – they waited 35 minutes for a bus, I was in the museum in 7 minutes. Flower displays adorned the portico presaging the exhibition called In Bloom about the history of gardening, plant hunters and the commercialisation of horticulture. It was excellent, small enough to be done in an hour or so but very informative and containing some beautiful and interesting images and objects.

The exhibition featured early plant specimens lovingly pressed into folio volumes 400 years ago, botanical drawings, portraits of plant hunters and seed gatherers and some of the equipment they used. It didn’t shy away from the horrors brought about by the discovery of the powerful effects of the opium poppy, the mad vogue for the tulip that led to the bubble of 1634 retold in the Tom Stoppard and Deborah Moggach sceenplay for the film Tulip Fever in 2017. There were smell stations to distinguish between black and green tea and to smell burnt poppy seeds and bizarre botanical teaching models. Modern artists were invited to exhibit their reaction to the displays and there were paintings, tapestries and sculptures that extended the scope to the present. Flower displays by Justine Smith made from used banknotes epitomised the dangers of always seeking the new. The sculptures and prints of the Iranian artist Anahita Norouzi were especially striking. Her flower scultures bore significant titles focusing on the colonial exploitation and her prints made in crude oil were a timely reminder of the horrors currently unfolding in the Gulf. I’m very glad I went to see it, particularly as the football was awful and the pub had no real ale.

Romola Garai was nominated for two Oliver supporting actor roles – The Years at the Almeida (won) and Giant at the Royal Court. I reckon she’ll be up for another next time for her amazing performance (leading not supporting) as Nora in the new version of Ibsen’s A Doll’s House by Anya Reiss. It’s in a modern setting but with all the tensions of the original. The Italian rest cure is replaced by a rehab stint in a Portuguese Priory, there are maxed out credit cards and the expected higher levels of income come not from a promotion in the bank but the sale of a company which has nearly but not quite gone through. The stripped down cast leaves the children only heard through a sleep monitor but this probably helps speed up the action. I found it had a very strong link to the original while exploring more modern themes. The absence of children made Nora feel slightly less trapped in her domestic cage than the original and the conclusion was left up in the air with a quick cut to black with everyone on stage rather than a slammed door. Lots to ponder which is a good thing on leaving the theatre. Next year’s supporting actor nomination should go to Thalissa Teixeira who was the most sympathetic character as Kristine and gave a superb portrayal of the impoverished widow and former university friend.

Tom Mothersole (Torvald) , Romola Garai (Nora) Olivier Huband (Petter)

Iphigenia at the Arcola Theatre was again, a modern retelling of the familiar myth interspersed with live footage in various languages from people who had lost children through famine, refugee journeys and other misfortunes. These unwilling sacrifices made the dilemma faced by Agamemnon and Clytemnestra all the more poignant. It was an effective version with some fourth wall breaking moments and a haunting musical accompaniment. The backdrop of sails which turned into waves and the simple set framed some fine performances from Simon Kunz as Agamemnon, Mithra Malex as his daughter and Indra Ove. The modern political scene was never far from your thoughts as Agamemnon was prepared to kill his daughter in order to get wind for his fleet to sail into battle in a distant land in an unwinnable war – until a wooden horse tipped the balance after ten years of slaughter. We never learn anything myth or history it seems.

So it’s off to the Queen Elizabeth Hall for the latest in OAE’s experiments. One of the things I love about the organization is that they are always trying new ways of presenting music. Last year there was the amazing Breaking Bach promoted with among other things, plantable pencils. Mine says it’s sunflower seeds but the seedlings look very like tomatoes to me. At least they germinated! I shared this photo with some of the OAE team online and before the concert and we all eagerly await the next set of leaves and glorious sunflowers to plant out. I’ve promised to document progress.

The concert tonight is Echoes of Hill and Horizon and present music outside OAE’s normal comfort zone. In collaboration with the Southbank Centre and Squidsoup – a specialist lighting company. The blurb promised “an immersive soundscape” and we were treated to bird calls in the foyer recorded at Leith Hill, Place Vaughan Williams’ home, to prepare us for his The Lark Ascending. What shocked on entering the hall was the massive grids with their arrays of tiny lightbulbs. I was glad I had chosen a rear stalls seat as there was one bank of lights above the central walkway behind front stalls punters’ eyelines. What was to come?

House lights dimmed, the orchestra played the opening bars and then Kati Debretzeni’s soaring violin was heard offstage. She emerged and continued to play from various points on the stage before disappearing again at the end. It was an inspired performance all the more effective because it’s the first time she’s ever played it. She explains her approach entertainingly here. The lighting streams showed said lark (oddly in red and white looking more like a Welsh dragon) flitting from side to side and back to front always rising with the thousands of bulbs able to change colour magically – it reminded me of the lights on the Copenhagen set last week. The lighting changes fitted well with the moods of the music – sometimes a bit obvious like the green swathes for Fantasia on Greensleeves – but often enhancing my appreciation of the music. For Vaughan Williams’ Fantasia on a theme of Thomas Tallis the orchestra split in two with some effective antiphonal layered playing in this familiar piece. What mattered most for me about the evening was the Southbank’s Concrete Voids sound system. Each musician had a stand mic beside them and the lightly amplified mix played into the auditorium was astounding. Every note was clear, as you’d expect from this band, but the enveloping effect of the surround sound was for me the highlight of the evening. To hear very familiar repertoire in such a new way was really satisfying and sent me from the hall with a real buzz of delight. Did the lights mean a lot? Probably a bit gimmicky and added only slightly to the pleasure of the music. But the Comncrete Voids system added a lot.

And the next evening there’s another stunning stage debut at the Kiln Theatre. And he’s only playing John Lennon! Noah Ritter was the debuntant alongside the chameleon that is Calam Lynch as Brian Epstein in Tom Wright’s play Please, Please Me. it was insightful, touching on Epstein’s discovery and subsequent management of the Beatles – none of their music was heard because of massive licencing fees, it seems. The one woman in the cast Eleanor Worthington-Cox plays John’s Aunt Mimi as well as Cyn/Cilla John’s first wife and Epstein’s other signing Cilla Black. She was excellent tin all three roles with subtle changes of headgear and wigs. The versatile set wheeled and danced across the stage with the outline of the Cavern Club providing a background. Amit Sharma’s direction allowed space for the play’s themes of Jewishness, illicit homosexuality, addiction and privacy stolen by beatlemania to unfurl in crisp dialogue with many moments of humour amongst the overall gloom thrown by Brian’s death aged 32 two years before homosexuality was made legal un the UK.

Bookending the blog neatly, the last Sunday of alternate months means it’s time to head back to the Whitechapel Gallery for the British Bilingual Poetry Collective’s Bi-monthly Meetup. At the last meeting we’d agreed a theme of Absent Friends as 26 April was the anniversary of one of our member’s father’s death and it was the week when my late wife Dee had her birthday so it seemed a good occasion to remember those no longer with for whatever reasons. Several poignant poems were read and lively discussion ensued as memories were exchanged.

Marina read in Spanish, Shamim in Bengali and I just did English

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Marching on …

Finally after all the gloom of the year to date we had a few days of sun and I was able to plant some vegetables – broad beans and parsnips so far – check on the onions and garlic planted last autumn and do the annual hack and slash of all the dead brush from last year’s flowers. Then as I turned to go indoors the sunset showed me my next big task. The tree in the left foreground is my quince which has given us so much membrillo and jelly over the years but has lots of overlapping branches and needs a really good prune. A start has been made.

My rather aching limbs picked up some energy on Monday evening as I set off fot the Wigmore Hall to hear the Irish Baroque Orchestra play The Trials of Tenducci as the first part of a tour to Dublin, Limerick, New York and Virginia. I’m a great admirer of Peter Whelan who leads the IBO and the energy and clarity the band brings to the repertoire.

Tonight’s was an interesting programme based around the exploits of one Giusto Fernando Tenducci, a famous eighteenth century castrato singer. Born in Siena he came to London in 1758 and later moved to Dublin where he met and married Dorothea who later bore two children but later sued him for divorce for non-consummation. He became something of a celebrity – he was painted by Gainsborough, was friends with J C Bach and a singing teacher to Mozart. He was also to spend eight months in a debtors’ prison in London and later in Ireland. One admirer wrote of his voice: ‘neither man’s nor woman’s but it is more melodious then either’. Tenducci by Gainsborough in the Barber Art Gallery in Birmingham.

Having heard last week Mozart’s last three symphonies, each half of the evening began with two of his earliest ones, numbers 1 and 4. Short, sharp and lively, they set the sense of fun for the evening which involved works which Tenducci had sung or were by his friends and contemporaries. Tenducci’s role was taken by the excellent countertenor Hugh Cutting who expressed his delight that high range male soprano voices were no longer the result of mutilation. He sang arias by Gluck, Thomas Arne, J C Bach and Mozart and as an opera singer he filled them with expressiveness and drama. The orchestral playing in an oboe concerto by Johann Christian Fischer and the symphonies and a rollicking version of Tommaso Giordani’s Overture and Irish Medley which contained well-known Irish folk tunes was brilliant with a small orchestra filling the hall with an eclectic and delightful programme. And afterwards I was able to catch up with violinist Jenna Raggett as she and fellow violin players were taking a selfie. And the IBO conveniently posted photos of the rehearsal and the final bow.

Later in the week my favourite orchestra the OAE held a session to launch its Southbank Programme for 2026-27, Held in the elegant hall of Acland Burghley School in Tufnell Park and hosted by Radio 3 and Proms star Katie Derham, the evening had music from a string quartet with vocals from tenor Hugo Hymas who was one of the OAE’s ‘Rising Stars’ in the 2019 cohort. While discussing each of the concerts with long standing players Annette Isserlis (viola), Cecelia Bruggemeyer (bass) and Martin Lawrence (horn), we also heard the fascinating story of the band’s formation back in 1986 when a number of players decided they were doing all the work and others were getting all the plaudits so they formed an orchestra that was run by its players not by a single celebrated conductor. It’s proved a great success for forty years and has allowed for concerts with a wide variety of conductors and several directed from within the orchestra itself. Another very pleasant evening in the company of friends and with some excellent music from Vivaldi, Bach, Handel and Mozart.

Friday brought a real surprise. Ace pianist and dear friend Susie Stranders invited me to a gala evening with St Paul’s Opera in Clapham. Well if Susie’s involved it will be good so off I set in a convoluted cross Sarf Lunnun jaunt with a bus, two trains and a walk to a wonderfully simple church, St Paul’s Clapham, to meet my friend Jadwiga who was coming from Putney. I’ve been previously to similar evenings in Fulham Palace and the Blackheath Halls and it appears that there are many occasional opera group and societies all over London and indeed the country. It’s great that there are so many opportunities for talented young singers to engage with diverse audiences in different locations. St Paul’s Opera has a dynamo at its heart in Tricia Ninian and the evening was billed as David Butt Philip and Friends. David has been associated with St Paul’s Opera since 2017 and gathered some great friends to perform arias and songs from Handel and Mozart through Wagner and Bizet to Britten and Bernstein. David was joined by soprano Ellie Laugharne, mezzo Marta Fontanals-Simmons and bass Liam James Karai. As accompanists for the four singers Susie was reunited with Eric Melear with whom she had been on the young artists programme at the Grand Opera Studio in Houston back in 2000. Both experienced repetiteurs, they managed to make the piano sound like a full orchestra in the fine acoustic of the church. I can’t make St Paul’s production of La Traviata this summer as I’m out of town at a wedding but I’m sure it will be worth a trip.

A business bagged up for shredding! 30 years of my various company documents all on their way to be shredded. Because many of the call sheets and contact lists, invoices and (remember them?) cheque stubs contain the names and details of several rather well-known names I’ve been lucky enough to work with over the years, they can’t just go into my Lewisham Council recycling bin. So off they go to Restore Data Shred for secure and certified destruction.

After that it was a visit to Langley Park Boys School for an ‘Evening of Jazz’ in which my granddaughter was playing flute in the big band numbers. The evening opened with a quintet featuring Sam on tenor sax who had guested with Soulstice last week at Off the Cuff. They were very good as were the big band that played a few standards. Then to my surprise after Soulstice lead singer Bea had sung Round Midnight, Trixi (Daisy) stepped up to the mic to sing Dream a Little Dream for Me. Her parents had failed to inform proud grandad that she was a featured soloist as well and she gave an emotional rendition of a fine thirties song imbuing Gus Kahn’s lyric with a real sense of longing. The whole evening was a further confirmation of the immense depth of talent that is produced when the arts in schools are properly respected and resourced. Soap box suspended for now!

Next to the Donmar for Anna Ziegler’s Evening all Afternoon – a tense two-hander with Anastasia Hille as Jennifer, a suspect new stepmother and Erin Kellyman, making her stage debut, as Delilah, the suspicious and resentful daughter. Both actors are superb – Hille is all internalised emotion, with staunch British values, stiff upper lip and sense of decorum, responding stoically to the taunts thrown at her. I really can’t believe that this was Kellyman’s stage debut – apparently she’s well-known on screen but not in shows I’ve seen. (I also note now that Erin will be in the TV show 2026 – the successor to the 2012 and W1A satires that lit up our screens with [presentation of wondrous, pretentious incompetence.)

Jennifer is a young, bolshie, opinionated half Brit, half Brooklyn tornado who rages at her mother’s early death and her father’s gall in replacing her. The play revealed many ideas of grief, loneliness, age differences, relationships and an eventual uneasy and tentative rapprochement. With some scenes of dialogue between the two characters and others where they address us the audience directly the revolve stage worked really well against a dark blue brooding set. Lots of food for thought in a dramatic short play.

The next night at Hampstead downstairs we saw R.O.I. (Return on Investment) another short new play by Aaron Loeb which examined the releationship between creator and investor in the context of big pharma. Paul, Lloyd Owen, runs a venture capital fund with which he intends to change the world. His colleague May Lee, played by Millicent Wong, is on the hunt for a unicorn – a start up company with a $1billion valuation which will gain her a partnership and personal wealth. Along comes Willa, Letty Thomas, with a cure that will eradicate cancer from the entire world. I wondered if she was the real deal or another Elizabeth Holmes of Theranos ignominy – who did get a mention in the script. We were left to wonder throughout as the wonderdrug trials progress through successful initial stages into really murky territory to avoid scrutiny by the FDA. Add an affair between Paul and Willa, gaslighting May Lee, questionable views about ethnic types and a Congressional tribunal – there’s a whole lot going on in there, including a late appearance of The Woman (Sarah Lam) perhaps showing where May might be heading. It’s very sharp and witty in its dialogue and there are many moments of humour among the sad implication that power and money will always corrupt even the most well-meaning of souls.

Willa, (Letty Thomas) Paul (Lloyd Owen) and May (Millicent Wong) at the tribunal.

Next was a trip to Richmond for Vincent in Brixton which I missed at the NT in 2002 but this seems to be a time of revivals what with Teeth and Smiles and Copenhagen on the horizon. Nick Wright’s imagined revelations of van Gogh’s year in lodgings in Brixton, while working as an art dealer in Covent Garden, was a delight. The amazing Niamh Cusack led a cast in which three of the four were making their stage debuts – quite a week for debuts! It’s a quiet domestic piece in which we are treated to the kitchen odours of cooking on a working stove and later shared Niamh’s pride at her separation of egg yolk and white done in real time. It’s like a mystery story where you know the outcome but the characters don’t. Vincent was scathing about the work of fellow lodger Sam but we didn’t see any of his own work or sense his promise. He was a confused young man in a foreign country experiencing strong emotions and desire for the first time. Initially attracted to the daughter Eugenie, it was to landlady Ursula that we are led to believe he lost his virginity. It’s a play about grief, Ursula still in widow’s black, restless relationships and passion and everyday life gently unfolding in the Orange Tree’s intimate space.

Niamh Cusack as Ursula with Jeroen Frank Kales as Van Gogh.
Photograph: Johan Persson/Orange Tree

The next day Fran invited me to join her for a technical rehearsal of Copenhagen at Hampstead Theatre. This time I had seen the original production of Michael Frayn’s play back in 1998. The staging was very similar with a sparse set with three chairs. At Hampstead there is the addition of a spectacular set back wall which I won’t describe so as not to spoil your gasps when you see it. It’s fascinating to see how lighting, sound and movement blocking subtly affect your understanding of what is taking place. Can’t wait to see the whole thing in a couple of weeks’ time. It’s a real festival of Michaels – Frayn, Blakemore the original director and Longhurst this revival.

Thursday was the Watford Community Sports & Education Trust’s Annual Gala Dinner and so the usual suspects assemble at Vicarage Road for an evening celebrating what the charity has achieved against the gloom of the economy, through the dedication of staff and volunteers. It came as a pleasant surprise to me to discover that Frances’ sister Rose (second from right) has been asked to succeed Simon Macqueen as chair of the trustees. Well deserved for her energy and enthusiasm for the work it does. We all had a great time chatting to former and current players and meeting young people the Trust has helped over the years.

As it was a late finish, Rose had kindly invited Fran and me to stay with her and husband Mark in Bovingdon. This proved a great boon for me as I planned to catch my friend Kristina Ammatil giving a lecture/recital in Henley-on-Thames the next morning. So I set off for a pleasant drive through the Chilterns and made it in good time to hear Kristina discuss allegory in opera with the title: Love, Gods and Mortals. It was a well argued essay supported with slides and illustrated with excerpts from operas old and modern in Kristina’s powerful, melodic soprano accompanied by Jack Redman at the piano. She is particulary keen to perform contemporary repertory and introduced us to several pieces I didn’t know. I was very pleased to have the serendipitous chance to attend from nearby rather than making the trip from London.

Christ Church Henley – wonderful woodwork

I had a chance to chat with Kristina and her boyfriend Luka after the event for a catch up before dashing (I wish! Thanks M25.) back home to park and unpack the car and catch a train and bus to Shoreditch for a performance of Handel’s Tamerlano from which I’d heard excepts but never seen the whole of this great opera. Part of the annual London Handel Festival this was taking place in a completely new venue for me – the splendid Shoreditch Town Hall.

The orchestra under Laurence Cummings were superb and the production was delivered in a witty English language update of the original Italian. The design and concept led one to rename the opera Trumperlano since a blue suited, red tie wearing golfer Tamerlano, a Tartar emperor, tries to impose his will on the traditionally-costumed Turkish sultan Bajazet and grab his daughter Asteria who is in love with a Greek prince Andronico. It’s convoluted but hey it’s opera from 1724 and the London crowds loved it.

The year 1724 was a good one for Handel as he wrote Rodelinda and Giulio Cesare in the same year. I’ve now seen all three in the space of the last two years. They are all full of great tunes and high drama mixed in with a sense of humour which makes them very appealing. Certainly the Shoreditch audience loved the whole thing given the ovation the singers and players received at the end. A very varied musical day!

My last cultural outing of March also celebrated, by a weird coincidence, the year 1724 which just happened to be the date of Bach’s St John Passion which the OAE were performing in the Queen Elizabeth Hall. As a ‘friend’ I was also invited to attend the rehearsal with German conductor Johanna Soller making her debut appearance with the orchestra. She knows how to get asked back – she cut Sunday’s rehearsal by an hour – always goes down well with musicians! This rehearsal may have been brief but it was also fascinating. Ms Soller is clearly a producer as well as conductor, keyboard star and singer. She started by having the QEH staff move the rostra about so that the chorus formed a shallow horeshoe rather than a straight line; she moved soloists’ seats to better catch the hall’s lighting and during the course of the rehearsal frequently skipped off the stage, ran up the aisle to listen from the cheap seats and make sure we’d all get the best possible experience in the evening. She gave a number of notes and we could hear their immediate effect on volume, phrasing, pronunciation and diction. All very impressive but did it work?

Emphatically, yes! Her energy and dramatic timing made this one of the most operatic readings of the mass and that includes Peter Sellars’ staged version with Simon Rattle and the OAE in 2019. The orchestra have played both Bach passions many times but sounded fresh and engaged last night. The score is so melodic and dramatic – the build up to scene 33 “And behold, the curtain in the temple was torn in two pieces from top to bottom. And the earth shook, and the cliffs were rent, and the graves opened up, and many bodies of saints arose.” shook the entire hall. This is in contrast to the beautiful alto aria “Es ist vollbracht – It is finished” sung by the wonderful Helen Charlston continuing her long assoctaion with the OAE having been one of its early Rising Stars. All soloists were excellent James Way as the evangelist, Peter Edge – one of the current cohort of Rising Stars – as Christus, Hillary Cronin, Jonathan Hanley and then Tristan Hambelton as Pilate was outstanding in his empathetic reading as the representative of Roman law. Johanna Soller congratulated all areas of the orchestra in turn and selflessly stood to one side as the band and soloists took their bow, A fine debut and let’s see much more of her in the UK.

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‘Twas Valentine’s day in St Alban’s …

So after a busy start to February, its halfway point was marked with a trip to St Alban’s – the first for a long time for me. The occasion was the christening of the extended family’s newest addition Louisa Deeley. I was delighted to note that her middle names were Denise (my late wife) and her great grandmother Rosemary who was there and I was pleased to have a long chat with her over tea. The party decamped to a pub to watch Scotland demolish England in the rugby – large Scottish contingent present. I made my excuses and went to visit my composer friend Dani Howard who conveniently lives opposite the Mayflower pub in the city centre where we had a lovely few beers with her and her partner Sean chatting about all sorts of things musical and other. Dani has a busy schedule ahead with trips to Hong Kong for the premiere of her Cello Concerto to be played by her former mentor about which she’s a bit nervous, several performances of the Saxophone Concerto for Jess Gillam which I heard in Poole last year and concerts in Germany, the Netherlands and three weeks in Florida in October as a “Master-Artist” at the Atlantic Centre for the Arts Residency Programme working with composers, performers and poets.

Then after a fairly quiet week a hectic weekend was upon us. On Friday I went with my friend Hattie to see Pina Bausch’s Tanztheater Wuppertal perform the amazing Sweet Mambo. With a flowing white drape background which sometimes billowed and was sometimes still and occasionally swallowed the dancers, the dance unfolded with a series of scenes in which women seduce and repel men, in which they find some common ground and other in which they have a laugh together. The fact that there are three men and six women probably indicates where Pina’s sympathies lie. The sound track is eclectic with classical, ambient, jazz and spoken words. As so often with her confections, it sounds like a mess but somehow it works with a mesmerising beauty. We left the theatre with big smiles on our faces.

Fabulous frocks and flowing drapes in *Sweet Mambo*

The next day promised to be a bit of a scramble with a trip to Watford for football followed by a cross London dash to the Arcola Theatre for a play in the evening. My initial journey was complicated by there being no Metropolitan Line trains to Watford – my usual route when not driving – as it deposits me much closer to the West Herts Sports Club, where we meet for pre-match drinks and chat, than Watford Junction. It was all worthwhile as our new manager – third of this season, 23rd since the Pozzo family bought the club in 2012 – coaxed the team to a 2-0 victory over Derby County. After the match two Overground trains took us via a highly complex platform change at Willesden Junction (thank goodness Fran was with me or I’d have got completely lost). We met up with Farzana in the Arcola bar before watching a highly entertaining one-man show with a Watford connection.

Monstering the Rocketman devised and performed by Henry Naylor was originally at the Edinburgh Festival but the excellent Arcola gave it a worthy London run. It featured the dreadful Kelvin Mckenzie’s vitriolic attack on Elton John, the total lack of facts and evidence for which resulted in the biggest libel suit in history with Elton taking on the might of The Sun and the power of the Murdoch empire. With video clips and garish headline displays Naylor told the full story in a variety of characters in a funny, terrifying and eloquent way. He was one of the lead writers for Spitting Image back in the day and his satirical skills enabled him to skewer McKenzie and cronies in a revealing and most enjoyable 75 minutes. As it was still early we three made our way to the excellent Five Fingers for a fine curry.

Saturday 21 was UNESCO International Mother Language Day so it was appropriate that our British Bilingual Poetry Collective (BBPC) group had our regular meeting on Sunday 22 and could focus on the topic with a group of regulars and two people joining us for the first time. I outlined the origin of the Day which started in Bangladesh when five students were executed for speaking Bengali rather tha Urdu and was observed there ever since. Then the government suggested to UNESCO that it should be global which it has been since 1999. I had asked my friend Shumi to bring her delightful poem Banglish about her experience of growing up bilingually in London, I had sourced a number of others I could read and a lively discussion ensued with contributions with many different experiences. We had a technical task to conclude in which all of us suggested two words which I then wrote up on the flip chart. The session’s ‘homework’ was to write a poem incorporating all the words. Three poems resulted which were not bad at all. If you want to give it a try the words are below. As some of the group were observing the Ramadan fast, we repaired to a local restaurant to enjoy iftar the moment the sun set. The chef did a count down for us and then promptly brought much-needed, by some, food.

It doesn’t stop – Monday was off to Hampstead Theatre for the press night of Bird Grove by Alexi Kaye Campbell. It was a fascinating examination of the trials of a radical young woman Mary Ann Evans fighting a rigid father as well as contemporary mores. This radical young woman later still had to assume a male identity, George Eliot, in order to publish her seven novels and a number of short stories. Ironically she was allowed to publish translations under her own name. The play was rooted in the father daughter dispute and her association with some undesirably left wing friends.

A touch of near-slapstick was introduced through her would-be suitor needing a marriage to secure his inheritance. He was sent off with a flea in his ear. It was interesting with Mr Evans pouring guilt onto his daughter about overreaching their funds to put her in the titular grand house and her steadfast resolve to resist being bullied to church but it stirred up a wish for a play that reached further into her later life and success against the odds. Maybe that’s in the works.

Tuesday was deadline day for BBPC to submit its proposals for the 2026 Season of Bangla Drama. We had discussed these as a group but it fell to me to get them in on time. Then on Wednesday I went to Bedford to have lunch with my friend Jossy who I hadn’t seen for a while. How lucky were we! After the murk and mizzle of the year to date we had a sunny day and could lunch in shirtsleeves on the patio of the Embankment pub (thanks to Pete and Julie Bradshaw for the local knowledge) overlooking the Great Ouse with its scullers, joggers, dog walkers and cyclists. The pub had good food and wine and apparently has rooms. We then strolled back to Bedford Station through a less beautiful part of the town but down by the river all was fine and we had a lively discussion on a wide variety of topics.

The Royal Festival Hall was full on Thursday for the OAE’s concert with Robin Ticciati – music director at Glyndebourne and familiar with the orchestra from its residency there. The programme was Mozart’s last three symphonies, 39, 40 and 41. These are pretty familiar items in the classical repertoire but are not often heard together, so a clever piece of programming. Once again, the conductor’s vision and energy, the orchestra’s use of period appropriate instruments made the works sound really fresh and new. The ‘Jupiter’, probably the most famous, occupied the second half and had atmospheric string playing in counterpoint with lush woodwind and powerful brass. A delight.

The evening was rounded off by the news from the Development Director telling me that the OAE’s sensational Breaking Bach project will have a series of performances in the UK next year and will be visiting the United States as well. Stemming from the orchestra being based in a school this ground breaking (sorry!) production deserves this exposure.

The next Sunday I had a music experience of a very different kind with a trip to an arch under Herne Hill Station to wear my SOULSTICE GRANDAD T-shirt with pride and see the group in which my granddaughter (Daisy but Trixi in the band) plays keyboard and flute and sings. Every time I see them they get better – different set list incorporating original material and covers, tighter arrangements and harmonies and tonight they had a guest saxophonist Sam to add to the exhilarating session amid the smoke machines and lighting of the Off The Cuff venue. (Image below contains stills from a video courtesy of Chris Addison as holding a pint in one hand and my coat in the other I couldn’t get my phone out.)

Two intense family dramas were next on the agenda. Richard Eyre’s adaptation of Strinberg’s Dance of Death at the Orange Tree was unremittingly bleak as a couple try to destroy each other. Updating it to the quarantine era of Spanish flu gave it an added claustrophobia as did the cluttered set. It was an evening to be admired for its production and acting rather than enjoyed. I knew a bit more what to expect the next night at the Young Vic as I had been to the Insight session last month. However the actual production came as quite a surprise. I’d seen the beige leather semi circle that forms a large part of the set previously but the red plush carpet on the floor and walls, the observation window and the fact that the audience reamined under the harshest of house lights as the action began were truly unexpected.

Arthur Miller is all over London at the moment, but Broken Glass is a late play and not often performed. The key element is the lower limb paralysis of Sylvia, played brilliantly by Pearl Chanda, a Brooklyn Jewish woman. After reading and hearing news of the Nazi Kristallnacht pogrom, suddenly her legs won’t work and she’s confined to bed. Attempting to explain this reveals all sorts of marital and family issues which see the characters unravelling before us, including a Dr Hyman played by Alex Waldman whose Freudian practices encourage Sylvia to imagine she’s sleeping with him. It was a demanding watch but made us think about current day issues of genocide to which many turn a blind eye – are we paralysed because there is nothing we can do? Leaving the lights on for much of the play was quite distracting as we were sitting opposite both Sir Lennie Henry and mostly significantly the Guardian theatre critic Arif Akbar. What would those hastily written notes revel in tomorrow’s paper? She’s usually quite a harsh reviewer but gave this four stars.

My grandson Jake, somehow turned 20 on Saturday and had decided that he’d like to go back to Yoshino for his annual birthday dinner. Ever happy to oblige I had words with Maitresse D’ Lisa and she came up with a really excellent menu for us. But before that, I decided to go to the National Gallery to see the Joseph Wright of Derby exhibition. I’d seen some of his paintings a few years ago in Norwich and was fascinated by his use of small and focused light sources. I gather his take on chiaroscuro is called ‘tenebrism’. In most of the paintings apart from the canndle or lamp light there was always a glint of moonlight in the background. As a big fan of printmaking as well as painting it was interesting to see mezzotint versions of his paintings which were obviously the main way of making money from your work at the time. Seeing them alongside each other was enlightening and the fact that one featured an orrery when I was about to meet my physics student Jake added another layer of interest. It’s a small show but well worth a visit. Walking through the other galleries it also remoinded me what a wealth of high class art is at our disposal for free still. I must go more often and revel in the Canalettos and Guardis and Turner v Constable without paying £24 for the privilege at the Tate. Oh and there are some favourite Goya, Velaquez and Murillo canvases I hadn’t seen for a long time – and as they say – so much more.

Philosopher Giving a Lecture on the Orrery

Then to the real business of the day. Anybody who has read previous blogs will know how important Yoshino is in my life. Dee and I first went to the old Yoshino in 2009 or 10 (I wasn’t blogging then or I’d know) when it was in Picadilly Place and came to know Lisa the Maitresse D’ quite well. Since then she’s been on a family outing to see My Neighbour Totoro at the Barbican and came to Glyndebourne with me in 2023 and we went as a family to the soft opening (right) of the new premises in Duke of York Street in April last year – minus Chris filming in Dublin and Daisy who didn’t fancy it, plus Rosa and Frances. So Lisa knows us all too.

However when Jake said he’d like his birthday dinner at Yoshino there was rejoicing in lots of the family with a little trepidation on the part of a slightly picky Daisy. So I asked Lisa to book us in and design a menu for us with alternatives for Daisy. She pulled out all the stops and gave us an absolute feast of taste and texture sensations including making an alcohol free campari for non-drinker Jake. And as she had run out of my ‘usual’ sake – I wonder why – she offered me two options to taste before we settled on an excellent dry alternative. Daisy surprised herself and us by being really adventurous and enjoying things she wouldn’t have looked at – sake included. On a previous visit we’d tried a curry dish and had not been impressed. Lisa brought us a bowl of curry and rice saying it was spice combination number 47. Well this variety certainly hit the spot.This wonderful evening concluded with Lisa and her colleague Naomi bringing Jake a birthday cake of ice cream filled chocolates and soy and matcha mochi swiss roll slices all arranged on a raked zen garden. What a night! What service!

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And Feb ain’t started slow …

My goodness – we’re not yet halfway through the month and there’s all this to write about!

Following the rehearsal I attended last month at Acland Burghley School for the OAE’s planned concert featuring Mozart’s clarinet concerto, February started with the actual performance at the Queen Elizabeth Hall. It was fascinating to see how the subtle changes that had been suggested during the rehearsals had made their way firmly into the final version – except that no version is ever final as the room, the audience and the moment make every performance unique. The interplay between Kati Debretzeni as leader and Katherine ‘Waffy’ Spencer on her beloved basset clarinet ‘Grace’ was moulded into an outstanding piece of music. The concert opened with an overture by Juan Crisostomo Arriaga – often dubbed the Spanish Mozart for his precocity and the fact that he and WAM were both born on 27 January, albeit 50 years apart. This was written when Arriaga was 14 and who knows where he might be in the pantheon if he’d lived beyond the age of 20. At least there’s a theatre named after him in his home town of Bilbao where we saw a not very good zarzuela production in 2008. Each half of the QEH concert concluded with a mad encore devised by Waffy of arias from Die Enführung aus dem Serail with ‘Grace’ as Konstanze and bassoons as the males, Belmonte and the Pasha, with Acland Burghley students displaying large card captions to tell the story. The OAE as well as being great musically are also great fun (see below).

One of the things that endears me to this band – apart from their musical excellence – is that at the end of every OAE concert the audience are handed a ‘Thanks for coming card’ from a different member of the orchestra. It’s a really pleasing gesture that makes you feel properly involved in the evening’s entertainment. Tonight’s card of course was from Grace herself.

Next up was a visit to the Young Vic as a proxy for patron Frances who was in Hull for a football match. I’ve pretty much given up on long distance away games, especially midweek. This was an insight session into Arthur Miller’s Broken Glass which previews from 20 February so the cast are half way through rehearsals. The director Jordan Fein joined us with cast members Eli Gelb, Juliet Cowan, Nigel Whitmey and Alex Waldmann. The play covers the literally paralysing effect on the main character of the news of the infamous massacre of Jews on Kristallnacht in 1938. It was interesting to hear about the directorial and design decisions and to discuss the relevance of the play today with genocides taking place in several parts of the world. At these events it’s always interesting to see all the research material provided in the room for the cast to be fully informed of the subject matter. In this case the walls were covered with lots of photos of Brooklyn in the 30s with newspaper headlines and cuttings about Kristallnacht. All this and a glass of wine and a chance to spend an hour chatting to the team – cast and development executives. In a fun insight into the actor’s life, Alex Waldman said that after being in rehearsal all day with Americans and doing an American accent he often got told to drop it by his kids when he got home.

Jordan Fein courtesy Young Vic Theatre
Steve Gregson

The next day saw me head off to the British Museum to see the Samurai exhibition which had just opened this week. It’s a comprehensive review of all aspects of the samurai era from 700 to their dissolution in the 1870s. And it’s not all about war and weaponry although there are some magnificent examples of armour, swords and bows. There are displays on art and culture, domestic life and, a surprise for many, me included, the important role of women samurai. The spread of samurai and shogun myth and history into modern films, anime and artworks is also featured. I went in at 2.30 expecting to spend an hour or so and was kicked out when the museum closed at 5pm. Time very well spent among elegantly displayed objects with excellent explanations and a lot of learning about the samurai.

As it was one of the few days so far this year in which it didn’t rain (yet, don’t speak too soon)- and the National Gallery has no scaffolding at the moment so I snapped this on the way in from Charing Cross station. Given the surprise rain remission I decided to walk to the Jugged Hare pub near the Barbican where our first week of each month City Orns group of Watford FC fans was to meet to discuss our managerless team and a whole range of other unrelated topics. It was only a couple of miles and took me through Red Lion Square, along Holborn, through Smithfield and past St Bartholomew the Great before the final stretch through the Barbican tunnel. Pub, food and company were well worth the walk. But I did get wet on the way home.

Thursday saw me again at the Southbank Centre for an experimental evening called the Classical Mixtape Live. All six resident orchestras were presenting short concerts over the course of two and a half hours. First up was the London Philharmonic Orchestra in the Royal Festival Hall who played the first movement of Beethoven’s Fifth – possibly the best known opening of any musical work – and then a suite from Howard Shore’s music for the Lord of the Rings. It was hosted by an Irish presenter Vogue Williams who gushed and stuttered from her notes up by the organ desk. Not quite sure why. She opined that the players must be exhausted after playing like that – for 7 minutes – perhaps ignorant of the length of many symphonies and concerts, let alone opera.Then came the fun part. Four orchestras were repeating the same 20 minute set in four locations around the centre. It could have been good except that someone didn’t really study the logistics of getting 2,700 people from the RFH into the four other venues despite inviting the Green Side and the Blue Side to head to different locations. So there was more queueing than listening. I only got to two of the four.

In the Clore Ballroom off the main foyer members of the Chineke! Orchestra were perched on podiums around which we all milled. It was a bit like a promenade performance at the Bridge Theatre without the stewards to guide us. Now Chineke! is admirable in being a largely BAME band giving opportunities to musicians who might not have found their way to a classical orchestra. They looked a bit nervous and the conductor probably struggled to see everyone given the set up – very dramatic lighting! They played Montgomery Variations by Margaret Bonds but it was difficult to get a sense of the piece while being on the move. In the Undercroft, a storeroom under the QEH, the London Sinfonietta played Steve Reich. Unfortunately the space is so small that there was a one out one in policy and I didn’t make it to the head of the queue. Nor did I ever get to the end of the lengthy line trying to get into the Purcell Room to hear the Aurora Orchestra performing music from Mahler’s time in the Alps.

However the delight of the night was the Orchestra of the Age of Enlightenment in the Queen Elizabeth Hall foyer presenting a programme of Bavarian Oompah music including the Tristch Tratsch Polka and a selection from The Sound of Music. The Guardian gave the whole evening a two-star rating but noted that the OAE team were “having a whale of a time using beer glasses as percussion and proving they are most definitely game for a laugh.” They were led by Adrian Bending who noted, rather cheekily, in his intro that if people wanted to hear the fifth symphony as Beethoven might have heard it himself, they should come to the QEH on Sunday to hear the orchestra’s historically informed performance. Seeing them in lederhosen, dirndl skirts and with Adrian using tuned beer glasses as percusssion and Waffy Spencer singing ‘Do Re Mi’ it was something to behold. You can take a look at them here:

Finally we all reconvened in the RFH for the Philharmonia to take us into space with Mars and Jupiter from Holst’s The Planets and some of John Williams’ music for Star Wars. It was an interesting evening somewhat marred by the logistics but I hope they do it again with a bit more planning. It was good to see four of the six orchestras in a different light.

The next evening brought an altogether different experience. My granddaughter has a prominent gender-switched role as Arvide Abernethy in Guys and Dolls, the annual musical production at Langley Park Boys School where she is in the sixth form. I’m not a huge fan of musicals but had to admire the incredible professionalism of this young cast. Great set and costumes, singers all mic-ed up and fully commited to both lusty and subtle performances. At several points there were over 100 performers on the stage a testament to the depth of music and drama talent across the entire school. It is billed as the ‘whole school musical’, and what with all the people involved behind the scenes, it really was. The band, the lighting, sound and performances were of astonishing quality. As my son said after seeing it next day, it makes you rethink what is meant by ‘school play’ these days.

Saturdays seem to bring drama around Watford FC. I watched a narrow defeat at Southampton on TV and then learned a little later that the club has replaced Javi Gracia who resigned last week with a completely unknown manager. We’ll see. So on Sunday I was pleased to be back on more secure territory. The Hungarian conductor Adam Fischer is a long time and frequent collaborator with the OAE and being able to go to both the rehearsal and the performance of Beethoven symphonies 4 and 5 was a real privilege. I wondered how different the conversations with Fischer would be compared to the self-directed rehearsal for the Mozart last month – in truth not very. There was still lots of consultation with members of the orchestra, comments discussed and annotations made on their scores for dynamics, expression and so on. The two symphonies are very different with the fourth being much less familiar. It was a delight to see them shaped by a maestro with a top orchestra and then enjoy the end result a little later.

Player list and the view from the stalls

Between the rehearsal and the concert was a talk with Adrian Bending, Phil Dale (not in lederhosen today) and Christopher Rawley They talked about the differences in self-directed and conducter-ledconcerts and agree that Adam Fischer is someone who excites them with his interpretations which often catch them by surprise. They clearly have the greatest respect and affection for him. The session also featured a wonderful contrabassoon and three trombones about which Christopher and Phil talked. The contrabassoon was made by a maker well-known to Beethoven and might have been used in the early performances of the fifth and ninth symphonies. There is a campaign to keep this instrument which bears the number 001 in the country as it is currently up for sale. Christopher demonstrated the deep notes this piece of wood can deliver and Phil expressed his delight at Beethoven scoring for three trombones in the fifth symphony – a pattern followed by many other composers keeping trombonists gainfully employed.

Pre-concert talk with Adrian, contrabassoon, Christopher and Phil

On Monday I had a lovely Zoom call with Daisy Scott in Boston, Mass to discuss theatre, music, retirement, families and lots more – but not world affairs as there is not much to say except mutual despair. It is a real pleasure to be in regular touch with our Boston family.

Tuesday evening featured a trip to Watford for a thank you party from the council for the work several of us have been doing with the relocation and redisplay of Watford Museum. It was a nice gesture to thanks us volunteers and we all look forward to the opening of the museum next year after a major building refurbishment. The group I was with had focused on the football club so it was good to see the work of other teams looking at grassroots sport, the diverse community and entertainment and to meet up with old and new friends. It rained in Watford too! Heavily, but one of our team Alan kindly gave me a lift back to the station.

In Bangladesh in 2009, Manzur E Mawla was co-presenter with Eeshita Azad of the pilot television programmes I made for the BBC World Service aimed at encouraging young Bangladeshis to learn English as a Foreign Language. He later relocated to the UK and we have been in touch with him and his family on a number of occasions. He emailed this week to say he was in a play at the Drayton Arms Theatre and would I like to go. Well, interest piqued, what else could I do?

It’s a venue I’ve not been to before – a small 50-seater above a lovely pub. The play was called Modern Romance and was a series of twelve scenes – six pre-filmed and projected, six acted live – about the various whacky ways people get together these days. Scatalogical, filled with innuendo – how do you make paper clips and staples sexy ?- it was funny and revealing. My friend Manzur did a two-man scene with Jay Ramji as a gay Under 21 football couple one Arsenal (guess!) one Fulham who among other escapades embrace at a goal being scored while playing against each other to the consternation of coaches. It was written by Giles Fernando and directed by Penny Gkritzapi who I had a pleasant chat to in the bar afterwards and spent time with Manzur and other cast members. Manzur had done some acting back in Bangladesh before we worked together and had started acting classes again here only recently. It transpired that this was his UK stage debut, and very well he did, having joined the cast at very short notice. A totally unexpected fun evening added to my calendar by a chance email.

The live action cast with Manzur and Jay third and fourth from left.

Last outing for this post is to see Mussorgsky’s Boris Godunov at the Royal Opera House. Another soggy trip into town and no drinks beforehand as it’s a bladder-challenging two hours and twenty minutes with no interval. Susie Stranders’ insight talk last month was very helpful in making both the story and the musical motifs clear so I could look out for particular moments in the piece. The choral singing was incredibly powerful and included a children’s chorus which Susie had prepared – great job! I took my seat being slightly panicked about being a long way from the aisle should nature call. Then it was suddenly time for the final black out and curtain calls. How on earth to two and a half hours pass so quickly? Answer: engrossing story from Pushkin, marvellously varied score with simple tunes and powerful orchestration, brilliantly sung, accompanied by an orchestra on top form and a superb overall production directed by Richard Jones. A brilliant night at the opera.

Mark Wigglesworth invites us to applaud the orchestra after a stunning performance led by Bryn Terfel as Godunov and a cast of hundreds.

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Last day in Alicante

Last days can often be difficult on holiday, not least this one with a flight booked to depart at 10 pm. I took breakfast in the hotel for a change, packed and left my luggage at the hotel and set off for another stroll around this city I have come to like. There are some fine buildings, I love the chairs randomly glued to the pavements so you can take a break whenever you feel the need. There are some excellent examples of turn of the century (19-20) archictecture dotted around the streets.

My route takes me past the book cabins I’d seen before and this time they were open. Paperbacks ranged from 5 to 12 euros with some deals three for 12 euros. There were a few English and German titles among them as well and all the kiosks seemed to be doing steady business. Good to see lots of children’s books, history and philosophy as well as fiction from popular Spanish authors like Perez-Reverte, Carlos Zafron. Javier Marias and Almudena Grandes and of course translations of John Grisham and Dan Brown. I didn’t see any Harry Potter.

Also attracting a lot of attention was the four sided display of belenes in front of the Town Hall with scenes of the birth, shepherds and three kings – Los Reyes – who are of course all-important in Spain with the 6th January almost bigger than Christmas.

Down by the marina a lone saxophonist busker was trying hard but basically was practising his scales in public with scores on a phone attached to his alto.

Wandering back up through the avenues what should I come across but another museum, The Palacio Principal, with displays of – you guessed it- belenes but also an exhibition by Francisco Rubio which involved an interesting mix of abstract and figurative work, sometimes in combination.

I’m not fan of photographing meals but my lamb cutlets for my last lunch were worthy and very tasty as well – but no hot padron peppers! Then back to the hotel to collect cases and the C6 bus to the airport. It’s every 15 minutes and whisks us via the train station and then through the newish suburbs, past a huge desalination plant and along the beach at Playa de Agua Amarga before turning west to the airport.

In the hotel there was an exhortation to be very sparing of water – keep your towels, take shorter showers as there has always been an acute shortage of water in the area. One woman I was chatting to before the music the other evening told me that 80% of Alicante’s drinking water – I had declined any alongside my meal – comes from desalination and that she had frequently in her childhood faced water being turned off in her home. I tried to joke that Christmas Day had changed all that but am not quite sure it worked.

I had equivocated for quite a while about whether to make this trip – can I bear the inevitable airport hustle, am I too old to be doing this stuff, can I better last year’s wonderful week in Madrid and Granada? I am so glad I did. I’ve explored a new city, found new artworks, architecture and archaeology. I’ve been to classical and jazzy gigs and had great food. Apart from the soggy Christmas Day the sun has shone and temperatures have been around 17-18 degrees Celsius in the day. People have been friendly and I’ve actually managed a few conversations. I have one regret. I’ve ogled other people’s arroces – you mustn’t call them paella here. These rice dishes come with seafood, meat and vegetable versions and are very similar to the Valencian staple with crusty base and pan-cooked rice and accompaniments. Problem? They are always for a minimum of two people. So I’ll just have to find someone to come back with me.

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Last weekend of the year

This is a phrase that crops up at lot on news and entertainment channels on the television. Also here in Spain it is in the context of warnings of snow and road closures in the Pyrenees and sea surges and flood warnings in Malaga and Cadiz – Global heating is humbug, right. It features large in the Ian McEwan book. The news tells me also that in Spain, physical shopping is beating online by a distance – and seeing the number of bags being carried around Alicante, I can believe it.

However I didn’t go shopping this morning as I had a couple more museums on my list. The first was in the old tobacco factory, Las Cigarreras which is now a multi-use cultural centre. It was walkable in 20 minutes so off I set in the sunny morning after another excellent breakfast near the bull ring. As I arrived there was a jazz combo doing a sound check for a lunchtime gig. They sounded OK but nothing to wait around several hours for.

Inside one of the grey former factory buildings was a photographic exhibition with a series of experimental images from a variety of photographers. One of the exhibitor’s work reminded me of my friend Lisa Kalloo’s in the use of pinholes, Vaseline and other distorting factors to produce amazing images. Others used reflecting metal objects under water, scratched lines on negatives, printed out and made into a montage wall and a social comment on homelessness with a bed featuring in various locations.

I had had no idea what to expect as the Cigarreras website wouldn’t work for me in the UK, but I thought the buildings were worth a visit anyway. It was a thought-provoking show that made me vow to go to more unconventional exhibitions back at home and broaden my view of what constitutes art. It needs to raise emotion, stimulate ideas and challenge conventional attitudes. This did all of that.

MARQ – the Museum of Archeology – was feted as European Museum of the Year in 2024 and it’s easy to see why. It’s in a former hospital and has displays not only of objects found in the area from the Bronze Age onwards but has reconstructed videos of life in each of the main eras of Alicante history – Iberian, Roman, Jewish, Arabic, Christian and modern democracy. Sadly only the introductions to displays are in English so my Catalan and Spanish got stretched now and then.

One of its great features that Dee, who always wanted to go on a dig, would have loved was the reconstructions of archeological investigation sites throughout the eras. We had been to Empurias in Catalonia so knew about Spain’s lengthy history but MARQ made it clearer in a dramatic and intelligent way. Well worth the walk to both morning venues and my lunch saw me have my first slices of Serrano ham – how can I been five days without?

On the way back from MARQ a different view of the castle

Most Spanish cities have an interesting rail terminal – not Alicante. But I walked there and then back down through interesting streets to find myself back at the southern end of the marina past an amusement park and passing by the lovely fisherman’s terminal.

I spent another period in the sun finishing my book and then thirst prevailed and I went back into the mad centre of the city where every bar was full and families were meeting up noisily after shopping. Busy!

Things were no less busy when I went out to eat a bit later but one of the older restaurants Labradores – well you have to solid with the workers don’t you – found me a table and delivered a fine series of tapas – gambas al ajillo, pincho moruño finished off with some brilliant blue cabrales cheese. Oh and some excellent local wine. One thing I’ve discovered here is that tapas are much bigger than I’d experienced elsewhere in Spain, so care is required when ordering!

The Rambla is pedestrianised on Saturday evenings

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Christmas boxed

Oh dear, this is not right. I go out for breakfast in torrential rain. El Sabio street is flooding and palms are reflected in the puddles that pigeons have been drinking from with gusto. I’m boxed in. What to do?

Well there are lots of people to WhatsApp and email with greetings, I have the most brilliant Ian McEwan book to read and I need to book somewhere close for dinner as I’d been warned that lots of places are fully booked on Christmas Day. I pop out again briefly for lunch and later catch the film Hedda being streamed. Having seen the version at the Orange Tree recently, this film was interesting in its Downton Abbey silliness but I was glad I’d seen a more faithful version as well. Then it was back to McEwan’s What we can know while listening to Radio Classica. The book is a masterly conflation of literary detective work, post-apocalyptic vision, love, infidelity, sex and academia – so far. It was still raining, and apparently from El Tiempo on TV next morning there was snow in the Pyrenees. Fortunately the Lobo Blanco was only three minutes away and well worth the visit. Friendly staff who didn’t speak to me in English – result! – an open kitchen where I could see my fabulous duck breast being prepared – I asked for it rosa and indeed it was beautifully pink and tasty with excellent skin-on fries. And as it was Christmas Day when they said would I like a brandy to finish off the meal, it was hard to resist. Santa came late to Alicante but he came!

Normal service was resumed on Boxing Day with sun slanting on the buildings opposite when I woke up. I’m spoiled for breakfast choices and chose a new one for Boxing Day which was well up to scratch. I strolled then through the Barri Vell again with its fine buildings like the Basilica de Santa Maria in the sun.

I soon found the Museo de Belenes open today. It’s a large collection of finished tableaux as well as vitrines of characters that may be used to form them. They can be in wood, plaster, clay and papier maché. There was one enormous one prepared specially for the 50th anniversary of the foundation of the Association in 1959. Also there were examples from Argentina and Venezuela and the text suggests that Francis of Assisi started the trend back in 1223.

I then move a little further towards the sea to MACA the Museum Of Contemporary Art which enchanted me for several hours.

My friend Maria’s friend Eusebio Sempere had been instrumental in setting up the several foundations that were eventually incorporated into this fine institution.

Elegant display rooms featured a local painter Juana Frances who I’d never heard of but enjoyed her work especially some charcoal drawings that were mystical. Her land and seascapes were interesting too. She did a lot to ensure women were properly recognised in the arts as well so I’m glad to have met her.

There was floor devoted to Sempere which had both his excellent sculptures but also an array of silk screen prints including a sequence of 12 that showed the process of building a screen printed image. One of the things I always enjoy is when an artist who has decided to go abstract shows that they had the technique to be conventional too. Sempere did with his portrait of his partner.

There were several other rooms with works that varied in their appeal but a few really caught my eye. There were pieces by Miro, Tapies, Calder, Chillida, Giacometti and many Spanish artists I was pleased to be introduced to. There were interactive areas too where you could contribute to art in progress – altogether an impressive gallery. These are a few of my favourites – sorry I didn’t always get the artist.

After a cultured morning it was time to go for a beer and wander back through a different area of the city. Some elegant facades presented themselves and I couldn’t help noticing how many buildings were in the hands of MyFlats – clearly AirBnB equivalents are moving in here big time. There were a few ‘Tourist Go Home‘ graffiti that I’d noticed and hoped that being in a purpose-built hotel I wasn’t preventing locals from getting a home. Big dilemma – they want my money but not my presence.

I had a lovely lunch in Plaza Luceros with scallops and then cheese with anchovies and a good Rueda Verdejo wine, white for a change, and then back to the hotel to watch my next Christmas present – Watford winning 2-1 away at Leicester. Then I wrote some of this and thought about the evening ahead.

Quite close by is a music bar Entre Bambalinas which had a group of singer, piano and percussion called the Palosanto Trio. They played salsa, bossa nova and Spanish standards that lots of the audience knew. The bar had beer, food and wine and while the music was not my core taste, live music is always a good thing. They were lively, committed and gave me a couple of sets of enjoyment.

On my way back lots of people were filming themselves in front of the e-tree in Avenida de la Constitucion but I waited for a clear shot to wish everyone a Happy Boxing Day – Leicester 1-2 Watford! Yay!

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Footloose and fably frazzled

I don’t have a Fitbit or other step counter but I think I would have broken it today. I set off at 9.30 in quest of breakfast which I found quite close to the hotel and the central market which I’d shot last evening. As many will recall, I love a market and while the building couldn’t compete architecturally with many I’ve visited, the contents were well up to scratch. Fish, meat, fruit and vegetables, all local produce, were brilliantly displayed. Some counters were obviously more popular than others with lengthy queues waiting patiently after taking a ticket from the ‘Su Torno’ machine.

I then decided to walk to the Auditorio where I’m going to a concert this evening just to gauge what time to leave – 20 minutes is the answer. It also involved passing the Alicante bullring which has gigs now not fights which will be a relief to the bulls being driven towards it in the sculpture in the square outside.

One of the major attractions of Alicante is the medieval Castillo de Santa Barbara and as cloud is threatened for Christmas Eve I thought I’d better do it today. On my way back down through the town I passed the Ayuntiamento which has a special Belen – the astonishing displays of the Christmas scene that are prevalent all over Spain. Outside was a giant version with a very strange looking newborn.

The castle sits quite a long way above the beach but fortunately there’s a lift, which by flashing my old farts’ pass I was able to use for free.

There’s still quite a long way to go when you alight from the elevator after a lengthy wait – be warned if you attempt it in high season; I had to wait about twenty minutes each way. There are lots of warnings about uneven surfaces and danger of falling so I mounted the steep slopes with great caution and frequent pauses. There’s not much left of the castle itself but the ultimate chamber has a great display of finds from the site over its history as a castle since the ninth century and from settlements on the site back to the Bronze Age. One of the main reasons for making the trek is for the views and they are spectacular.

I made my way very slowly back down rewarding myself with a beer at one of the several bars the castle provides.

After a further wait for the lift – I’d done enough slithery downward slopes for my age – I went to the city’s central beach, El Postiguet, and wandered along the northern promenade in search of lunch. There were lots of beachfront places that looked both full and expensive. In the streets just behind I found a super little bar that had and excellent aubergine with mince and melted cheese – perfect. As further proof of Christmas madness my cutlery came in a snowman!

Right along the street was MUBAG the Museo de Belles Artes Gravina which had been on my list of places to visit. It had an exhibition of Spanish Romantic art and at my first entrance with a red corridor made me think I was in the Dulwich Picture Gallery. It had some interesting portraits and some more modern pieces, among them a couple by Eusebio Sempere of whom my neighbour Maria owns some originals. I like his abstracts with emotion.

I decided to smarten up for the concert – trousers not jeans, a shirt not T and a jacket – so I called back at the hotel to change. Then more steps up to the Auditorio a rather splendid 2011 addition to Alicante’s cultural spaces. It’s a pleasant hall with a cedar wood ceiling that spoke triangles and coffins to me.

Then the concert began with Haydn’s Berenice cantata which featured the main reason I’d booked for this; Roberta Mameli an Italian soprano who I first came to love through a fusion album Round M – Monteverdi meets jazz which I heartily recommend. Claudio’s notes sung as written with a jazz accompaniment – brilliant! But she also has a superb voice with range and power which were further displayed in Mozart’s Exultate, Jubilate, the seventeen year old prodigy’s challenge to his favourite castrato. Roberta managed it with flourish and style and the orchestra under the baton of Ruben Jais supported her well and also did a symphony each from Haydn (49) and Mozart (25) with some panache.

I left the concert very happy but concerned about finding somewhere to eat – we’re not in Madrid after all. The illuminated castle through the pines reminded me of a rather wild day. I needn’t have worried as the restaurant De Oliver about three doors from my hotel provided a rare and tasty steak, a good Rioja and a farewell whisky on the house. I may well be back!

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Christmas trip

After a week of brilliant music, family and theatre in London I now find myself in Alicante.

Thursday saw neighbours Les, Sean and Maria and me make our way to our local wine bar and then to Blackheath Halls to see the Andy Sheppard quartet. Dee and I and a colleague had recorded an hour long to show with Andy back in 1999 and guitarist John Parricelli was still part of the group.

He is still a complete master of the soprano and tenor saxophones and was given great accompaniment from Dudley Foster on bass and Nic France on drums in an evening of varied old and new material. He made me cry by playing ‘Dancing Man and Woman’ which Dee and I had as our play out music from our wedding back in 2001. Happy memories through the tears.

My friends Anna and Lisa ventured up from Ramsgate to see Ute Lemper visiting Marlene Dietrich. They had a spare ticket and invited me to join them.

I didn’t really know what to expect but thoroughly enjoyed Ute telling us about a three hour long telephone conversation she had with Marlene in Paris. She had written to convey her horror at the press calling Ute ‘The new Marlene’ and the diva had phoned her back. This story interspersed with the great songs made for a most enjoyable evening

Sunday was little short of a miracle when son and daughter-in-law, daughter and son-in-law, two grandchildren and I were all free for lunch at the same time. Amazing fun and great stories all round. A great start to Christmastime.

Monday saw me go with Frances to the press night of Indian Ink at the Hampstead Theatre. It coincided with Tom Stoppard’s funeral and we were a bit worried about how it might affect the cast, especially Felicity Kendall. They were all superb and particularly Felicity playing the older role rather than the one of poet Flora Crewe she had created twenty years ago and Ruby Ashbourne Serkis playing Flora in front of Felicity. Gavi Singh Chera was also excellent as the beguiling – to Flora – Indian painter. As always the witticisms and hilarity were countered with serious debate about the role of Britain in Empire. Not his best play but definitely worth seeing for the acting and the brilliant set and lighting design – oh and the incidental music is good too.

I had a lovely lunch with Camilla Reeve the publisher of BBPC’s anthology Home and Belonging. It was a generous thank you from her for my chairing the discussion panel at her literary festival back in November. An enjoyable discussion ranging over many topics.

Wednesday was at the Almeida for Christmas Day, the second play in a month featuring a Jewish family (not) celebrating Christmas. This was provocative with references to Gaza and antisemitism, family bickering and made some good points but for me was a bit disjointed and I felt needed longer in development to get a better play out.

Twelfth Night came early with Frances, Farzana, Richard and me heading to the Barbican, some of us via the excellent Jugged Hare for dinner. This was the RSC`s production starring Freema Agyemang as Olivia and Sam West as Malvolio with Gwyneth Keyworth at Viola and Michael Grady-Hall as a brilliant Feste – brush up your juggling skills if you’re in the front rows! It was hilarious, but also touching, emotionally grabbing and was spoken with such clarity that your respect and admiration for the genius Bard of Avon rocketed even higher.

I had Friday at home to tidy up the place and think about packing. Saturday was my last Watford match of the year and we actually won 1-0 against Stoke, so another good omen for the festive season. Sunday evening I drove to Stansted in a horrific downpour which made my arrival in Alicante so welcome. I’d been equivocating about coming away for Christmas this year and am already glad I finished up with a decision to make the trip. I checked in to a very pleasant well-situated hotel where I think for the first time in my life my room is right opposite the lift not the 200 yards race I had to make last night at Stansted. Legs thus spared, I went walkabout to get my bearings in a city I have only been to once so long ago that not much sticks in the mind. A quick tapas lunch with a beer confirmed the decision to make the trip. The bar had no menu but served tapas of the day on wood blocks and a bit like Yo Sushi, they count up the blocks to make your bill. With a big party you’d get a Jenga game thrown in. The Christmas spirit and the love of tapas were well in evidence.

Further down towards the Mediterranean the welcome was even clearer at the end of the palm-lined promenade.

I then crossed to the marina to select my yacht when I win the lottery. It’s a very pleasant harbour to be further explored tomorrow.

And on the way back up (gentle slopes) through town there are some lovely examples of modernisme architecture which I shall also explore further.

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Music, mystery, movement and more

I had the privilege a couple of weeks ago of seeing an hour of the technical rehearsal of The Unbelievers at the Royal Court as part of Frances’s patrons’ deal. It was fascinating and set up a sense of great anticipation for the play itself. It did not disappoint. The central performance of Nicola Walker was quite stunning as a woman grieving the mysterious disappearance of her teenage son. Spoiler alert – he doesn’t appear but his absence hangs over the three intercalated time periods after his failure to return home.

The whole cast remains on stage throughout except for a couple of costume and role changes in a set that has a sparse domestic interior at the front with what looks like a police or doctors’ waiting room at the rear. Fear, anger, incomprehension, blame and violence swirl through the mother, her two ex- husbands, children and step-children. Some people, it seems, found the mingling of the day after, a year after and seven years after time periods confusing but I thought it added to the power of the writing, depicting clinically the way grieving does affect your sense of reality and time. It sounds bleak but had quite a few moments of hilarity. A serious examination of grief, guilt and sanity leavened by tender, moving and funny moments.

Next it was off to the downstairs theatre at Hampstead where new playwrights are given space to experiment. The Billionaire Inside Your Head by Will Lord was an examination of greed, ambition, entitlement and fantasy in an office setting. Echoes of Glengarry Glen Ross and other Mamet two-handlers spring to mind as a thruster and a slacker trade dreams and insults. The entitled slacker Darwin is the son of the company’s owner who as well as appearing in the drama, opens it with a chorus-like prologue as The Voice, that sets the scene for us all to examine our thoughts. The debt-collection nature of the company is perhaps a bit less exciting than Mamet’s realtor wheeler dealers but the tension between Darwin and the OCD Richie is well depicted. It was exciting, engaging and thought-provoking – just what Hampstead downstairs aims to be.

There was lots of the movement of my title in both the above but the prime expression of it this week came in Akram Khan’s Thikra: Night of Remembering at Sadler’s Wells where I had the pleasure of Rosa’s company. Devised in conjunction with the Saudi visual artist Manal AlDowayan, this is an intense hour of modern dance infused with classical Indian forms and a sound track that moves from a foreboding drone through ragas, Balkan chorale, drumming and hints of Purcell.

The twelve female dancers all have waist-length black hair that forms an important part of the performance. Would have been an interesting casting call: “Find me twelve women with equal-length black hair who can dance classical Bharatanatyam choreography”. Nine of the dancers were uniformly clad in olivey long dresses while the sacrificial victim was in white, the matriarch in red and her sister in black. AlDowayan’s involvement gave it a very graphic look that comes from her work in exploring cultures, heritage and change. The narrative didn’t really matter but was essentially about annual rebirth and renewal through sacrifice. Visually stunning, musically stimulating – an hour of total transportation into a world of magic and wonder. You can get a short glimpse of it here.

A select group of us returned to the Bridge Theatre for The Lady from the Sea. I haven’t been there for ages as it’s been wall-to-wall Guys and Dolls. I wrongly thought this was a version of Hedda Gabler but Ibsen actually wrote a play with this title so I need to brush up my Scandi classics knowledge. This was a Simon Stone adaptation, so after the Billie Piper Yerma, expectations were high for something off the wall. And we got it – the usual Ibsen anguished captive bride played bravely by Alicia Vikander resisting the cage into which her husband Andrew Lincoln, in great form, had placed her. The drama plays out on a thrust stage (the Bridge is so versatile as a space) which becomes soaked with rain in Act 2 and then turns into a swimming pool. Writing, acting, sound and lighting were all excellent but the award of the evening has to go to the set design and build – the vision of Lizzie Clachan. Another exceptional evening of entertainment.

After all this fun it was back to work – as a producer! A couple of times a year for the last few years, I’ve recorded an audiobook version of a reader for use in teaching English as a Foreign Language in Germany. I’ve now, it appears, done 11 of them – here are a few from Hueber Verlag in Frankfurt.

I have a small repertory company of actors who are brilliant at producing a range of characters in the course of the narrative – teenage protagonists, their parents, threatening outsiders, police and other officials. The stories are often a bit Famous Five but tackle issues like single parenthood, criminal behaviour, the environment and relationships. For this one, Joining the Circus,I invited Gyuri Sarossy, who I met at a Hampstead Theatre party a while back, to perform the script. It doesn’t sound the most likely name for an English language project but he is English born of a Hungarian father and English mother. The story involved a farming family setback by the father’s accident and a circus family devastated on finding their usual pitch was waterlogged and wouldn’t work. Gyuri was born in Bristol so we opted for a West Country accent for the farmers and an East Midlands for the circus people. It worked extremely well and I am constantly amazed at how these actors can switch characters seamlessly in a single sentence. After the recording Gyuri was off to Budapest to record his final scenes in a vampire movie. Another spoiler – he dies. A week later we hear that the client likes the results of the session. Great news – we’ll all get paid! A little.

It was then on to my main unpaid role as a trustee of the British Bilingual Poetry Collective. I was invited by the publisher of the collective’s anthology Home and Belonging, which resulted from a series of translation circles like the last blog’s reference to the Barbican, to chair a discussion panel at the Palewell Press Literary Festival. The day also included readings from a number of poets including Chika Jones and Nasrin Parvaz who feature in our anthology. It was fixed a long time ago and so I missed Watford’s best game of the season so far, a 3-0 demolition of Middlesbrough – such dedication to the cause, such a fair weather fan!

However the occasion was very interesting with my panellists translating from Arabic with Dr Amba Jawi and Catherine Temba Davidson as collaborators, Barbara Mitchell who translates from Spanish and Caroline Stockford who does Turkish and Welsh and finds striking and unexpected parallels. We ranged over the process of translation and the difficulties of rendering essence and spirit rather than words, the degrees of faithfulness and liberties translators are allowed and the reactions of the original authors.

In all the cases featured here there were difficulties since all the authors were in prison on political charges. Palewell Press specialises in human rights publications so this was only to be expected. The overriding message was that all art forms have to continue to expose and challenge human right abuses whever they occur.

Next day, to make it a full weekend of poetry, I co-hosted BBPC’s annual contribution to the Tower Hamlets Season of Bangla Drama. The season has a theme each year – we’ve done ‘love’ and ‘hope’ and this year it’s ‘kindness’. We decided to go all alliterative and call the session Kindness with Kazi using the poems and songs of the national poet of Bangladesh Kazi Nazrul Islam. Shamim Azad and I hosted the occasion which had performances by the brilliant singerJoyeta Chonchu of a couple of Nazrul songs , my colleague Milton and I recited one of his most famous poems “I Sing of Equality” followed by a discussion of his work and influence on people’s lives. After a short break we then broke up into pairs to talk about kindness given or received in our personal lives after which everybody wrote a short poem or piece of prose. There were some very moving contributions and very positive feedback that participants found it both enjoyable and valuable.

Monday saw me joining Frances at the Orange Tree Theatre for Hedda. Ibsen is all the rage these days it seems – well I guess he has been for a while. This is an adaptation by Tanika Gupta – well really more of a new play based on – Hedda Gabler, relocated to Chelsea in the post-war, post-partition of India period. Tanika’s take is based around the need to conceal the ethnicity of Hollywood’s Anglo- Indian stars, in particular Merle Oberon. The evening was pacy, directed by Hettie Macdonald, twisty and with a full range of emotion, fear, deception, devotion and angst.

From the dramatic opening with her lifelong maid, brilliantly portrayed by Rina Fatania, asking which face whitening she’d like today through to the realisation that she’d made a disastrous marriage believing her screen career to be over, Pearl Chanda was Merle Oberon.

A powerful performance with hints of her former influencer status dashed by the creeping reality of her current dull life. It touched a real nerve with me as I was currently reading Kiran Desai’s Booker nominated The Loneliness of Sonia and Sunny which brilliantly examines the whole question of identity, ethnicity and personal authenticity. I was fortunate to be able to speak to Tanika about our Kindness event and she said her father used to sing Nazrulgeeti (KNI songs) around the house all the time. That was before seeing the play so sadly I wasn’t able to tell her how much I enjoyed it.

Another part of the Season of Bangla Drama was a presentation of kindness stories collected by long-term Bangladesh resident Peter Musgrave who had taken part in our BBPC Kazi session so it seemed only right to go to his. An added attraction was that Gitabini, the singing group featuring my friend Rumy Haque was to perform. There were stories to bring hope of new flood resistant ways of building houses and farming being demonstrated by NGO staff to educate the Bengali populace, particularly in the most threatened areas. One of the countries most prone to disappearing into the Bay of Bengal if climate change continues unchecked – not sanguine about the current COP to prevent it – but good to see alternative approaches to mitigate the effects. Gitabini sang a Kazi Nazrul Islam song and Rumy recited her conservation-oriented poem about a banyan tree and I was able to chat with a number of old and new friends at the post-event Koffee and Kake.

I’m fortunate to call the young composer Dani Howard a friend and so when her saxophone concerto was finally to receive its UK premiere I just had to whizz off to Poole to the Lighthouse Arts Centre to hear it. I did some voluntary work a few years back for the London Chamber Orchestra which had originally commissioned the concerto but then got into financial difficulties and couldn’t complete the contract. So I’d waited nearly two years to hear it. Stockholm Philharmonic and the Bournemouth Symphony Orchestra came to the rescue and while I didn’t make the world premiere in Sweden, I wasn’t going to miss out on the first UK performance. The journey was horrendous. The train was 30 minutes late arriving at Waterloo because of earlier signalling problems, and quite a bit more than that departing. Then we couldn’t get into Southampton Station because of other trains blocking our platform. Finally they decided to skip some stops and head directly to Poole after Bournemouth. At least Delay Repay will kick in and I’ll get some dosh back. By the time I’d checked in to the hotel, checked out the location – my first time at The Lighthouse – and gone for a walk down to the Quay it was dark. I guess one benefit of this was the bright lights of the Poole Museum shone out. A quick beer and back to the hotel to prepare for the concert. Was all the hassle worth while? Oh yes.

The concert opened with a Wagner piece I’d never heard – the overture to his first opera, a comedy called Forbidden Love. A comedy from Wagner! It failed miserably and lasted for only two performances in 1836, but the overture was fun, very jolly and lively, opening with castanets of all things! But the main event came next. Dani had written the concerto specifically with the versatile Jess Gillam in mind. In three contrasting movements the music showcased Jess’s talent but also wove evocative call and response moments with different sections of the orchestra. Lush pastoral passages alternated with bold percussive swathes and the brass were strongly featured – Dani does like her brass – one of her first pieces I heard was her trombone concerto for Peter Moore at the Barbican in April 2022, another amazing performance. Dani says the concerto is a homage to Adolf Sax who invented the wonderful instrument which finds its place more frequently in jazz clubs than in the concert hall. I love the way Dani combines pure and simple sounds from nature with a clear understanding of the power of complex orchestration. She’s a master of the medium. The Times critic liked it too: The first movement bubbles and chatters, passing ideas between soloist and orchestra, while the finale is a dazzling moto perpetuo, dispatched with seeming ease by Gillam. Best of all was the central movement, an extended cadenza for Gillam, who made it seem as if we were hearing Sax’s innermost feelings.

Jess Gillam is a master too and for her encore, chose a piece she’d played in BBC Young Musician of the Year in 2016 – Pedro Itteralde’s Pequeña Czarda – when the conductor was Mark Wigglesworth, now principal conductor of the Bournemouth Symphony Orchestra, whose home base is the Lighthouse. Most appropriate. After the interval we heard the orchestra in full flow with Berlioz’s Symphonie Fantastique. It will be interesting to compare this rendition with the Orchestra of the Age of Enlightenment’s approach in June next year on period instruments under Sir Simon Rattle.

Dani takes in the applause with Jess just visible beside her

What made the evening extra special was that Dani invited me to the pre-concert reception where I met her mother, Belinda, again – we had both been at the Barbican gig in 2022 – meet her sister Sam for ther first time and catch up with boyfriend Sion Jones who I’d met at the Colin Currie percussion concerto at the Wigmore Hall. Dani was of course the centre of attention with a former pupil effusing over her influence on his career and her former music teacher from Hong Kong, now working in Poole, bringing a class of her primary pupils to say hello. After the concert, Dani had some formal duties but after a while she and Sion were able to join Belinda, Sam and me in the pub where I’m afraid we stayed till they kicked us out. After all the music it was an evening of fascinating conversation eavesdropped and joined in with by locals Jeff and Jonny and covering coping with bereavement, mine and the Howards’ who lost a husband/father last year, music, the arts generally, contracts, 2027 paradigm shift and blogging among others which were continued outside the pub until we all decided to head for our rather tardy beds in three different hotels.

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Too busy to blog …

It’s been a long time since I last did this. There’s been a lot going on. Cataract operations and follow ups. British Bilingual Poetry Collective’s first appearance at the Barbican. Football matches. Women’s World Cup cricker. Copy to prepare for Watford Museum and editing for TU Delft. A massive crop of quinces to be cooked and made into jelly, pickles, marmalade and membrillo. But still time for a few theatre and concerts. And while my last post began with a trek west across south London to see my granddaughter play in her band, this one starts with a diagonal trip north to Alexandra Palace to see my son-in-law perform.

It’s 20 years since The Thick of It hit our screens and so why not have a party to celebrate? The creator Armando Ianucci was joined by the stars Peter Capaldi, Rebecca Front and Chris Addison, who at the time was mainly known as a standup comedian rather than an actor. The evening was elegantly hosted by Miles Jupp. There was lots of chat about the provenance (Yes Minister), about the semi-improvisatory nature of the scripts and the fluid filming style. There was a lot of swearing of course and a pre-interval recreation of the Tucker/Reeder sacking scene. It was a very entertaining evening although as a fellow-traveller on the bus back to Finsbury Park said: “It turned a bit into the Chris Addison show in the second half.” When tasked with this Chris confessed it was PTSD from all those panel shows he used to do.

Next up was another visit to Acland Burghley School for a recital by the Orchestra of the Age of Enlightenment’s new intake to their Rising Stars scheme. Every two years the OAE recruits young singers to serve a kind of apprenticeship with opportunities to appear at their concerts and develop their professional lives. This year’s group seemed pretty well set to me with well-delivered introductions to their Handel arias.

They were left to right Sofia Kirwan-Baez (soprano), Angharad Rowlands (mezzo-soprano), Hugo Brady (tenor) and Peter Edge (baritone). Chosen from over 100 singers who applied they were accompanied by a chamber group of OAE players conducted from the harpsichord by Steven Devine. It’s really encouraging to see so much young talent embarking on their chosen careers.

The last Sunday of every other month finds me co-hosting a BBPC poetry adda (get together). We read, perform and often translate poetry and have voluble discussions about what we hear. This month we had a performance poet Pip McDonald perform a couple of pieces and then engage in a valuable discussion about the art of performance with many tips for budding performers. It was a friendly and positive occasion, with tea and snacks, as I hope the photos demonstrate.

So what’s occurring at Marble Arch? After the horror of that artificial hill, it was a delight to discover that there’s a new MOCO in town. I’ve visited the museums in Barcelona and Amsterdam but had missed out on the fact that MOCO London opened in September last year but had an email with a voucher for half-price entry so off I set. It’s a similar collection of modern and contemporary works with Banksy, Emin, Hirst, Kusama, Opie and Warhol all present and correct but with some excellent pieces that were completely new to me. One of thee first images to confront me was a photo of Elton John by Chris Levine, currently in a dispute with a collaborator over his holographic portraits of the late queen. I was then lured into a fascinating psychedelic infinity mirror room and then to its exact opposite in a contemplative installation Lunar Garden by Daniel Arshan inspired by the classic Japanese Zen gardens I enjoyed so much in Japan. There were a lot of really interesting artworks on display so it will be firmly on my agenda of museum visits as they have changing displays as well as the permanent collection. And it’s a spacious and elegant space over three floors.

I don’t often go to see a play twice in ten days but when Frances and I went to see The Land of the Living at the Dorman Theatre at the National, I said “I should have brought Rosa to this”. So I told her about it and we went together a week later. Rosa is my artist friend, one of whose major installations Lost treats the adoption scandal that took place in Spain between the late 30s and early 90s, known as the Spanish Stolen Children and she is currently working on a similar work featuring the American US Adoption Re-homing scheme. You can check Rosa’s work out at https://artcollaboratif.com. This play by David Lan, who used to be the creative director at the Young Vic, is about the attempt to repatriate children who were stolen from Ukraine and Poland by the Nazis because of their suitability to breed the super Aryan race. It was disturbing, thought-provoking and contained a masterful performance by Juliet Stevenson, an actor I’ve long admired. But there were also moments of humour and theatricality as when the Dorfman’s traverse stage is converted into a swaying train taking children back to their homes.

Both Frances and I have marvelled at the genius of Indhu Rubasingham and her work transforming the Kiln Theatre. Now she’s the artistic director of the National and as someone said after the play she’s spent a year of the Kiln’s budget on her first production as director in the Olivier. Bacchae is losely based on Euripides in a debut play by Nima Taleghani – a brave commission to open your first season at the nation’s principal theatre. Did it work? Hell yes! Rambunctious rapping, rhyming, big revolves, flying and dancing brought the contrast between the lifestyles and philosophies of Dionysus and Pentheus sharply into focus and the ever-present chorus of bacchantes led by Clare Perkins kept the whole spectacle flowing through mood swings and emotional turmoil. Ukweli Roach, James McArdle and Sharon Small shared the lead roles. There were lots of laughs, lots of theatrical in jokes and while it may not be what conventional NT audiences were expecting all the people we spoke to thought it was great fun.

My friend Jadwiga likes lunchtime recitals and has a list of churches and venues where she goes regularly so I was delighted to be able to take her to a lunchtime recital in a venue she hadn’t been to before. Some time ago on a vist to Ramsgate for the launch of Anna Blasiak’s latest book, I met Gabriela Mocan of the Romanian Cultural Institute and had taken my friend Dana to an evening concert there. The upshot is that I’m on their mailing list and was attracted by a recital by a Romanian pianist Kira Frolu in St Bartholomew the Great in Smithfield.

Jadwiga was suitably impressed by this ancient church and we were both enthralled by the young pianist’s performance of an Georges Enescu suite – Mélodie, Mazurk mélancolique and Burlesque from Suite No.3 Op.18 – to keep the Romanian theme running followed by a wonderful performance of one of my favourite pieces Mussorgsky’s Pictures at an Exhibition which is great in Ravel’s orchestration but rather special in the original piano form. It was made all the more poignant as the last movement is called ‘The Heroes’ Gate at Kyiv’.

Once again it was a privilege to experience the wealth of talent emerging from British conservatoires (Royal Academy of Music in Kira’s case) and a tragedy that so many of them will struggle to make a living because governments plural don’t care about the arts. We had a light lunch after the concert and walkedpast St Paul’s Cathedral and then through Postman’s Park with its fascinating plaques to people who died trying to save others’ lives. We then crossed the Millennium Bridge and along the south bank where I peeled off to meet Rosa for an early supper in the Archduke before making my second trip to the Dorman for The Land of the Living. It was interesting to see it from a different viewpoint and its powerful messages rang through again. I’m pleased to say Rosa was impressed too.

The Barbican Centre ran a series of October events under the title Voiced: the Festival for Endangered Languages. My poetry group BBPC was invited to contribute in three sessions. We ran a Translation Circle on Saturday 11 October (top below), our chair Shamim read poems in Sylheti in person on Friday 17 (left below) and in a foyer display through headphones and Eeshita and Anahita produced a polylingual audiovisual poem at the final session on Saturday 18. (Eeshita introduces the poem and the BBPC team celebrates.)

Shamim and I have run a number of translation session together but we usually know several of the people present. Not this time. Because of GPDR the barbican couldn’t even let us know who had signed up. However we did enlist the talent of Anna Blasiak to prepare a poem in Polish and Kashubian (endangered mix of Polish and German used on the north coast) which we then translated as a group which contained speakers of ten different languages. Interesting! However, the organiser got good feedback and we had a good party after the final session.

A change of mood on the Sunday as I moved back into the world of music with the OAE performing their first concert of their 40th anniversary season at the Queen Elizabeth Hall – Handel’s oratorio Solomon. It’s a fine work that includes the ever popular Arrival of the Queen of Sheba. Conducted by John Butt who has a long association with the OAE, it was great to see two of the rising stars from last week in the two choirs with Angharad having a small solo role as the second harlot involved in the famous judgement. The main character of Solomon was sung by one of the first intake of Rising Stars Helen Charlston, Zadok by Hugo Hymas and a Levite by Florian Störtz fellow alumni of the scheme. The three sections of the oratorio are very different in style and emotional impact but it was a pleasure to hear the crisp playing of the orchestra and the beautiful antiphonal choirs raising the roof.

The period was rounded off with visits to the Young Vic and the National again. A couple of weeks’ ago Frances was invited to an insight event in the Young Vic rehearsal room at which we heard from some of the actors and from director Nadia Fall about the forthcoming production of Joe Orton’s Entertaining Mr Sloane. I think I saw the first revival at the Royal Court in 1975 with Beryl Reid and Malcolm Macdowell. It raised a lot of scandalous outrage among certain elements of society and the media.

Tamzin Outhwaite is the central character Kath in this production with Jordan Stephens as Mr Sloane. Poor Joe Orton is best remebered for being murdered by his boyfriend but he actually wrote some very funny plays (Mr Sloane, Loot, What the Butler Saw).

Within the frequent elements of farce are strong messages about unwanted pregnancy, homosexuality, promiscuity, race and class and hints of criminality. Well worth reviving in our once again intolerant times.

Another of the benefits of friendship with Frances was an invite to a talk to staff in the archive and design departments of the NT followed by a matinee performance of Hamlet. This is the second production in Indhu Rubasingham’s first season at the National and was directed by her deputy artistic director Robert Hastie. Hiran Abeysekera plays the prince quite brilliantly with much more humour than usual and a very emotional reading of the role. He’s matched by an outstanding performance from Francesca Mills as Ophelia who skips and dances across the stage enlivening every scene she’s in and casting a shadow over others after her death. It’s brilliantly staged in a palatial ballroom with an amazing mural which we were told in the pre-meet contains portraits of everyone who has played Hamlet at the National.

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Another quiet week …

The week started with an interesting journey acrosss south London to see my granddaughter perform with the band Soulstice at BrockFest a music festival organised by Junior Open Mic which arranges monthly sessions for bands under the age of 18. This was a much bigger event in Brockwell Park in Herne Hill which I reached via a bus from home to Crystal Palace and then another to Brockwell Park. My daughter had equipped band and parents with branded merch. I had complained about being left out so today I was for the first time able to pull on my tee with SOULSTIC E GRANDAD appliqued on the back and keyboards on the chest as Daisy (Trixi in the band) plays the keys and flute. After some heavy metal and a plaintive female singer-songwriter it was time for Soulstice to perform their three-song set. The organisers had brought heir start time forward and there was a moment when they thought they may have to start with out their bass player. However she did make it on time – just – and they rocked the audience with a cover of Raye’s The Thrill is Gone and original compositions Still I Rise and Supersonic. As the applause rang out and they prepared to leave the stage the MC called them back for an encore and then a second one. A great start to the week and a proud grandad retired to the pub with some of the band and their parents to congratulate ourselves for the talent our genes had bestowed!

The next day it was me on the stage. I had been invited to read some poems at the Bangladesh Book Fair at the Brady Arts Centre in Tower Hamlets. I had a ten minute slot that I filled with a couple of poems inspired by my visits to Bangladesh back in 2009 and other more recent efforts which were politely received by the, fortunately, largely bilingual audience.

On Tuesday it was off to the Hampstead Theatre to see the transfer of Titus Andronicus from the Royal Shakespeare Company at Stratford. Having seen it there with Simon Russell Beale in the titular role it would be interesting to see how John Hodgkinson filled the space after SRB was sadly unwell and unable reprise his performance in London. Hodgkinson had apparently had only two weeks to learn the part and only one other public performance before we saw him. He was magnificent. His taller stature and natural authority gave the part a different feel. Despite the mutilations, murders and children-in-the-pie mayhem, you felt a degree of sympathy for Titus. The set had transferred to Hampstead slightly reducing the thrust which made it even more intimate than the Swan. Once again protective blankets were provided for front row guests against the blood spatter. The brilliance of Max Webster’s direction in using blackouts and audio to cover the goriest actions was still highly effective and the wardrobe choices for Romans and Goths worked really well. It was a stunning evening of theatre – again!

Then it’s off to the Kiln to see a play that Frances missed at the Galway Arts Festival last year but which has now happily got a run in Kilburn. The Reunion gathers a family on a remote island – maybe they used to holiday there when younger but I didn’t quite catch it – some coming from Dublin others from London – to commemorate the anniversary of their father’s death. After a cordial start, the cracks begin to show and develop into fissures and then chasms as sibling rivalry, jealousies, disapproval of lifestyle choices and parenting start to surface through the evening and into a nightmare of a night. There are a couple of great coups de theatre that I won’t reveal but alongside all the grief and misery there is a lot of humour, both verbal and physical.

And afterwards Fran had a chance to catch up with Paul Fahey the director of the Galway Arts Festival who remembered her photographer uncle Stan who used to photograph the festival for the local newspaper, about whom they chatted so it made for a great end to a fun evening.

I had missed Inter Alia at the National Theatre so was delighted that NT Live had recorded it and were showing it at the Greenwich Picturehouse on Thursday so I got three plays in three days albeit one of them on a screen.

The play is an amazing follow up to the sensational Jodie Comer spectacular Prima Facie and has an equally staggering performance from the central character Judge Jessica Parks played by Rosamund Pike. Unlike Jodie Comer, Rosamund is not alone on stage but still has the most incredible amount of stage business with props and costume changes as the awful story of a teenage rape unfolds through hints, evasions, suspicion and eventually confession. It’s a very moral exploration of social media’s effect on adolescents, understandings of consent and appropriate sexual behaviour – a theme explored in the eponymous Adolesensce on TV in 2025 and Micaela Coel’s I May Destroy You a couple of years ago. It’s a hot topic at present with toxic masculinity promoted seemingly unfettered by the big tech platform owners. The play calls for acting of a high order with both sides of dialogue in conversations, being an ever-present mother and a high-powered judge. Rosamund Pike delivers brilliantly with great support from her husband and son and a cast of children who pop in and out. It was most excellently filmed as NT Live shows usually are with enough wide shots including the audience to give a sense of being in the theatre but with the telling close ups of moments of joy and anguish that you don’t get when you are actually in the room. Shocking content, stunning performances, superb evening, applause in the cinema.

Having seen a part of the technical rehearsal for Creditors at the Orange Tree a couple of weeks ago it was now time to head off to Richmond to see the whole thing. Fortunately the journey time allowed me to watch the Red Roses complete their victory over France in the Womens’ Rugby World Cup and seal their place against Canada in next week’s final.

It’s been a week in which crucial issues have been aired in the theatre. War, power and empire building; family intrigue and betrayals; rape and social media and now Strindberg’s take on coercive control. The cast are outstanding in bringing a terrifying text of mysogyny and manipulation to us with compelling performances that deliver humour amid the horror and which draw gasps from the audience as Charles Dance’s Gustav ties Nicholas Farrell’s ailing artist Adolf in knots with a tissue of lies and innuendo. Missing for the first scene but the centre of the play is Geraldine James’s Tekla. She enters in scene two with comic flirting and her own level of manipluation of her husband Adolf to allow her to pursue other conquests in an ‘open marriage’. It all turns grim as Gustav’s poison pours out of Adolf in an attack on Tekla. Finally Tekla and Gustav play a scene in which many revelations occur. The adaptation by Howard Brenton and direction by Tom Littler make this a compelling evening in the theatre with actors at the peak of their powers. It appears that the three actors last worked together 20 years ago in the TV series The Jewel in the Crown. Their chemistry is intact.

And when I got home, there on the doormat was the latest edition of POL (Poetry Out Loud – Issue 7) in which I have a short story published. The magazine has a Bangladeshi slant and my story has a female British-Bengali protagonist in a tale of lost lovers reunited during a male lecturer’s trip to Yorkshire. You can get it from Amazon if you are interested.

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Royal Albert Raggetts

When I met Jenna Raggett back in March at St George’s Hanover Square, we agreed to keep in touch. We did and so I set off with family and friends to the Royal Albert hall to see a BBC Prom given by the Irish Baroque Orchestra in which Jenna plays violin. So we had the delightful moment pre-concert in which Jenna could say “Michael Raggett meet Michael Raggett”. Her father is also a Michael and stayed and had a chat to me and two other Raggetts – Tom and Caroline – while Jenna went off to change and prepare. The Irish branch also have a cousin Michael who lives in Basingstoke! Also with us were my friend Jadwiga and her daughter Lucy and son-in-law Brian who were amused by this weird nominal encounter. We then went to our excellent seats and enjoyed a most magnificent performance of Handel’s Alexander’s Feast, a work I’d not heard before. We all enjoyed it thoroughly as did the critics (here’s just one of the reviews). In another coincidence the counter tenor Hugh Cutting was performing and we had seen him a Garsington back in June in Handel’s Rodelinda and singing with Tom’s choir Pegasus the next day at St John’s Smith Square . All the soloists were great as was the energetic conducting of Peter Whelan and of course the mellifluous playing of the violins!

Peter Whelan saluting the orchestra and soloists.
And then we got the Hallelujah Chorus as an encore.

Behind Closed Doors …

That outing marked the end of August but September has started with some further treats. Thanks to my friend Frances’ patronage of several theatre companies, I get invited to some behind the scenes events as well as the plays themselves. We had the privilege of going into the rehearsal room at the Young Vic for a Q&A with the cast of Joe Orton’s Entertaining Mr Sloane. It was a fascinating discussion of how the outrage it caused in 1963 was in danger of being repeated in our time too in the case of people who don’t conform to some British ‘norm’.

Also it was interesting to hear how the actors ahd prepared for their roles, including a visit by Tamzin Outhwaite to Sheila Hancock who had played Kath in one of the earliest productions. It was also a special moment to be able to look at the maquette for the set and see the marks and props laid out for rehearsals. We also had a chance to chat to the new artistic director of the Young Vic and director of the play Nadia Fall.

A couple of days later Fran invited me to a patrons’ event at the Orange Tree Theatre in Richmond. Again it was a huge privilege to be present at a technical rehearsal – the moment when all the elements – lighting, sound, wardrobe – some easing needed of tight waistcoat and attention to a cravat – script assistant, technical crew and of course the actors and director put it all together in the actual theatre space. Once again it was the Orange Tree’s artistic director Tom Littler who was directing the play – August Strindberg’s Creditors in a new translation by Howard Brenton, whose brilliant Churchill in Moscow we saw here earlier in the year.

The cast was very impressive Charles Dance and Nicholas Farrell were working through a lengthy scene with references to the third cast member Geraldine James who was in the theatre but not involved on stage during our visit. Watching silently from the balcony it was interesting to look at the processes of blocking the scene, adjusting lighting and sound levels and to note the great difference in approach between directing for the stage and for television. An afternoon of real insight. Can’t wait to see the full play.

And out in the open …

My friend and colleague in the British Bilingual Poetry Collective, Shamim Azad had been asked to curate a family day at the Serpentine Pavilion in Kensington Gardens. This was very special as this year’s pavilion, the 25th, is the work of Marina Tabassum a renowned Bangladeshi archictect. There were sessions of storytelling, poetry performance and traditional Bengali song and dance throughout the day from 10 until 3 in the afternoon.

Our poets included our executive director Eeshita Azad originally from Bangladesh, Sara Kärpänen originally from Finland, Chiko Jones originally from Nigeria and Pip McDonald still from Sunderland. They each recited poems to an enthralled audience – in all cases mixing their original language with English.

As well as our own group Shamim had invited an experienced and engaging storyteller Sally Pomme Clayton who opened the proceedings and Mukto Arts who played and danced after our poets with some fine traditional Bengali tunes and encouraged the audience to come and join them which they did with ages ranging from, I would guess six months in a baby sling, to seniors like me.

I’ve been to many of the annual temporary Serpentine Pavilions over the years with memorable ones from Zaha Hadid, Frank Gehry, Sou Fujimoto, Theaster Gates and Ai Wei Wei with Herzog and de Meuron. It was wonderful to see Marina Tabassum’s pavilion which she calls A Capsule in Time filled with these performances and also with seed planting, weaving, character creation and role play sessions going on concurrently. A really fun day out and I was just there to support our team not to perform which was a great relief.

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Musical mystery tour

August brought three excellent musical events all with a hint of mystery. The first was a rehearsal at Acland Burghley School in Camden for the Orchestra of the Age of Enlightenment’s project Breaking Bach. Bach suites and concertos played on period instuments by musicians for whom I have the greatest respect, fine – but with street, hiphop and break dance accompanying it! Really? Not much of what the OAE does fails miserably so my frequent dance companion Rosa and I made it to Tufnell Park on a Sunday afternoon for the final rehearsal before the group took Breaking Bach to the Edinburgh Festival for its world premiere in the Usher Hall three days hence. We were asked not to photograph the performance so I don’t have any pictures but you can get a feel for it from the OAE’s website in a mo. Meanwhile our tickets included some branded merchandise – Rosa accepted my gift of a tote bag – “you can never have too many tote bags” while I have two pencils with seed capsules which I hope next spring will be planted out and become sunflowers.

To say we were blown away by the performance would be to put it mildly. Did I say the dancers accompanied the players? I was wrong – the dancers added a whole new dimension through their elegant, energy-filled moves and fantastic sense of rythym. They truly interpreted the music not just performed alongside it. Choreographer Kim Brandstrup had wanted to meld street dance with Bach for some time and now was afforded the perfect solution. Some of the dancers were newly professional, several were still students at Acland Burghley School and you really couldn’t tell the difference most of the time. There were solos, pas de deux and ensemble pieces caringly matched to the emotions and rythyms of the various selections from the repertoire. At the end of the afternoon my only regret was that I hadn’t booked to go to Edinburgh to see the full performance – although whether I’d have managed to get up from a bean bag is debatable. It went down a storm with the critics as I was delighted to read the following Sunday in my Observer and everybody else who attended. There’s lots more about the project on the OAE’s YouTube channel too with interviews with the choreographer, dancers and students . We can’t wait for a full production in the UK – no wait there has been one I guess – parochialist! – I mean in London. Staggeringly risky, stunningly successful!

The next stop on the mystery tour was a trip into a different musical culture. Rumy Haque is a friend who I’ve worked with at the British Bilingual Poetry Collective on many occasions, on translations and in workshops. She’s recently concentrated her attention on forming a musical group and invited me to its launch event at the Brady Arts Centre in Tower Hamlets.

I’ve heard a fair bit of Bengali inspired- music, have co-curated workshops on the poetry of Rabindranath Tagore and – while unable to read the poster – Rumy explained that the concert was celebrating the anniversary of Tagore’s death and would feature his songs. The ensemble is called GitaBina and has Rumy, Mitali Bonowari and Sunita Chowhury on vocals with harmonium, tabla and keyboards accompaniment. As often with these events it took a while to get started – the Spanish are accused of a manaña attitude – but my Bengali friends run them close.

GitaBina gathered round a portrait of Tagore painted by Rumy Haque

However it was worth the wait. The three voices have contrasting tones but combine brilliantly in conveying both the introspective, lyrical elements and the more rousing and passionate passages in the Tagore songs they performed. The harmonium underscore, strongly accented beat from the tabla and improvised frills from he keyboards added to the atmosphere of respect for and celebration of Tagore. Interpolated between the songs were readings of poems some in Bangla, one I’m glad to say in English – thanks Rumy. It was interesting and thoroughly enjoyable. Whatever the genre or style, music speaks to the soul and mine went home refreshed.

I’m fairly familiar with song cycles from both Robert and Clara Schumann and Fanny and Felix Mendelssohn with both male and female singers and piano accompaniment. So it’s off to Acland Burghley School again with my friend Frances, who lives nearby, for another new experience.

Tonight it’s the lovely Helen Charlston singing with a string quartet! That’s new. Helen has a long association with the OAE as one of the first in its Rising Stars programme and the star of the memorable Coldplay tribute video of Dido’s Lament.

Helen writes in her programme notes that there’s no precedent for this kind of arrangement. But she thinks similar things might have happened at the soirées where these songs would have been first heard. The conversion of the accompaniment from piano to scoring for string quartet by Bill Thorp brought a whole new level of expression to the songs for me.

It was fascinating to hear how the piano sounds were expertly shared around the four instruments. The Consone (Latin for harmonious) Quartet use period instruments – they were the first such to be chosen as BBC New Generation Artists – and those familiar warm gut string sounds added new sonorities and their playing a new sense of fluency to familiar tunes. I felt a much stronger emotional reaction to the fuller sound surrounding the lyrics and maybe the intimate surroundings of the elegant hexagonal school hall at the centre of Brutalist Acland Burghley helped as well.

Three very different experiences with unexpectedly (shame on me) pleasing results. And there’s another adventure to come with a trip to the Royal Albert Hall to hear the Irish Baroque Orchestra play Alexander’s Feast by Handel which I’ve never heard so the mysteries continue to unfold.

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Gentle June

After the madness of May the new month starts at a somewhat gentler pace. First up on 2 June is a trip to Glyndebourne to see the Festival’s first ever production of Wagner’s last opera Parsifal. Having just driven to Stratford and back, I decided to do this one by train and the excellent £10 return Glyndebourne bus service from Lewes Station. It worked really well and I arrived on the most beautiful sunny day, took a walk around the lake, had a glass of wine and watched all the lovely people. I decided on a dark suit rather than the full DJ and it’s becoming clear that the dress code is much more relaxed than it used to be – there were even men in shorts! Oh and had a preview of dinner!

So, into the auditorium and during the wonderfully atmospheric overture a caption appears on the curtain referencing Cain and Abel. Now Wagner had already mashed up Arthurian legend with strict Roman Catholic Good Friday rituals. Could the story take another level of myth? Well in my opinion, no. The main charaters’ alter egos or older doppelgänger mooching around at the back of the set didn’t do it for me and the construct that Klingsor and Amfortas had been quarreling brothers also didn’t wash. All that said it was magnificently sung and the orchestra under Robin Ticciati was just sublime. And there were some great moments of theatre in Jetske Mijnssen’s production too. I loved the gang of Kundry clones whooshing down on poor Parsifal and I liked the procession of Titurel’s coffin round and round the altar before laying him to rest. On the coach back to Lewes one visitor complained that this went on a bit too long to which I replied “Well, there is a lot of music to get through before the next aria and at least there was some action.” Despite some reservations about the over-concepty production it was a great evening and I’m very glad I saw, but especially, heard it.

The next evening (Tuesday) saw me join a friend from 50 years ago, Alison Dunn, at her retirement party in the splendid Humble Grape wine bar off Fleet Street – a great choice as that’s where we first knew each other when she worked on Education and Training magazine with Barry Turner a long-standing writer and editor friend who did some consultancy work for me in my guise as an educational publisher back in the 70s. Tasked with speaking to everyone in the room – I only knew Ali – I did about 70% and what some fine famaily, friends and former colleagues she has.

Each year in November the British Bilingual Poetry Collective, of which I’m a trustee, runs an interactive poetry event as part of Tower Hamlets’ Season of Bangla Drama. So on Wednesday Shamim Azad, the founder, and I head off to see the coordinator of the festival Kazi Ruksana Begum to discuss plans schedules and the broad outline of this year’s event. The theme for 2025 is ‘Kindness’ and we’ll be switching our focus from Rabindranath Tagore to the national poet of Bangladesh Kazi Nazrul Islam in a session with the title Kindness with Kazi.

< Last years’ poster

The evening brings the last concert I’ll see in the Orchestra of the Age of Enlightenment’s Southbank season. It’s an old favourite but like you’ve never heard it before. Elgar’s Enigma Variations must be one of the most played pieces in the repertoire with ‘Nimrod’ known in many different forms. However, the OAE presents ‘ historically informed’ performances so to hear the music played on gut strings, wooden not metal flutes, French not German bassoons made it sound completely fresh. Quite possibly how Elgar himself would have heard it. The variations formed the second half of the concert. Before the interval we heard his lively concert overture In the South written while he was in southern Italy and reflecting the sounds and landscape of the country. The mezzo Frances Gregory then performed five of Elgar’s Sea Pictures with great sensitivity and bursts of power to soar above the rich orchestral tones. the Portuguese conducter Dinis Sousa made his debut with the OAE and clearly developed a great rapport with them. He’s the principal conducter of the Royal Northern Sinfonia based a the Glasshouse in Gateshead and looks a fine prospect.

I remember a lot of excitement around Patrick Marber’s Dealer’s Choice back in 1997 in the confines of the Cottesloe theatre at the National and I enjoyed it very much at the time. I was looking forward to this revival in the similarly contrained arena of the Donmar and it didn’t disappoint, mainly thanks to a brilliant performance from Hammed Animashaun as Mugsy. The banter between the boys, the knowledge that he’s going to lose and his dream of opening a restaurant in a disused toilet in Bow infuse the whole play which has a spectacular set transformation that’s worth the ticket alone. As with House of Games, I’m more than ever convinced I’m not cut out to be a gambler.

I should have gone to Garsington to see Tchaikovsky’s Queen of Spades on Friday. However my frequent opera comapnion Jadwiga was unwell and I couldn’t find a replacement at short notice. The brilliant box office have moved my booking to 21 June and we’ll be seeing Handel’s Rodelinda instead.

My next musical outing was on Sunday 8 June when I went to a new venue for me – Charterhouse. It was a concert organised by the Barbican as part of the European Concert Hall Organisation’s (ECHO) rising stars programme. It was a recital for trumpet and piano and featured a premiere piece Continuum by my friend Dani Howard. Dani had worked with the trumpet player Matilda Lloyd to create the piece. As Matilda said in her intro “It started with an icecream on the beach”. Knowing Dani’s large orchestral works, her opera and hearing her percussion composition for Colin Currie last month, it confirmed – if it needed it – her versatility and gift for melody and creating atmospheres. Matilda and her pianist Jonathan Ware had played this piece 18 times as they toured the European concert halls who form the ECHO with this one being the last. They all kindly invited me to join them for tea and cake or a beer after the concert so it was altogether a super Sunday afternoon.

As a special offer if you’d booked a Barbican ticket you could see the Encounters exhibition for a fiver, so I did. This was in a small gallery on floor 2 and featured the contrasting works of Giacometti, with whom I was familiar, and Huma Bhabha who I didn’t know at all. Huma was born in Pakaistan but is now based in upstate New York. Her monumental works which incorporate found materials contrast with the elegant skinny figures of Giacometti. I know which ones i’d like to own but it was an interesting hour contemplating differeing approaches to making sculptures.

The Encounters exhibition at the Barbican

Continuing with our catholic cultural chase, my next visit was to Sadler’s Wells with my daughter Jo to see Mathew Bourne’s The Midnight Bell . This was a belated birthday outing for Jo and we had a fine early supper in Moro before making our way through the heaving Exmouth Market up Rosebery Avenue. What are all these people doing out on a Tuesday? The ballet is set in sleazy Soho in the 30 where the eponymus pub is host to prostitutes, closeted illegal gays, a lovestruck barman and various other denizens of nighttime London. There were duets, larger ensemble pieces, the most amazing and fluent set changes and original music blended with ballads from the era sung with original vinyl hiss and crackle, endless style and commitment by booming baritones. We both enjoyed it a lot and chatted about it as we made our way back to Farringdon for trains back home. It’s good to enjoy your daughter’s birthday treat too!

Yoshitomo Nara is an artist I’d seen a little of and so off I went to the Hayward Gallery to see what must be one of his biggest ever shows outside Japan with over 150 works displayed. He’s the epitome of Japanese kawaii kitsch but with a twist – those sweet faced Hello Kitty style children’s faces contain messages of disquiet, protest and fear. Nara is very political in his work and repeats themes throughout his long career which the exhibition spans. There are installation – a ramshackle shed, a teacup fountain, paintings, drawings and sculptures spread over the whole expanse of the Hayward. It was fascinating to start with but there’s just too much to see and too much repetition of the themes that are dear to him. I’m glad I went however and got to have a chat with a film crew shooting it for The Sunday Times.

There was a double challenge getting from the gallery to my dinner with friends in Soho. First I had to navigate the waterfall and fountains on the walkway. They were fun – a cascade from the level above, water pouring from a waist and a green figure with a fountain for a head. Then I had to make my way across the Hungerford footbridge the scene of my disastrous fall last May. I managed both and had a great evening. I’ve been a fan of Nubya Garcia the young British saxophonist for a long time and managed to pop into the Queen Elizabeth Hall to get one of the last few tickets for her gig there next Thursday. It’s part of Little Simz’ Meltdown Festival which sounded a bit youth for me but I do like Nubya’s music so I bought one

The warm up band, Oreglo were a quartet of keyboard, drums, guitar and tuba – the latter becoming an instrument of choice it seems since Theon Cross in Sons of Kemet and other of the new groups that have arisen from Tomorrow’s Warriors – also a training ground for Nubya which she graciously acknowledged in her concert introductions. Oreglo were full of life and energy in a field that spanned jazz and prog rock and were an adequate preparation for the main event.

I was very surprised to see the band walk on stage Sam Jones headed for the drum kit but that doesn’t look like Daniel Casimir and that is certainly not Joe Armon jones at the keyboards. Nubya then followed in a huge-skirted off the shoulder gown and later introduced Lyle Barton at the keys and Max Luthert on bass. It’s a tribute to the quality of musicianship that you didn’t notice the personnel changes – yes the solos might have been a bit different but they fitted the music, mostly from the latest album Odyssey. She proudly announced that she had done all the arrangements for the strings that are on the album herself – taking her out of her comfort zone to make the sounds she wanted to hear. She also apologized for the lack of a string section tonight but had rearranged the songs for this concert. I am so glad I bought that ticket. The album is great and different but her live performances and those of these superb players were electrifying. She even did a walkabout through the audience with the final song from the album ‘Triumphance’ with its spoken word lyrics of life enhancing advice about resilience, tolerance and collective power. Nubya is true talent at the height of her own powers who received a standing ovation from the packed QEH audience which did include a few other people of my generation as well as all the meltdown youth.

After another visit to the Union Club, this time for lunch with a friend, we set off in the evening to enjoy The Taming of the Shrew in Tredegar Square in Mile End performed by a group called Shakespeare in the Squares. They perform an adapted version of one of the bard’s plays – different each year – in squares across London. I think it was 18 this year. The production includes songs for the audience to sing along with, some high quality acting and projection against traffic and aircraft and other ambient noise. And not only do they speak Shakespeare’s words eloquently they also play instruments and sing. We were lucky that it was a beautiful sunny pre-solstice evening and it was hugely enjoyable. I’ll try another venue next year.

More music on Sunday when my son was singing with the choir Pegasus and the Outcry Ensemble at St John’s Smith Square. Two fanfares opened the evening the familiar Copland’s Common Man and Joan Tower’s Uncommon Woman which I didn’t know and then a Britten choral work which I’d never heard ‘Ad Majorem Dei Gloriam’ which was, I’m told, very hard to sing but was a great listen with six differently styled sections setting the words of Gerard Manley Hopkins for unaccompanied voices. I had a good catch up with Tom in the interval and then enjoyed Britten’s Variations on a theme of Frank Bridge and Leonard Bernstein’s Chichester Psalms where the countertenor soloist was none other than Hugh Cutting who had been at Garsington the night before. I was able to tell him how much we’d enjoyed Rodelinda and his performance tonight. He too enjoyed the production at Garsington and thought it worked well, especially the dancers.

*The Outcry Ensemble and Pegasus Choir at St John’s Smith Square*

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No Mow – No Blog – May

Well the lawn didn’t quite escape the mower despite the warm weather and slow growth of grass but it had to have a tidy up. What did escape was the keyboard – too busy to type this month! It all started on Saturday 3rd with the last game of the season – unlucky draw – followed by a farewell to the season lunch at L’Artista and then Frances, Rose and myself whizzing off for a pre-concert Guinness in the Toucan with Ian Prowse (he didn’t have one) before he took to the stage at the 100 Club. It was as always with him a brilliant evening’s entertainment.

Then on Monday 5th Fran and I went to see the new Conor McPherson play The Brightening Air at the Old Vic. It’s a wonderful depiction of dysfunctional Irish rural family life with a standout performance from Rosie Sheehy as the disruptive Billie. The next day I had to record one of the English Language Teaching audiobooks that I do a couple of times a year. My voice over actor John Hasler (doing 16 different voices in Aussie accents around an RP narration – amazing) is about to rejoin the cast of Fawlty Towers at the Apollo Theatre with a bigger role than he had in the first run so I’ll probably catch that at some point in the run that starts late June.

Next up was a favourite ukiyo-e printmaker Hiroshige at the British Museum. I am familiar with most of the images displayed but seeing the vibrancy of the originals compared with reproductions was astonishing. The exhibition also included several indications of the complexity of making multi-coloured woodblock prints, inking them up and making sure paper is accurately registered. A technical triumph but also witty, emotional and dramatic scenes of love, life and landscape. It was interestingly curated too with prints fixed to scrolls which themselves were often the destination of woodblock prints.

With my mind firmly back in Japan I spent the evening downstairs at the Hampstead Theatre in the midst of a video game. The play was Personal Values and combined characters’ real lives with their personae in the game they were endlessly playing. As a non-gamer it left me a bit confused but others enjoyed it very much.

Back at Hampstead the following Monday saw a very different set of games presented. This was an adaptation by Richard Bean of David Mamet’s 1987 film, Mamet’s debut as both writer and director. It was powerful, twisty, scary and shocking but immense fun. I hadn’t seen the film for ages but recall it being altogether darker and while there were some elements of that here, it was as you’d expect with Richard Bean rather more about the laughs. I’m looking forward to more card games and sleaze when we see Dealer’s Choice at the Donmar next month.

Music started the month and gave me a real highlight in the middle. Sunday 18th found me in the Temple of Art and Music in Mercato Metropolitano, the sprawling food fest at the Elephant and Castle. The group in which my granddaughter plays keyboard, flute and does backing vocals – elegantly called Soulstice – were asked to headline a Youth Open Mic session. There’s a clip here – not very well recorded and not by me! They are usually an all girl band but their drummer couldn’t make the gig so a brother kindly stepped in. I’m prejudiced of course but they are actually rather good with a soul-tinged mix of their own originals, Sade, Amy Winehouse and so on..

Different but no less enjoyable was the Orchestra of the Age of Enlightenment’s concert at the Royal Festival Hall with Sir Andras Schiff conducting from the piano in a Schumann programme with a little Mendelssohn in between. It started with the Konzertstück which is a very lively piece for piano and orchestra and was followed by familiar passages from Mendelssohn’s Midsummer Nights’ Dream and Schiff played Schumann’s only piano concerto after the interval. He had talked last year at an open rehearsal of his pleasure in having a brown Blüthner fortepiano rather than the shiny black Steinways that are usually provided.

He had it again tonight and did us proud, not only in the opening piece and the concerto, but gave us a solo encore of Brahms’ Albumblatt and then closed the piano lid very firmly and got the whole orchestra to play Mendelssohn’s Fingal’s Cave as a bonus encore. Coming at the end of an eight day tour to Vienna, Graz, Antwerp, Amsterdam and Munich the energy of Sir Andras and the orchestra was quite amazing. And with even more bonuses – a preconcert talk with Laura Tunbridge, professor of music at Oxford, and an interval drinks reception for friends – it was a night to remember.

Sir Andras Scxhiff leaves the stage, leaving behind his favourite instrument.

On my way to the OAE concert I went to the National Portrait Gallery to see the exhibition of Edvard Munch portraits. These were very impressive with clear characterisation of friends and family placed in relevant environments. He obviously didn’t like several of his subjects as these were not flattering portraits but reflected Munch’s relationship with them and indeed with himself. I couldn’t escape the musical theme of the month of May as my two favourites were The Brooch which is a lithograph of an English violinist who styled herself Eva Mudocci and a quick stetch of Edward Delius at a concert in Wiesbaden. I also liked his walking self-portrait and a double portrait of the lawyer Harald Norgaard and his wife Aase with whom he had a lengthy relationship. It’s an unusual composition and was quite striking. Munch knew Harald from his youth and painted Aase separately on a number of occasions.

I also made it to another British Museum exhibition after being a radiotherapy buddy to a friend who is going through the final stages of cancer treatment. She is great company despite the circumstances and we have spent some good times together. As I remember myself radiotherapy leaves you pretty wiped out so she declined the offer of accompanying me to the BM understandably preferring home and rest. The exhibition was mostly of objects from the museum’s own collections but shed a fascinating insight into the religions of India – Hindu, Jain and Buddhism through their artefacts and what they symbolised. The galleries also had birdsong, tolling bells and chanting played quietly to make it a multisensory visit.

Dancing Ganesha a fixture in all three religions

My next adventure was into the world of words. The British Bilingual Poetry Collective resumed our Bi-monthly Poetry Meets at Bard Books on Roman Road in Bow. Shamim Azad and I led a session of poetry readings, discussion, translation and an open mic session which was much enjoyed by all present.

The late May bank holiday was spent having an early supper with Rosa and then a visit to the Wigmore Hall to hear the amazing percussionist Colin Currie. I wish they didn’t have a photo ban because the array of drums, marimba, vibraphones, glockenspiel and other thing you can bang to make music filled the entire stage. A varied programme showcased his ability to make exciting, moving, thoughtful and adventurous sounds emanate from this staggering collection of instrumental forces.

My main motivation for going was the world premiere of Vasa a Concerto for Solo Percussion by Dani Howard, a young composer I’ve been pleased to call a friend for a few years now. It was a complex piece featuring a series of different tempos, emotions and melodies. Dani had worked with Colin to devise the final form and told us later that she had to have a diagram of the stage layout of the marimba, two vibraphones, cymbals, drums and other devices, many of them foot-operated, so that she could ensure she was writing things Colin could physically move around the instruments to execute. It was a very rewarding evening concluding with some excellent conversation in the pub.

Bass drum and woodblocks were foot operated and 1-5 are various cymbals

I had intended to give After the Act at the Royal Court a miss as I’m not a big fan of musicals. However the indisposition of Fran’s intended companion meant that she asked me to go. The content should have been – and was – of real interest. The ‘Act’ was the appalling 1985 Section 28 that forbade taechers in schools and colleges to mention homosexuality, Equally appallingly it was only repealed in 2003.

The play contained some verbatim quotes from individuals – teachers, parents and students – who had suffered from the act, recreations of protests including a daring 1988 abseil in the House of Lords and, for my taste, too many occasions when serious issues resulted in the cast of four bursting into song accompanied by onstage keyboardist and drummer.

The next evening was far more satisfactory. Because Terrance Rattigan’s The Deep Blue Sea was on at the Theatre Royal Haymarket we were able to pop into Yoshino for a quick pre-theatre sample of Lisa’s excellent cuisine and hosting. Some analysts feel that the doomed love affair represented in the play was Rattigan’s sublimation of his own homosexuality – still illegal when he wrote it in 1952.

Starring the wonderful Tamsin Greig with a fine supporting cast, this was a faithful period-set production that allowed the play’s veiled messages space to emerge from the context and the conversations around love and death, suicide and survival, protest and resignation, passion and comoanionship were brilliantly done, very moving and affecting.

Thursday saw Fran and I make our hat-trick of theatregoing with a trip to Islington to see Ava Pickett’s debut play 1536. The setting is sixteenth century Essex where three friends indulge in gossip – has Henry really ditched Anne Boleyn? – their own relationships with men and each other and the role of women in a patriarchal society. It’s bold, it’s funny. it’s sexy and it makes you wonder how much better things really are today. The rolling changes in friendships are brilliantly delivered in crisp dialogue and while history is all around, the play tells us a lot about today. As a writer on the brilliant The Great on Channel 4, Ava Pickett is clearly a name to watch out for.

The month’s finale was a trip with Frances to see Simon Russell Beale in Titus Andronicus at the Swan Theatre in Stratford-upon-Avon. After a pleasant drive up we had a late lunch, checked into the hotel and then made our way to the theatre. It was my first time in the Swan and we were a bit surprised that this production was in the smaller space, not the main hall. However the intimacy of the location made the horrors of Shakespeare’s most violent play (or is it Coriolanus?) very clear.

The production certainly didn’t stint on Kensington gore but used brilliant lighting and sound effects to protect us from witnessing the worst atrocities. SRB was his usual excellent self but was by no means outstanding. The whole cast under the direction of the versatile Max Webster was superb and brought the subtleties of the text into play as well as the torrid drama. And on reflection, yes this is the most violent of Shakespeare’s works.

We went out to Anne Hathaway’s house next morning for a walk around the orchards, had an enlightening tour of the house from excellent guides and then made our way back to London. A fine ending to a full and varied month of culture. As Shakespeare’s contemporary Thomas Dekker put it “O, the month of May, the merry month of May”.

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Art imitates life

Three plays this week featured real life events dramatised by outstanding writers. At the Royal Court Manhunt written and directed by Robert Icke recreated the events of 2010 which saw the nation’s longest search for the fugitive murderer Roaul Moat. The play examined Moat’s mental state, childhood, failed relationship and his conviction that Northumberland Police had it in for him. The dramatic opening with an overhead camera projecting Moat’s pacing in his prison cell set the tone for a psychological and emotional thriller. In the lead role Samuel Edward-Cook was all muscle, repressed violence and angst in an outstanding piece of acting. Multiple-character supporting roles made for a fascinating examination of the factors contributing to his undoubted guilt. I remember the events clearly as I was held up on the way to a shoot by closed roads around Rothbury where he was finally caught. There was a post show talk in which an interesting aspect discussed was whether there was at the time a north south divide where, in the south, he was regarded as something of a hero for evading arrest for so long – seven days, in contrast to the north where he posed a real threat. Lots of food for thought.

Another favourite playwright, James Graham, featured an event from his native Nottingham. His The Punch at the Young Vic dramatised the cause and effects of a notorious one-punch death in 2011. Convicted of manslaughter and having served his sentence, Jacob Dunne was one of the first to experience restorative justice on his release from prison and it was the series of meetings between him and the victim’s parents that formed the core of this moving and enlightening evening. Directed by Adam Penfold the play was originally seen in Nottingham and transferred to the Young Vic with the same outstanding cast with once again a truly memorable central performance from David Shields as Jacob supported by a fine group of multi-character actors among whom I would single out the wonderful Julie Hesmondhalgh as, among others, the victim’s mother and campaigner for restorative justice. Her dancing is worth the modest ticket price.

I went to a completely new venue on Saturday – the Morocco Bound Bookshop and Café in Bermondsey – it’s name alone took me back to my early career in publishing where I knew about, but sadly never had the opportunity, to lavish a Morocco Binding on any of the books I produced. It looks to be a lively place with poetry open mic nights, jazz gigs, a book club and more. My visit was for the launch of a poetry anthology which contained a poem by my friend and British Bilingual Poetry Collective founder Shamim Azad. Published by a magazine ‘The Other Side of Hope‘ Other Tongue Mother Tongue contains twenty poems on themes of immigration in eighteen languages. Given BBPC’s experience with Translation Circles, this was obviously an event not to be missed. Shamim read her poem to open the event and then closed it with a rhythmical Bengali poem that had the audience all clapping along.

Monday morning had a musical start with a trip to the Orchestra of the Age of Enlightenment’s base in Acland Burghley School in Tufnell Park. This was a Friends’ opportunity to observe 100 teenagers from ABS and Swiss Cottage School rehearsing for a performance at the Albert Hall on Wednesday as part of Camden Schools Music Festival. The OAE’s education director Cherry Forbes was at the heart of proceedings with music director James Redwood. It was fun, engaging and again encouraging to see so many young people enjoying the opportunity to sing and make music together. And it’s always a delight to be in the fabulous hexagonal Brutalist hall.

Tuesday saw me set off to the Romanian Cultural Institute in Belgravia for an evening of music performed by Romanian soprano Madalena Stan and pianist Lidia Butnariu. It’s in one of those magnificent houses in Belgrave Square. I went with my friend Daniela Tifui, who is of course Romanian, and she enjoyed her first visit to the Cultural Institute, the music and the chance to meet new people and speak in her first language. The concert had a number of popular opera arias, some Gershwin and a world premiere of a song specially compsed by Calin Huma who has been an envoy to the UK but is now about to transfer to Italy, combing music composition with his consular responsibilities to very good effect. There was a glass of wine afterwards and an opportunity to chat with Madalena and Lidia and other interesting people who regularly attend these events. And if Saturday gave me a throwback to my publishing days, today was back to my early days of filming as the piano was lit by a redhead – a rarity these days when most lighting is done with LED panels.

Madalena with a rose for Gershwin’s The Man i love (and the redhead)

A third play based on real life completes my week. Ben and Imo by Mark Ravenhill was first seen at the Royal Shakespeare Company in Stratford but is now relocated and adapted to the intimate space of the Orange Tree in Richmond. Directed by Erica Whyman, It covers the fiery, feisty, often fraught relationship between Imogen Holst and Benjamin Britten in the period before his opera Gloriana was to be staged in a gala performance to celebrate the coronation of Elizabeth II in 1953. The powerful two-hander with Samuel Barnett and Victoria Yeates covers immense issues like the creative process, ownership of ideas, state funding of the arts and personal relationships during a period of intense work in which Imo’s role and remuneration were never adequately discussed, so trust, credit, job description and accountability were always tiptoeing or slipping on the shifting pebbles of the beach at Aldeburgh.

Imo’s dance demonstrations were a highlight as indeed were the musical elements woven into the script – Britten, Dowland, Wagner et al – all played by Connor Fogel. The evening was enhanced by a Q&A with Mark Ravenhill and Orange Tree’s Creative Director Tom Littler. Mark was delighted to have approval of his version of events from two singers in the audience who had worked with both Ben and Imo on his operas and her community projects.

One key element for me was how the very talented Imogen Holst subjugated her own creativity to serve first her father Gustav, and then Britten. I was impressed by the archive of her papers at the Red House where Britten lived with Peter Pears which is well worth a visit. Dee and I went in 2016. Writer Leah Broad who has pioneered the restoration of female composers in her book Quartet commented elsewhere on Imo: ‘few musicians have had such a wide-ranging impact on music in the UK as Imogen Holst, having turned her hand to everything from composition to conducting, teaching, public speaking, musicology, concert organising and musical administration. The full legacy of her work has yet to fully be understood – but as a composer, at least, new recordings and publications are paving the way for her to emerge from the combined shadows of Britten and Gustav Holst, and to receive the acclaim that her own modesty never allowed her to pursue.’

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Another fun week with a few surprises

On Monday I went with Frances to see Eugene Ionesco’s Rhinoceros at the Almeida Theatre. I’d read this in French as part of my studies at UCL back in the 60s, when we’d complained that the reading list was too classical and old-French oriented. The Theatre of the Absurd struck a chord with the young and foolish me and I even directed a production of fellow-absurdist Alfred Jarry’s Ubu sur la Butte in the Lycee Francais annual drama compettiton for London college French departments. We got the best actor award. The core of Rhinoceros was still there with its warning about totalitarianism embodied in the metaphor of the residents of a small town in France turning into rhinoceroses. But the adaptation with audience participation conducted by Paul Hunter though elaborate hand gestures and claps and rhinoceros roars with kazoos made it a very different spectacle. Translated and directed by Omar Elerian – he also did a great version of Ionesco’s The Chairs here a couple of years back – it incorporated humour, menace, slapstick and some cod metaphysical discussions and an interpolated song sequence in Italian by love-object Daisy sung brilliantly by Anoushka Lucas with back projected slogan “What do you want meaning for?” The playing for laughs may have detracted a little from Ionesco’s warnings of extremism but it was a fun night in the theatre.

*Anoushka Lucas as Daisy and Sope Dirisu as Berenger in Rhinoceros.*

Imagine my shock on Tuesday morning when The Guardian had the following headline. I had to send it to warn Frances in case they’d escaped from the theatre and were invading Islington and Tufnell Park.

I’d been meaning to go to the Dulwich Picture Gallery to see the Tirzah Garwood exhibition for some time and now I had a chance. As with so many women artists I knew of her mainly as the wife of Eric Ravilious whose work I had always liked. Their artist enclave at Great Bardfield in Essex with Edward and Charlotte Bawden is well documented but I was delighted to find out more about Tirzah who admitted that managing the family and the household had interfered with her own artistic development.

And what an artist she was in so many media and despite all the household wrangling! She started out as a talented maker of woodcuts – and many know of my love of a print – and with Charlotte Bawden she established a reputation for marbling paper – all the rage for lampshades and book endpapers in the pre-war years. The exhibition features embrodery, a quilt, wood engravings and some model village collages in box frames which were inventive and charming. Finally she was able to turn to oil painting at which she adopted a somewhat naive style with surprising elements like the trees in the Photo Shoot below made with prints from gathered leaves. It’s well worth a visit and is on till 26 May. It’s also very funny – she obviously had a great sense of humour. That’s her in the train compartment.

*Huge variety of textures in a woodblock print*

Thursday evening sees me join Frances again, this time at the Kiln Theatre in Kilburn to see Shanghai Dolls a new play by Amy Ng. The dolls of the title are two influential characters in Chinese history: Jiang Qing who as Mme Mao is generally regarded as the architect of the disastrous Cultural Revolution; and Sun Weishi who was the adopted daughter of Mao’s arch rival Chou En Lai and became China’s first female theatre director. Before the play we were able to introduce a friend who has recently moved to the area and her daughters to the Kiln which we hope will become a useful cultural hub for them – teenage eyes widened at the thought of £5 cinema tickets! I enjoyed the play very much despite some slightly melodramatic delivery from time to time., But it brought back some distant memories. I was in China in 1981 as part of a lecture and workshop visit when I worked for the Inner London Education Authority. This was five years after the end of the Cultural Revolution but we saw the effect it had had on artists with hands wrecked by rural toil, writers’ spirits broken through lack of books. Several people – including our interpreter Sho-jian asking if I could marry her so she could get out of China – were adamant that the movement had been an utter failure, but were still not willing to talk about it openly, only when we found quiet unmonitored corners.

People were keen to practice their English with us in Beijing in 1981

I had tickets for a Wigmore Hall concert on Saturday but thanks to a recommendation from Frances I went first of all to the Royal Academy of Arts to see the Brasil! Brasil! The Birth of Modernism exhibition. Good call Fran! The last time a major exhibition of Brazilian art was held in London was at the RA in 1944 – I didn’t go as I was one. The show featured ten different artists who had had an influence on mid twentieth century art movements in Brazil. Sadly it closes on 21 April but you can get a flavour here. Many of the artists had studied in Europe but most had a very distinctive local feel featuring indigenous characters and local traditions. Given that some of our friends are members of Morris sides, I liked the Brazilian equivalent.

With time in hand I sauntered up Bond Street towards the Wigmore Hall and with sunny skies, warm weather I looked up and saw something i’d never noticed before. On the Time-Life Building half way up is a screen by Henry Moore from 1952. It’s appaerntly a very rare example of work of this kind in that he could sculpt both sides. I’ve walked along Bond Street many times but to my shame had never noticed it before.

And when I turned round from snapping one surprise, I got another. The Halcyon Gallery where I recently reported my surprise at Bob Dylan’s paintings, there’s a superb array of Hockney works on paper. These range from the early lithographs of Celia Birtwell and Californian pools to recent iPad drawings in Yorkshire and Normandy. I need to win the lottery before I can go back as a customer but the staff are most obliging and informative if you just want to look. Then it was time to make for the original target of today’s outing after some unexpected delights along the way.

I met a young music composition student Zyggy de Somogyi a couple of years ago at a weekend in Oborne in Dorset and we’ve remained in touch. Indeed I asked Zyggy to write the music tracks for the series of videos we made to celebrate 100 Years at Vicarage Road for Watford Football Club in 2022. Basing his work on some fan chants I sent he matched the predominant sounds of the decades – ragtime, swing etc to drive the narratives along. I’m here today to listen to the world premieres of two of his works commissioned by the Royal Philharmonic Society Composers Programme which gives young musiciians space to develop. Ten years ago Dani Howard was on the same programme and I met her at the same weekend in Dorset – small world.

Zyggy introducing the first work Music for the quarter life crisis Etude for synth. This was a solo work for Xiaowen Shang. It opened with dramatic synthesiser notes and segued into lyrical passages. Then recurring motifs transferred from the synth to an almost orchestral piano sequence. The playing was emotionally powerful and was rapturously received by a fair sized audience for Easter Saturday at lunch time for an all contemporary music gig.

Other pieces were a new work by Ashkan Layegh, a trio by Lowell Lieberman that showed off the skills of the group Temporal Harmonies Inc – Xiaowen on piano, Lydia Walquist on flute and Mikolaj Piszczorowicz on the cello, followed by Caroline Shaw’s wonderful In manus tuas is based on a motet by Thomas Tallis arranged for solo cello and Kaija Saariaho’s Mirrors for flute and cello. The concluding work was Zyggy’s second premiere IN THE EVENT THAT YOU STAY, This was written with the trio in mind and indeed with their collaboration. It’s in four movements which included drama, bombast, a peaceful second movement, a sense of progression and a finale which featured soft vocalising chanting of the title and eventually all members singing. It brought a lump to the throat. I was a very impressive work and I hope it enters the repertoire of contemporary chamber music.

*Lydia, Xiaowen, Mikolaj, Zyggy and Ashkan taking a bow*

I had a chance to meet with all the musicians in, and outside the Cock and Lion pub as well as several members of Zyggy’s family. His mum said she was pleasantly surprised with his compositions because there were tunes in his pieces which she thought he’d had knocked out of him at uni. “He used to write tunes,” she said “and then he didn’t.” There certainly were tunes and they were very professionally played. It was a real pleasure to listen to andf then spend time with these talented young musicians. Cuts notwithstanding, there’s great stuff going on out there.

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Vampires Bach in Ramsgate

Monday sees me off to the Hampstead Theatre to join Frances for the press night of John Donelly’s new play Apex Predator. It’s directed by Blanche McIntyre who did Tom Stoppard’s The Invention of Love so brilliantly earlier this year so expectation was high. First sight of the auditorium was of a domestic kitchen-diner surrounded by towering scaffolding – well most of London is still work in progress – and rice paper screens that rise and fall to signal scene changes.

At the start, with exhausted new mum Mia rocking her young baby girl Isla who won’t sleep, I thought we were in for an update on Look Back in Anger or other kitchen sink dramas. Sophie Melville plays Mia very intelligently veering from utterly broken, unable-to-cope mother to a raging harridan when castigating her often absent on secretive IT-based police work husband Joe (Bryan Dick). Their elder son Alfie is being bullied at school and Mia’s encounter with teacher Ana, played by Laura Whitmore – a splendid mix of smooth confidante, encourager of excess and vengeful destroyer – is all friendly deviousness. The cast is completed by Leander Deeny who plays Aggressive Commuter, Park Flasher, Oopulent Womaniser and Vampire Victim. Because yes, into the domestic scenario comes vampirism in a fabulous coup de theatre at the end of act one. Blanche later confided that victim Leander had arrived at the first read through announcing himself: “I’m lunch”!

Under Blanche McIntyre’s direction, aided by dramatic sound, set and lighting design there are plenty of moments of high drama but also some very funny lines and situation comedy that kept the audience gripped. There are perhaps too many elements covered in the play but as a metaphor for greed and exploitation and increasing levels of unchecked violence the vampirism works well. It also expresses our fears for the future of the world we are just about clinging on to – an aspect highlighted in Alfie’s (played very subtly throughout by Callum Knowelden) school presentation. My immediate post show WhatsApp to a friend still stands: On train on way home – exhilarating, scary, brilliantly directed (as I was able to tell Blanche), full of familiar anxieties and I will be very careful shaving tomorrow.

*The OAE choir and the RFH organ in all its splendour.*

Thursday evening is spent at the Royal Festival Hall for a performance of Bach’s St Matthew Passion by the Orchestra and Choir of the Age of Enlightenment. It was preceded by a talk with CEO Crispin Woodhead, leader Kati Debretzeni and singer Amy Wood. The discussion was enlightening (sorry) in showing how performers find something new in a very familiar work, how conductor-led and self directed performances differ and the panel pointed out various elements to listen out for. Not least the fact that the opening sung word of Part Twp lasts for a full fourteen beats. The word? Ach. (Ah).

The mass is a piece I’ve heard in several guises over the years and the story is familiar. After all I spent a long while in Israel back in 1992 producing a photographic The Bible Alive for Harper Collins publishers with photographer Tony May. Budget and logistics meant we could only use twelve extras so while the cruxifixion wasn’t too challenging we had fun with the wedding at Canaan and the feeding the five thousand spreads. And only affording to hire three camels made the Magi caravan cover spread a logistical nightmare with multiple walkie talkies across the hills. All this in the early days of image manipluation – years before Photoshop was developed, we used mostly the Quantel Paintbox.

The balanced forces of the OAE in two orchestras, the excellent soloists and a dynamic approach from Jonathan Cohen gave the mass a wonderful clarity and strong narrative sense. There were many highlights but for me probably ‘Erbarme dich’ (Have mercy) with the outstanding countertenor/alto Iestyn Davies interacting with Huw Daniel’s violin with muted string underscore was the pinnacle – suffering, compassion and humility all in a few bars of exquisite music.

It was altogether a wonderful evening in a hall with consummate musicians enjoying what they do best. At the end there was a stunned and respectful silence before an outbreak of rapturous applause and many recalls for bows from the soloists and Jonathan Cohen.

Theatre, music and now literature. Saturday saw me head off to Ramsgate for the launch of my friends Anna Błasiak and Lisa Kalloo’s latest book of poems and photographs – largely about growing up gay in Poland in the latter decades of the last century. But I was also able to take in some new areas of this fascinating town after having to be rescued by Anna after not reading the poster properly and going to the wrong (derelict) venue.

Liverpool Lawn terrace, end house and a seafront bus shelter and Spencer Square where Van Gogh lodged in 1876, some of the interesting architecture of Ramsgate

There are a number of ‘Lawns’ around Ramsgate – Anna and Lisa live in one too – and very elegant they are with their Georgian frontages and curved construction to enhance sea views. But now to the real purpose – the launch of Deliverance/Rozpetanie Anna and Lisa’s second collaboration in a volume of poems and photographs. It’s bilingual in Polish and English, often as you can see in the poems featured below in alternate phrases and sentences which produces a wholly different reading experience from the more conventional parallel text treatment. You can buy it here and it’s an emotional roller coaster with horrific stories of prejudice but lots of humour too and it is complemented by Lisa’s haunting photographs. Anna was interviewed about her work and read several of the poems to a thoroughly engaged audience.

Many of the photographs from the book were displayed in the gallery too and some of the concrete poems. I met a lot of new and interesting people and was able to pay for my overnight hospitality by assuming the duties of ‘wine pourer’ – well some things just come naturally.

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Groupie Grandad

On Sunday I had the great privilege of attending the rehearsal for the Orchestra of the Age of Enlightenment’s Das Jahr concert at the Queen Elizabeth Hall. Friends were invited to take coffee and cake in the Artist’s Bar at 13:00. So it was with great excitement that I entered as instructed through the Artists’ Entrance – this feels special already. Familiar faces were around, coffee was fine but the promised cake did not materialise. One of the familiar faces was composer Electra Perivolaris who I’d met a couple of weeks before at the OAE Season Launch. We had a chat about the piece of her’s that was being rehearsed and played today and it was soon time to enter the hall for the rehearsal to begin. I knew one of the other composers Roxanna Panufnik who I remembered from a previous occasion gives up chocolate for Lent. When I reminded her of this: “Ah,” she said, “but I’m a Catholic and today’s Sunday so we don’t have to fast!” She then introduced me to the other two composers Errolyn Wallen, appointed Master of the King’s Music in August last year, and Freya Waley-Cohen. I sat behind the four as they discussed each other’s work, prepared comments for the conductor and orchestra members. Seeing a cheeky thumbs up between Electra and tympanist Adrian Bending when a suggestion came good was fun to see. Watching them enhance the playing of their compositions was (sorry) enlightening. I’ve given lots of notes to actors and seen performances change for the better but in this new context it was exciting – literally in one instance when a segment of Freya’s piece was played for a third time with different intensity and I got goosebumps. I’m now a total women composer groupie!

Freya Waley-Cohen giving notes to the orchestra.

After the rehearsal concluded to everyone’s satisfaction, there was a break and then the composers joined Max Mandel (principal viola and artistic co-ordinator of the project) for a talk about Fanny Mendelssohn’s piano cycle and how it had inspired the four composers to write their own compositions. They also spoke of the challenges of writing for historically accurate period instruments.

Then it was off to the bar and a chance to catch up with more OAE regulars and to be joined by Frances for the concert itself. This consisted of several of Fanny’s original months from the cycle played brilliantly by Olga Pashchenko on an 1831 Erard piano similar to an instrument Fanny would have used. We also heard the only full orchestral composition she completed – it was an era when it wasn’t seemly for women to write for orchestras – the Overture in C major. It’s a shame she didn’t do more. Conducted enthusiastically by Natalia Ponomarchuk, the overture moved from haunting horn figures through strings and wind sections with strong melodies and frequent lively arpeggios that showed a mastery of composing for an orchestra. The three pieces by Electra (March), Errolyn (April) – as it happens their own birth months too – and Freya (After June) followed. The subtleties and reflexions of Fanny’s work became more apparent on this second hearing and I hope they’ll get many more outings which all three fully deserve. The second half of the programme started with Olga playing the summer months and then four principals from the OAE played a romanze from Fanny’s String Quartet in E flat major which again showed what an underrated, supressed compser she was. The word is that she was a far superior pianist than her younger brother Felix but wasn’t allowed to perform. The finale was Roxanna Panufnik’s piece Postlude inspired by the thirteenth section which Fanny had added to the year. It had witty echoes of Fanny’s own work and a rhythmic pulse which drove it along. There were minimalist passages and areas that fully exploited the orchestra’s capabilities – I really enjoyed it. Natalia Ponomarchuk brought both enthusiasm and precision to the whole concert.

*Olga Paschenko and Natalia Ponomarchuk take a bow with the Orchestra of the Age of Enlightenment.*

After a feast of music old and new it was time on to theatre new and slightly older. Monday was The Habits at Hampstead Theatre downstairs. It’s a first play by award-winning director Max Bradfield. It is set in a boardgame café in Bromley – very close to home! The action unfolds through a (to me) baffling game of Dungeons and Dragons (my son and grandson both play) and through the moments out of D&D character we learn of the participants’ real lives encompassing ambition, grief, addiction, fecklessness and perhaps love. It’s brilliantly acted with switches in and out of role done most skilfully and there are lots of laughs and some fabulous dressing up for the finale.

*Ruby Stokes as Jess with her dragon* in The Habits *at Hampstead.*

Across town to the Orange Tree in Richmond on Tuesday to revel in April de Angelis’s Playhouse Creatures. Written in 1993 and set in the 1660s when theatres were just opening up again after the Cromwell interregnum had closed down all forms of pleasure. It’s a period I was familiar with having done lots of research for a series of blogs and a script I wrote for Clive Myrie to present at the OAE’s concert of Restoration Music in 2021 when theatres and concert halls here were just opening again after the Covid lockdowns. In London theatre in 1660 there was a real sensation – women were allowed to appear on stage and took to it with gusto if Ms de Angelis is to be believed.

Some of the girl power here could have benefitted poor Fanny Mendelssohn a couple of centuries later. Funny, informative about acting craft in the Restoration period and with insights into the struggle for fair pay, the roles of women in those times both on and off stage, the play gives us plenty to think about that resonate in these uncertain times for actors and musicians as theatres try to recover from the lockdowns. It’s bawdy and brash and gives you plenty of belly laughs with a few winces of agonised reality thrown in.

The cast led by Anna Chancellor as Mrs Betterton – wife of theatre owner Thomas – are all excellent bringing depth to the on and off-stage characters they portray: Katherine Kingsley as sweary men-baiting Mrs Marshall; Dona Croll as Doll Common the drudge with attitude; Nicole Sawyerr pained at being supplanted as the King’s mistress by the younger version in the form of Nell Gwyn played with increasing assurance by Zoe Brough (that’s the character not Zoe’s performance).

Wednesday evening saw me again as a music groupie but also a grandad. Grandson Jake was playing his cello in the Royal Holloway Symphony Orchestra in a programme that included Felix Mendelssohn’s Hebrides Overture, Holst’s Planets Suite and the Trombone Concerto by Dani Howard who I’ve been honoured to call a friend and whose music in the Casa Battló in Barcelona I wrote about a few years back. I also attended the London premiere of the Trombone Concerto at the Barbican so was interested to hear how it sounded here. I had picked up my son-in-law (daughter at work sadly) and driven into a full, low, thoroughly disconcerting, huge red setting sun through Surrey lanes towards the M25 which was relatively free-flowing and we arrived at the magnificent Royal Holloway in time to grab a sandwich in the well-appointed campus shop. I remembered making a promotional recruitment video for RHU back in the 80s when I did a whole slew of such videos for KIng’s College London, Guy’s and St Thomas’s Medical and Dental Schools, Imperial College, Felsted and Harrow Schools. The Royal Holloway shoot was special as we had access to a helicopter to fly over the campus for the money shots – and also for the estates director to see close up footage of any necessary roof repairs!

Royal Holloway University Founder’s Building from the air

Who ever designed the auditorium clearly never expected 100 performers to be occupyingo the stage. People in the front row seats were in danger of injury during the longer slide extensions of the solo trombone. What was wonderful was to see so many young people being encouraged with whoops and whistles from their mates to entertain us with a programme of classical music. The players responded well. The Mendelssohn was a bit shaky to start but soon found its stride. Dani Howard’s trombone concerto was given an excellent reading under orchestral music director of the university Rebecca Miller with Amelia Lewis in fine command of the complex trombone parts.

*Amelia Lewis, Rebecca Miller and about half the orchestra at Royal Holloway Windsor Auditorium*.

After the interval the orchestra played Gustav Holst’s The Planets Suite and Chris and I – as well as being impressed by the massive forces deployed – reckoned that we very rarely heard all seven planets played together. The line-up included lesser-spotted bass versions of flute, oboe, clarinet and trombone and impressive percussion arrays. There was enthusiasm, energy and considerable musicality in the performance and it gladdens the heart to hear music of such quality from a youthful university orchestra at a time when university finances are so threatened.

After a debrief with Jake and some of the other players we managed to negotiate the insane Junction 13 from the A30 onto the M25 and the never-ending roadworks at Junction 10 and made it back home in reasonable time despite several overheads warning us of “Workforce in the Carriageway”. We saw few.

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A week of triumphs

The week started with a couple of weird happenstances – two very good friends of mine from way back in the seventies got in touch and we’ve arranged to meet and catch up. With five decades of life, love, marriages and deaths to discuss – it should be fun. A triumph for the connected world.

The sun came out and I got to do some much-needed gardening clearance, pruning and even some planting. I also had an evening at home during which I was able to watch the amazing Adolescence the Jack Thorne/Stephen Graham four part series on Netflix.

It’s a shame that British tv is in the state where to make a show of this brilliance and significance it has to be on a streamer. The message it conveys about incel inculcation seemingly by osmosis in teenage boys needs the widest possible audience to have the societal impact that Mr Bates had. As television it is magnificent with stand out performances from Stephen Graham (expected), Ashley Walters (playing totally against type) and Owen Cooper (staggering newcomer’s first role) with superb support from a fine cast. It follows the proven meme of ‘show don’t tell’ with director Philip Barrantini employing the fluid single-take camerawork that allows you to observe how this tragedy has come to pass. It’s not an easy watch because of the content and the fact that you are emotionally – almost physically – invested in every nuance. A triumph for filmaking and communicating essential information – would have been even greater had it been on the BBC or Channel 4.

Tuesday’s triumph was for honesty over spin. I was setting off on a train for a meeting at Watford Museum having judged the connections to help me get there on time. However the train from Lee to Charing Cross kept stopping and then running extremely slowly. Rather than the usual tannoy guff the driver came on and said: “I apologise for the extremely long time it has taken us to get into Charing Cross this morning . I’d like to explain why it has been so slow but I haven’t a clue”. I was late but we still had a good meeting helping sort out Watford FC and its charity, the Community Sports & Education Trust’s, presence in the new museum when it moves later this year.

Wednesday took me to St George’s Hanover Square to hear Handel’s Trionfo del Tempo e del Disinganno an oratorio he wrote in Rome in 1707 when he was 22. Beauty (Bellezza), struggles to reject the short-termist sensual temptations offered by Pleasure (Piacere) but receives wise and benevolent counsel from Time (Tempo) and Enlightenment (Disinganno). The title tells you who wins. It’s a wonderful score with lyrical arias, instrumental sequences favouring different sections of the orchestra and it was performed brilliantly by the Irish Baroque Orchestra directed by Peter Whelan from the harpsichord as part of the annual London Handel Festival.

It was sung by four exceptional soloists seen above taking their bows with Peter Whelan far left. Rowan Pierce, soprano, was the naive Beauty, Helen Charlston’s powerful mezzo offered seductive temptations as Pleasure which were countered by Jess Dandy, a contrasting mellow mezzo representing Enlightenment while James Way’s tenor called Time. Rowan, Helen and James were in the first group of ‘Rising Stars’ of the Orchestra of the Age of Enlightenment which anyone has read previous blogs will know is my favourite ensemble. Their two-year programme serves as an apprenticeship for young professionals giving them the opportunity to perform with the orchestra in a wide variety of repertoire. It clearly works as these alumni were in super form.

In a week that started with weird happenstances, this evening continued the pattern. On the programme sheet I noticed that one of the violinists was called Jenna Raggett. Now my surname is not that common so I asked the orchestra manager if she would pass my card to Jenna. We had a chat after the concert and we were both delighted to meet each other. Jenna said “I’ve never met another Raggett” and was going to share the news with her parents and we’ll hopefully keep in touch. I wasn’t aware of any Irish connection so research is needed into clan Raggett.

During the time I got home from the Trionfo concert and when I went out to my car mid morning on Thursday, it had been broken into and the battery had drained as the radio was left on with no volume so it looks like deliberate vandalism as there was nothing stolen just a horrid mess to sort out and an annoyingly repetitive police report to file online.

The AA came and charged up the battery and I was able to make my planned journey to Bovingdon.

I was kindly invited to stay the night there after accompanying Frances, her sister Rose and her niece Amelia to the Annual Gala Dinner of the Watford Community Sports & Education Trust. As we left for Watford I was surprised to have a phone call from the police asking if there was any CCTV footage available or other evidence. I had to confirm that there wasn’t – I don’t pay to have my Ring doorbell record video (cheapskate!) – and asked whether I wanted to be referred to Victim Support. I thanked Irena for the offer but thought there were others more urgently in need of the service.

The Gala is a great occasion celebrating the charity work of the excellent organisation which is in itself a triumph at a time of shrinking budgets and donations. 17, 796 individuals have used it services or facilities in the last year providing a huge social benefit to the community in Hertfordshire and the London Borough of Harrow. It was a chance to catch up with friends, former and current players and to chat to the head coach Tom Cleverly who we’ve known since he came to Watford on loan as a seventeen-year-old when he sat on a table with Dee and me at that year’s end of season dinner with a leg in plaster and needing crutches to collect his player of the season award. It’s a delight to see him doing so well with limited resources.

Having a laugh with Adrian Mariappa while Moussa Sissoko and Nigel Gibbs look on

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Rallentando – un poco

So after all those wonderful outings and stimulated by some excellent cultural offerings (see other recent blogs) it’s a week to slow down a bit. Sunday saw me take a train to Southend to attend a volunteers day at The Jazz Centre UK where I’d been invited because the management team thought I might be able to contribute something to their publicity, marketing and social media plans. I think this was based largely on the fact that I designed and maintain the website of legendary tenor saxophone player Alan Skidmore and posted about his recent gig at the Centre. It was a lively series of discussions with lots of ideas being put forward but, as with so many charities, their execution will depend on funding being sought and secured.

The midweek gave me the pleasure of welcoming my friend Anna Blasiak – a Polish writer and translator – to Raggett Towers. We worked together at one of the British Bilingual Poetry Collective’s Translation Circles a couple of years back and became firm friends. Here she is explaining a nuance to Eeshita while I’m looking for the right words to convey it in English. She is one of the twelve poets featured in our anthology Home and Belonging published by Palewell Press last year.

And as well as buying me an excellent thank you breakfast before she left on Thursday, I have an invitation to the launch in Ramsgate in April of the latest book she has written with photographs by her wife Lisa Kalloo. I’m looking forward to that trip and spending more time with this creative and lovely couple. I’ve stayed with them before and exploring this increasinly arty town on the Kent coast is a real delight.

Thursday evening saw me joining Rosa and Hattie, Paola and Harry from the OAE at a Friends’ Outing to see The Score at the Theatre Royal Haymarket. I also met Nuria, a friend of Rosa, who was visiting London from Barcelona. She professed to have little English but we got by and she laughed in all the right places in the play.

And there were plenty of laughs in the story of deeply Christian J S Bach going to the court of deeply militarist Frederick the Great where JS’s son CPE is among the coterie of composers the king had collected around him. Cue high levels of competitiveness and entrenched positions.

Brian Cox’s performance was outstanding – grumpy, serene and authoritarian by turns – and it was good to see him on the stage with his wife, Nicole Ansari Cox ,for the first time since they did Tom Stoppard’s Rock and Roll together in 2006. As well as providing lots of camp melodrama, Oliver Cotton’s play led you to think about patronage, compromise, theology and materialism in a lively production by Trevor Nunn. The scenes where the Mr and Mrs Cox-Bachs were together were very touching.

Friday lunchtime took me to the Arcola Theater in Dalston for a rehearsed reading of a famous modern Japanese play newly translated into English. Multiple award winning Ai Nagai is celebrated in Japan for her plays that focus on social issues and this one is no exception – menopause, relationship breakups, jealousy, ageing and memory all feature. Translated by one of the actors in this reading Meg Kubota, the English version had us all laughing out loud on numerous occasions an sucking our teeth in shock at others. It’s called Women Who Want to Tidy Up and features three schoolfriends who have kept loosely in touch through to their fifties where one of them, Tsunko, has broken up with her much younger boyfriend and is not answering her friends’ calls, So they arrive to find the apartment on which Tsunko had spent a lot of money in a complete hoarder’s mess. Although it was a reading, the stage in my mind’s eye was strewn with black bin bags, cardboard boxes, clothes, newspapers and magazines and half empty food containers. It’s a designer’s delight when it gets the full production which it richly deserves. I hope through the good work of the Japan Foundation it does secure a full London staging – it is very funny and very thought-provoking about stuff. Marie Kondo’s shadow looms over it.

*A post-reading Q&A with Ai Nagai, her interpreter, translator/actor Meg Kubota and director Ria Parry.*

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Carry On Culture

After my slightly odd Valentine’s weekend I plunged into a fortnight of amazing cultural activity. Keeping on keeping on will, I hope, hold dementia at bay. Another life motto has always been ‘Do it while you can’. I don’t usually write about this stuff but the blog is partly for me to reminisce with when I can get out anymore. So ignore if you just like my travels not my opinions.

So here’s how it all kept coming. Monday 17 February East is South at Hampstead Theatre courtesy of Frances’ patronage. Company, canapes, networking first class play not so much. It was a semi sci-fi thriller/Line of Duty style interrogation about data leaks from a world changing computer programme Logos. Written by Beau Willimon the creator of the US version of House of Cards, its subject matter was highly apposite with the march of AI. However it sometimes felt as if the script had been written by AI with strange diatribes, a virtually unused character and rather cliched and confusing flashbacks.

The next night made up for any disappointment. Following my previous exploration of Sadler’s Wells East Tuesday saw me heading for the Rosebery Avenue Sadler’s for Pina Bausch’s Vollmond. Need Es to lift your spirits? Well they were here aplenty! Entertaining, exquisite, energetic, enthralling. It was one of the last things Bausch choreographed and it a lot lighter in mood than some of her work.

We had dancers flirting, arguing, courting and conversing often soaked in torrential water flowing from the flies. I got talking in the interval to a couple of professional classical musicians – she harpist, he oboe – which was an interesting precursor to Wednesday. We all absolutely loved the performance and my only regret was that two friends who would have loved it couldn’t be with me.

Wednesday evening saw me accompanied by local resident Frances to the launch of the 2025-26 season of the Orchestra of the Age of Enlightenment of which I’ve been a long-time supporter and occasional contributor of blogs, scripts and articles. It was help in the wonderful brutalist hexagonal hall of their home Acland Burghley School in Tufnell Park. Alongside the exciting reveal of Fantastic Symphonies to be played between October and March at the Southbank Centre and on tour, we were treated to a recital by the mezzo-soprano Helen Charlston accompanied on the harpsichord by Satako Doi-Luck. Helen benefitted from the OAE’s rising stars scheme and now has a stellar recital career covering baroque, classical and contemporary repertoire. However she will find it hard to stop being asked about singing Dido’s Lament backwards in an OAE video. Satako is part of Ensemble Moliere that specialises in exploring the world of Baroque music. I’ve been to a couple of their concerts too. But the plans for celebrating OAE’s 40th anniversary are exciting with the return of early supporter Sir Simon Rattle who contributed a splendid video interview to the evening, alongside many other familiar figures in OAE history. Check out the programme here and let me know if you fancy joining me to hear this fantastic group of players and lovely people.

I stayed home on Thursday and on Friday joined my friend Opu Islam at the launch of an exciting heritage project in the Bengali community in the East End. It’s an initiative from the Season of Bangla Drama to which the British Bilingual Poetry Collective (of which I am a gtrustee) contributes each year. There were discussions with producers and poetry recitals as well. It’ll be interesting to see the outcome in the 2026 festival.

What a treat on Saturday with Celia Imrie and Tamsin Greig both on stage at the Donmar Warehouse in Backstroke! Two superb actors trading mother daughter love and insults in equal measure in a fascinating if slightly baggy play. It made me wonder if writers are always the best people to direct their own work. Still a hugely enjoyable evening.

I woke on Sunday at 10:15 after finally falling asleep at six after a horrendous night with acute toothache. This was too late for me to get to Watford to see our arch rivals Luton beaten 2-0 some revenge for our defeat in the reverse fixture. It was on the telly and the house was filled with shouting best left on the terraces.

I’d arranged to visit a friend Nuala O’Sullivan on Monday afternoon before going to join Frances at the Orange Tree in Richmond. Nuala was a BBC World Service colleague back in 2009 and then co-wrote on of my ELT series with me in 2014-15, She has subsequently founded and runs the highly successful Women Over Fifty Film Festival so it was great to talk film, literature and life with her. Walthamstow to Richmond is not the most straightforward journey but I’m glad I made it. Frances had been invited to a special staging of the play in the hope (successful) of luring her back as a patron. At a reception we had an opportunity to talk with Tom Littler the artistic director of the Orange and also the director of the play we were about to see. Both very impressive.

I’ve long been a fan of Howard Brenton from the controversy over The Romans in Britain back in 1980, through plays like Pravda at the National, The Arrest of Ai Wei Wei and Drawing the Line at Hampstead. This new work Churchill in Moscow in which two would-be world leaders slugged it out in negotiations could not be more timely. Dramatically it was frightening, funny and fascinating with wonderful supporting roles for the two interpreters who put their own palliative gloss on what Churchill and Stalin were saying to each other. In the compact space of the Orange Tree you really felt part of the action.

The rest of the week was calmer just on Thursday a pre-concert talk about and an electrifying performance of the Beethoven Violin Concerto with Vilde Frang and the Eroica Symphony in which Maxim Emelyanychev conducted the OAE in a rousing performance with no residual hint of Napoleon.

Then there was a trip to Watford as part of a consulting group helping plan the move of the Watford Museum from the old site in what was Benskin’s Brewery into the Town Hall later this year. Lots of interesting ideas with fellow supporters and friends. I also foolishly decided to have an occasional away-day trip to our game at Stoke on Saturday which proved beyond all doubt that we go for the people not the football – excruciatingly dull match – adjudged a bore draw by colleague Frances in her blog, but great beer and conversation.

And the next week was pretty similar …

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My Funny Valentine’s weekend

Long before visiting Kappabashi street in Tokyo a few years ago, I’d been fascinated by the replica food displays outside Japanese restaurants. They are immensly helpful and proved so again during our visit in 2018 when my granddaughter was able to select her lunch from a display case and was surprised at how similar the actual dish was when it arrived. So when the Japan House announced Looks Delicious! I was determined to go. I booked tickets for the 14 February so that my friend Rosa who was also keen to go would be back from a work visit to Spain. However events conspired to make her unavailable. I had also booked to go to the Royal Opera House to see Mark-Anthony Turnage’s Festen that evening. Maybe not the most romantic choice for Valentine’s Day but hey, Dee and I had seen the stage version on a New Year’s Eve in 2004 followed by a stroll down to the Embankment for the fireworks and night buses home!

Then two things happened. My son suggested we do a Valentine’s dinner and Festen evening together as his wife was away on business in Singapore. Sounds great. I had also emailed my friend Susie Stranders who works at the ROH to see if she was around that evening. She wasn’t but invited me to a Live at Lunch recital she was giving in the Paul Hamlyn Hall at one o’ clock. Also great. Hasty reworking of plans to move Japan House tickets from 16:00 to 10:30 and set off early on Friday morning for High Street Kensington.

I swear I nearly cried as I could smell these onions as I walked into the exhibition. There was in fact no smellivision, just my reflex imagination. There were a number of well curated displays of food laid out on plinths that cleverly echoed Japan’s islands and each contained specialities of the various prefectures. Below are a few images that show the educational as well as the fun side of food replica making in Japan. I had only seen their use in restaurants but quickly saw how they were valuable in education and nutrition advice too.

So after this delightful and slightly surprisingly educational visit – I hadn’t expected displays showing suitable foodstuffs for diabetics, for example, nor displays showing ideal meals throughout the day for healthy living. But although there were “do not touch” symbols on the main exhibits there was a corner where you could build your own Bento Box. Such fun! It’s now time to head for the number 9 bus and Covent Garden.

I walked up through the busy market – lots of tourists for February, but it was sunny I guess – and arrived to seek out Nikki who had the Live at Lunch token Susie had kindly set aside for me. It was just as well as the beautiful Floral – now Paul Hamlyn – Hall was absolutely packed. Nikki conducted me to a reserved seat with a good sightline to the piano. Susie introduced her colleague mezzo-soprano Carrie and promised us a suitably romantic programme for St Valentine’s Day. They started with Wagner’s Wesendonck Lieder which were an exquisite series of Valentine’s cards to his lover Mathilde Wesendonck whose poems he set. He marked two of them ‘In the greenhouse’ and ‘Dreams’ as studies for Tistan and Isolde the opera he was compsing at the time and there were familiar themes. This was followed by a series of Richard Strauss songs and then giving the audience respite from instatranslating German we had a final selection of English songs. It was a lovely way to spend the best part of an hour and I’m very grateful to Susie for inviting me. I’ll be looking out for more. The recitals are free but on a first come first served basis. I then had the pleasure of a brief lunch with Susie before she rushed off to other repetiteur duties and audition accompaniments.

With a couple of hours to spare I thought I’d see if I could blag my way into the Courtauld gallery’s new exhibition From Goya to Impressionism. Despite my pleading that it was just me and there must be a no-show or two, my entreaties fell on deaf ears. This month is all sold out but it looks like there’s availability in March so I will get to see it. However the permanent collection is always worth a visit, so I did that and then walked back through a suddenly sunny London to meet my son Tom for tapas at Barrafina in Drury Lane. On the way I popped into the Drury Lane Gardens which is mostly a children’s play area but had its borders all replanted last year by plantsman Peter Korn and local primary school children with sustanable plants that were good for wildlife. I’ll be sure to go back and see how the planting progresses.

After delicious Barrafina fare including scallops, sweetbreads and their superb squidgy tortilla we made our way to the Opera House for a relaxing drink and catch up before the curtain went up on this magnificent work. Having seen both the Dogme film and the stage adaptataion how would this work as opera? Mark-Anthony Turnage has had a few other excursions into opera with Anna Nicole which was a hit in 2011 and was also directed by Richard Jones who was at the helm of Festen this time.

Susie who had been on opening night asked me to share my thoughts. Here’s what I sent her: The score was incredibly inventive with powerful passages that blew you away contrasted with exquisite writing in the quieter moments. The staging was wonderful with that vast expanse filled with action at times and still, like a watching Greek chorus, at others. I couldn’t fault the singers either who were clear and expressive to a person. And both Tom and I really enjoyed and were moved by it and the two guys I was sitting next to thought it was among the best nights they spent at the opera – ever. We had a couple of glasses to mull over it all in the Marquess of Anglesey across the road before making our way to Charing Cross to catch train and tube to our homes. What a wonderful Valentine’s Day.

And it continued into Saturday as I was invited to a members’ tour of the newly opened Sadler’s Wells East in Stratford. It’s part of the East Bank complex which includes BBC Music Studios, the London College of Fashion and a new V&A museum as well as an outpost of University College London. We were treated to introductory videos about the building and its potential uses and a short dance film with local community involvement. There were also two performances in the dance space in the main foyer with recent graduates from the National Youth Dance Company.

The building is impressive with some wonderful brickwork throughout and auditorium detailing and sightlines that promise visits being a real treat with rows and seats easy to find. It has a very steep rake and the front three rows can be removed to extend the stage for immersive production. A similar sort of flexibility in the space that we’ve experienced in Bridge Theatre productions. We were also allowed to visit the studios above where works can be developed – in the biggest on the scale of the main stage which mirrors that at the Angel.

**Britannia Morton**, CEO explains the stage

It was a privilege to explore this excellent new venue and after a coffee in its canal side Park Bar and Kitchen it was time for a stroll along the rest of East Bank. The whole Olympic Park is now so differnt from the days a while back of trekking from the stations to the stdium for the Olympics, baseball or away games at West Ham. When all the new buildings are fully operational like Sadler’s Wells East it should be a lively place to visit. The V&A East is due to open in May 2025

And as it started to drizzle on the arriving Hammers fans, I made my way to the DLR and back home in time to listen to an excellent performance by Watford to gain an unexpected three points at Middlesbrough. A fine and funny weekend.

Madrid and Granada 2024

Sea and sierra

Mountain air yesterday, I decided I needed sea air today. Motril is due south of Granada and takes about 50 minutes so off I go after a tyre screeching exit from the seriously steep parking garage. I find a lot of Spanish parking places difficult to get in and out of – thank God I didn’t accept the Transit! We did part of this route several years ago before it was the A44 motorway but I was delighted to see the sign by the roadside as we cross through the pass over which the Christians finally banished the Moors I’m sure it used to say Ultimo Suspiro – the last sigh.

Crossing it brings into view something I’ve not seen so far this week – clouds, high and fluffy but definitely clouds. O level geography comes flooding back! Convection. I reach Motril without problems except that as it is surrounded by a flat plain it is littered with polytunnels – the port is renowned for its exports of fruit – they even grow mangoes and avocados here. The town itself looks dull and I find myself on the western side with signs to Salobreña which we did visit many years ago and I recalled as being much more agreeable. It had a convenient parking place and a cafe where I had my usual breakfast. I then strolled around the lower part of the town deciding against either driving or walking up to the magnificent castle that stands atop the hill.

The pleasant pedestrian street where I had breakfast

I was looking for a seafront but from a convenient map saw that the beaches were grouped around it but not directly connected to the centre. On my wanders I encountered the market, so had to take a look. There were disappoiningly few stalls but a class of children making bread and a belen on a proper modest scale.

I need a walk beside the sea so head for Caleta-La Guardia which again has a free parking place at the entrance from which there’s another view of the impressive Salobrańa castle.

There’s a wide curving beach with the greyish sand that is common along the Costa Tropical along which I take a bracing stroll – the onshore wind is quite strong and the porridge-like sand gives my calves a real work out. I pass a woman emerging from the sea – it’s probably too warm for the likes of Fran and other year-round swimmers – but she clearly enjoyed it. Bar Manolo provided a restorative stop after my exertions – another version of that spicy chickpea tapa and an Alhambra beer.

The beaches and the beached at Caleta-La Guardia

As well as twisty mountain roads I love driving along twisty and dippy coastal roads and the one along here is brilliant as spurs of the sierra run right into the sea. Many, many years ago I recall driving along stretches of the N340 still being constructed and the surface was compacted stones not tarmac. It’s much smoother today – they do roads well in Spain. An exhilarating section of the Carretera de Almeria takes me along to Almuñecar which I think will make a good stop for lunch. It’s a very busy resort town and as I crawl through he promenade and beach area I can see no signs of parking possibility. After a second circuit I abandon hope and decide to head out somewhere else. I can’t even stop to check alternatives to the main A7-A44 motorway route. So I’m inexorably sucked in to the return route home – where’s your navigator when you need her – until a red light comes on to tell me I’m low on petrol. This was the result of a tricksy deal from Alamo whose policy is full out/full return, but because of all their scrambles yesterday my deal was half full out/half full back. How are you supposed to gauge that? From the morning’s journey I knew there were two service areas near Granada but none on this southern stretch. I ask Dolores for the nearest petrol station who confirms the one I know and in a strange car I don’t know if we’ll make it.

There’s a sign for Lanjaron and La Alpujarra coming up so I take the bold (or stupid) decision to exit the motorway in quest of gas. Lanjaron is a town renowned for its mineral water – we must have drunk almost as much of it as of Vichy Catalan – so if there’s a business there’s got to be a petrol station. My relief when I saw this was palpable since the odds of getting assistance in the high mountains for a rental car were pretty low.

In the distance just beyond the factory was my salvation. Transportes Lanjaron, as well as servicing their own vehicles, have a couple of pumps selling fuel to the public. It felt a bit odd as you had to go through factory style iron gates but it worked and I slightly misjudged the quantity being miffed to see the fuel needle pointing at three quarters. The journey back along the A-348 was much calmer and I enjoyed its sinuous progress through the sierra. In retrospect, I wish I’d gone on into the town to see if there was anywhere to park – hindsight, eh! In both directions the mountains are very impressive with eagles out-soaring the peaks, dense forested slopes, blue glints of reservoirs, occasional bright green meadows and cuttings revealing red and ochre rock faces as this amazing road was carved out. You’ll have to make do with my words as there’s nowhere to stop and snap.

I follow a more sensible route back into Granada this time so I think Dolores has forgiven me. The car is scratch and dink free and my deposit is returned and I go in quest of the number 4 to get me back into the centre. As I start walking down Avenida de la Constitution I come to another of those little parks. This one is part of the University Campus and I’m attracted to a sculpture of stone slabs and a little further on what looks very like a Henry Moore. Research needed to identify as there were no plaques displayed.

A new tapa experience with my beer in Puerta Real – a slice of toast with pâté topped with an anchovy which proved a very pleasant taste contrast. Following the difficulties of the last few days I booked a table for 8.30 in La Chicotá one of the smarter looking places up Navas street. A different take on berenjenas with the aubergine cut into chip-like slices and fried with a separate sugar cane honey dispenser. There was a very tempting meat fridge looking at me but seeing the size of the steaks being served I played safe with the meat balls which were excellent. They even had half-bottles of wine so that was a result – a red from Rioja Alavesa. And as it was my last night in Granada, I treated myself to a copa with my coffee. A very acceptable Carlos I. Should sleep well tonight.

Cheers Dee – you’d have had one too.

Madrid and Granada 2024

Museo Day

I planned to visit three museums today – Granada’s Fine Arts, Manuel de Falla‘s house and the Museo de Los Tiros and get back to the hotel to listen to Watford v Portsmouth commentary on my phone. The Bellas Artes is up in the Alhambra complex so it was grab a coffee and tostada (tomato, ham and olive oil on a lovely wholemeal toast) in Bongo which is right across from the Alhambra bus stop.

The museum is in Carlos V’s massive ego trip of a palace, had lots of steps, contained a few interesting paintings but swathes of third rate Christian canvases that I’m afraid didn’t detain me long. Jeff Koons had “interacted“ with some of them by placing shiny blue balloons in front of them so that we could reflect. I didn’t waste the pixels.

The outstanding item and a real surprise was a loan of the Three Graces from the Picasso Museum in Malaga. Painted at the height of his classical period, it’s a stunning piece that looks like sculpture until you get close. I’d gazed at it in Malaga and loved seeing it here again.

Apart from that, there were a few paintings I liked and some that had interest for other reasons. One of the main streets near me is called Angel Ganivet who I couldn’t place but thought I’d vaguely heard of. He was a diplomat, traveller and writer who committed suicide by drowning in 1898 after years of syphilis-induced depression – how to get a street named for you and your portrait painted! One of his books was called Granada Bella (Beautiful Granada) so I guess that explains it.

Then it was up towards the Parador to grab a coffee on its terrace for old times sake but the terrace was closed because of an operation I’d never seen before. Did you ever wonder if cypresses had a natural shedding system to keep the elegant slender shape? I had wondered once or twice. Well here’s the answer.

The Parador’s courtyard does have a nice bell tower – it was a convent – and some nice paving patterns.

So I set off for the Casa-Museo Manual de Falla about fifteen minutes walk away to find a sign saying “Tour in Progress. No more than 25 minutes wait“. There was a convenient garden in the sun presided over by a bust of the composer so I sat there and read for a while.

Never go back they say and Dee and I had a magical visit here many years ago when one of our tour party was allowed to play de Falla‘s piano which had been a gift from the makers Pleyel in Paris – they also gave one to Chopin in Mallorca but that’s in another blog ( or search Chopin). No playing this trip but a couple from Granada now living in Elephant and Castle and a Dutch mother and son (I think!) made for a pleasantly small group to tour this fascinating little house. Big things for me were a zither Lorca gave him as a present, a myriad of ashtrays as MdF was a chain smoker and a hypochondriac – a heart attack finally took him – lots of Catholic symbols, but somehow he became a great composer of wild things like El Amor Brujo, La Tricorne and the lyrical Night in the Gardens of Spain. A friend of Lorca, Picasso and Debussy, Diaghilev and Balanchine, He skipped to Argentina when the Spanish Civil War broke out and died there. But 20-odd years of his life are vividly apparent in this little house. An absolute gem.

De Falla’s clock he cherished as it reminded him of his birthplace in Cadiz, another city I love, his office with another super typewriter, the Pleyel piano, the sitting room, pantry and Lorca’s zither gift.

One of my go-to DVDs is the Carlos Saura films that feature de Falla’s El Amor Brujo, Lorca’s Blood Wedding and Bizet’s Carmen. The DVD isn’t available, it seems, but I’m sure they are out there on YouTube. Antonio Gades and Cristina Hoyos are dancers at the peak of both classical, flamenco and modern dance genres – fantastic stuff. Do find and enjoy.

I walk down into Plaza Nueva via a steep stony pathway with slippery fallen leaves – but hey I take it slowly and don’t fall over. Rewarding myself with a beer a rabbit hole appears. I walked along the Rio Genil yesterday but I’m now at the start of a walk alongside the Rio Darro. Can’t resist. So I set now off in the opposite direction to the third museum into the heart of the Albaicin and Sacromonte. The latter is the gypsy quarter and every other building seems to have a tablao flamenco as well as a whole street of shops selling souvenirs you’ll regret once you get home. OK I’m a cynic.

The Rio Darro, one of many bridges that lead to costly restaurants and the remains of a the Arco del Cadi that linked Alhambra and Albaicin.

It’s now time for a light lunch – quite a mission as every restaurant and bar is rammed. However I do find a table beside a multigenerational family with baby screaming until finally breastfed. Ignoring all this I enjoyed a tapas of a bagel with sobresada, olive oil and ham and then some pinchos morunos – herby pork chunks on skewers. But now museum #3 or football? No contest – I’ve already had WhatsApp pics of a happy gang in the West Herts Sports and Social Club and I miss them, so the least I can do is torture myself by going back to the hotel and listening to the commentary.

My route takes me through a part of the city I hadn’t seen before passing the splendid Capilla Real sadly half shrouded in construction awning. But soon I’m on familiar ground and down heaving Calle Navas to the hotel. (Oh yes, as someone said in a comment – isn’t the sky blue!)

Back home. Oh shit we’re behind on 10 minutes through – surprise, surprise – a defensive error. Then in the second half there’s a was it wasn’t it penalty. Well thank God Kayembe scored it. Tension builds – we don’t do draws at home. It all sounds a bit fractious with punch ups and time wasting until – reach for the cava – Rocco Vata scores in the fifth minute of six of added time. Three points – back in the playoff positions. I need a lie down.

But I recovered to go out for dinner – delicious lamb cutlets with a spicy sauce and confit red peppers and a glass or two of a local wine from Granada – a Tempranillo from Bodegas Vilaplana – which was very pleasant indeed and before this trip I didn’t know Granada had a DOC. Ain’t travel fun!

Madrid and Granada 2024

Christmas Ramble

Earlier in the week, I’d thought today might be a good time to explore the parks that flank the river Genil on the southern side of the city. Thinking few cafes would be open early, I had booked the hotel’s buffet breakfast which gave me a good start to the day. I then ventured into the outside world and started my walkabout on the rambla that leads to the big roundabout down by the river. Just lovely.

One of the things I love about this city is the pavement decorations made from light and dark grey stones. They vary from area to area and some have quite intricate patterns.

The pomegranate is the symbol of Granada

As I reach the paseo I’m confronted by a plethora of Christmas attractions; a traditional carousel which says adults can ride too! Then there’s a mini train driven by Santa and a huge snow slide as well as a skating rink.

The riverside promenade is quite wide and offers a number of options for walkers – a pavement right beside the river mostly used by people in wheelchairs and runners, a tree and shrub lined walk for strolling in the shade and a sand and gravel avenue among plane trees. I do bit of the walk in each, just because I can.

It has seating areas, fountains and statues and makes for an interesting amble. The city is well provided with explanatory signs so some history and context are hoovered up along the way. This eagle topped- column is dedicated to Don San Pedro de Galatino a businessman who saw the potential for tourism from the Sierra Nevada and built roads and tramways to enable access from Granada. Clearly a worthy entrepreneur.

At the moment the river is a shallow stream but the cleverly arranged boulders form a series of weirs to manage the flow in spring when the snow melt from the Sierra Nevada turns into a torrent – at least that’s I’m told by a gent who engages me in conversation. They say the snow is early this year and could be heavy come January.

After a while on the right bank I come to a modern metal sided bridge which takes me over the Genil and after a time I wonder how far it will be before the next one. It is in fact about a kilometre before I can cross back over in front of a very impressive sports complex in which tennis and basketball are underway in the morning sun.

My wander back along the other bank begins to take on some urgency as I’ve been on the move for well over an hour now and the aroma of prawns in garlic means that a restaurant and therefor loos can’t be far away. I reach Restaurante Nagare and enquire if I can get a table for a drink – I always try to make a purchase so as not to take advantage. This request is met with laughter which I soon realise is because the entire place – probably a hundred or so covers – is reserved for Christmas Day lunches, a tradition we had noticed in previous visits. They were kind enough to waive the “Loos only for customers” rule and let me in. I make it along to the plaza where I started my walk and find a table in El Sifon which brings me a beer and a delicious tapa of spicy chickpeas.

I cross over the Roman Bridge – built in the 13th century but on the foundations of an earlier Roman era bridge hence its name. It’s pedestrianised now and flanked by a modern vehicle river crossing.

On the south side of the river I find a lengthy queue for a massive Belen in a big marquee. Years ago these used to be quite modest affairs but they have become huge with whole scenarios of daily life as well as the nativity essentials of stable, shepherds and wise men. Just after leaving it I passed a shop where you can buy all the elements to make your own at home.

The Alhambra gets a look in of course and you can make your from this shop.

This area also has the Congress and Exhibition Centre. Apart from conferences and trade shows it has an auditorium but sadly no music for me this visit. I’m secretly relived as going up all those steps could be a challenge.

Given the state of restaurants I’ve seen on my walk, I am fortunate to get a table – inside only – at Biloba which is not far from the Cafe Futbol which itself has no space. So I’m a bit apprehensive that if this place has room, will the food any good or excessively expensive. The tapa with my beer is a delicious small dish of paella with a whole prawn and some chunks of pork and chicken. Meat close to the bone is always the most tasty and I had pigs cheeks the other day so I choose the rabo de toro – oxtail in a delicious herby and garlicky gravy. Accompanied by a good red from DOC Granada, I needn’t have worried about the fact that they had room for me. It was delicious, reasonably priced and set me up for another picnic supper in my room as all the restaurants will be closed again tonight. So the evening is spent reading, writing, watching some TV and includes a video call to the family which rounds off a lovely Christmas Day.

Madrid and Granada 2024

Lorca Day 1

I have always been a big fan of Federico Garcia Lorca as a poet, playwright, composer and martyr. He came from Granada so I had to take the opportunity of exploring his heritage in and around the city. I had seen the stunning Harriet Walter in The House of Bernarda Alba on stage and Glenda Jackson playing Bernarda in the film. And both Juliet Stevenson in a regular performance of Yerma followed by Bille Piper’s stunning portrayal in the adaption at the Young Vic showed the current relevance of Lorca’s work. l’m renting a car later in the week to visit his birthplace and early home in Fuente Vaqueros and Valderrubio but today is concentrated in the city itself. I decide not to breakfast in the Cafe Futbol again as I need to head off in the opposite direction. I do find the requisite juice and coffee but then get sidetracked on the way. I later discovered it was just as well as the FGL Centre doesn’t open until 11:00.

First I walk past this arched entrance which I discover is to El Corral de Carbon which dates from the early 1300s and was an al-fundaq – a corn exchange and lodging house for merchants bringing wheat to the city. It has a splendid courtyard with huge grape vines climbing up its pillars to form a canopy – sadly bare at this time of year.

Then I was back at the market – one of my weaknesses in any town or city. The Mercado de San Agustin did not disappoint with its superb seafood and ham stalls, lots of bars and lots of noise.

By now it is well past opening time and I set off for the first objective of the day. Spot the writer!

It took a long time and a lot of wrangling to get a centre to celebrate Lorca in his home province – Madrid and New York got there much earlier. This modern building houses the archive of his works that was assembled by family after a) his death, secretly and b) after Franco, more openly. There are thousands of manuscripts of plays, poems, songs and prose; extensive exchanges of correspondence with publishers and producers; recordings of poetry readings; many, many photographs and some video and the big surprise to me lots of his sketches and paintings. I knew he pretty much defined polymath but the paintings and drawings echoing Miro and Dali, Braque and Picasso had escaped my appreciation on previous encounters with his work.

The main display area is on the second or third basement floor – I stopped counting the steps – and has objects, dresses worn by Marianna Xirgu at the premieres of Bernarda Alba and Yerma and letters, press cuttings, brilliant period posters, photographs and the drawings.

I had just started to snap a few when a museum lady came to ask where I was from. She seemed delighted I was from Londres, But also told me photography was forbidden. So all I’ve got are his typewriter and his amazing signature.

I spent a couple of hours soaking up all this Lorciana during which time my appreciation for him grew even more – he was only 38 when they shot him so what might he have gone on to achieve? One of the posters was for a performance by his touring theatre group La Barraca which he founded to take drama to the villages and the people and an incarnation of which still exists. Dee and I saw them perform one of his farces, the very sexy Don Perlimplin in Ubeda a few – probably fifteen – years ago. We didn’t have much Spanish at the time but the action told the story very clearly as explained by the play’s subtitle “An erotic lace-paper valentine in three acts and a prologue”. Happy memories came back as I looked at a Barraca poster.

Fortunately I found a lift to take me from -3 to 0 which saved the legs doing all those stairs upwards. The outside world was perfect with sun, not a cloud to be seen and pharmacy signs indicating 16 degrees. Time for a stroll to the next location the Parque FGL about fifteen minutes away. As so often the walk passed through a couple of the delightful squares that seem to be a characteristic of Granada and indeed many Spanish cities. This one was Plaza Trinidad and there was a long queue for what was obviously a popular bakery kiosk and of course you can’t escape him for long in Granada.

A sense of déjà vu occurred as I crossed the Camino de Ronda where I’d changed buses on Sunday. I was soon at the entrance to the park which is extensive with a number of different areas.

It also contains the Huerta de San Vicente, the Lorca family summer home in Granada. It narrowly survived a demolition order in 1975 – was Granada still run by Francoists? But public outcry saved it and created the park around it. It’s now a museum but is closed on Christmas Eve but I may get back down later in the week.

I was moved to write a poem while in the gardens which I’ve shared with my BBPC colleagues but won’t bore you all with here. I walked back into the centre along Calle Recogidas another posh shopping street halfway along which I spied a rather nice looking courtyard in the sun – ideal for a beer – first of the day at 14:30 – call this holiday! The courtyard I discovered is part of a smart hotel Palacio de Los Patos in the Hospes hotel chain. We had stayed in one of these in Valencia a few years back ad had enjoyed it very much. But posh street, posh hotel. I could have stayed for 1.75 nights for the price I’m paying for seven nights at my Palacio de Las Navas. Maybe when I win the lottery! But they did give me a free tapa of couscous with seafood.

Patio at Palacio de Los Patos a bit earlier in the year (thanks Tenedor)

The street leads back to the Puerta Real which is close to home and I think about getting some lunch remembering that everything shuts in the evening on Christmas Eve in Spain. Lone eating is difficult when you occupy a table that could take two but on this day it was looney.

This was the state of one of the bars further up Calle Navas – utterly rammed – as were all the others and I received a lot of shaken heads and “lo siento“ responses. I eventually found a pizza place that could give me a pavement table and had a rather good ravioli with roquefort. I then repair to the grocery shop to get some cheese, ham and chorizo for an evening picnic as all the restaurants said they were going to close.

In the evening, Netflix told me a film I’d like was expiring on 31 December so I watched Todos lo Saben (Everybody Knows) a convoluted family drama and kidnap story with Penelope Cruz and Javier Bardem. It wasn’t brilliant but showed current village/small town life in a way I’m sure Lorca would have approved. Peasants not the posh centre stage.

Madrid and Granada 2024

Alhambra day

Tour booked for midday, I woke, showered successfully with the new sleeve and set off for breakfast. The hotel does provide a buffet but you have to book it the day before and I hadn’t.

I walk down the slope towards a small square and what do I see? Cafe Futbol – how could I not? In the well-heated exterior area were lots of people doing churros y chocolate but for me it was the more modest orange juice, cafe solo doble and a croissant. Great start to the day.

I then decided to stroll down the Street of the Virgin towards a tree- lined Paseo alongside the river Genil. This was a recce, but a stroll along here is probably on the cards for Christmas Day. As I returned up the nearby and strangely named Acero del Darro – the Darro river is on the other side of the Alhambra and this road leads to the Genil. Ah well. I am drawn, as so often, into El Corte Ingles the big department store chain as it has loos and the opportunity to replace a falling apart credit card wallet. Back to the hotel to pick up my ticket for the tour and set off up the street to catch the 30 bus to the Alhambra – I’m encouraged to be there 15 minutes early. Nearing the bus stop I realise I left my phone in the room so it’s a quick dash back to retrieve that I make the next bus and the ride up to the Alhambra is crowded but I get there in time to meet Laura, our guide for the next several hours.

We start just outside the entrance to the Parador which brings back a dash of nostalgia and some very happy memories. It was such a delight to walk from breakfast on the terrace straight into the Generalife Gardens.

The said Generalife is where the tour leads us first. Laura points out to the non-Spanish speakers, that it is not an insurance company (!) but the sultan’s summer palace. It gives us great views of the whole complex, a look down on the gardens which grow vegetables and fruit for the palace and we stroll through the summer palace itself noting the areas that are still essentially moorish and those which the conquering Christians decided to convert to more northerly tastes. This theme repeats throughout the tour since the Moors held Spain from 711 until 1492 when Philip and Isabella finally managed to drive them out. So there’s a lot of Arabic influence to overturn. And a lot of mis-translation of Arabic names into Spanish as in this one:

Bib-al-hambra was thought to be the original name which means red gate to the Alhambra but was confused by the incomers with Bib-al-jambra which would have been wine gate. Since Muslims don’t do alcohol it seems that red gate is the most likely but the name Puerta de Vino is on all the signboards.

As we leave the Generalife and move to the fortress and palaces of the Alhambra, Laura gives us some history and context of the astounding engineering capabilities of the Arabs and the ongoing archaeology that is uncovering more of the plebeian areas of the site. To support the sultans and their courts there would have had to be hundreds if not thousands of ordinary folk who baked, spun, made leather, did carpentry, built palaces and castles. They lived in the Medina which has been partially uncovered in recent years.

The most impressive feat of the period of Mohammed I in the 13th century was to make water flow uphill and to capture the river Darro six kilometres away and through water wheels and aqueducts supply his new hilltop city with all the water it needed. There was an interesting BBC report a couple of years back that explains it all and here is part of the original aqueduct that gave the complex the water it needed for drinking, bathing, for fountains and for flushing loos.

The tour takes us next to the alcazaba, the military part of the city. It’s impressive in size and scale and that it is constructed from local compacted earth and not from quarried stone. It also affords great views over Granada and of the sow-topped Sierra Nevada some 40 km to the south east.

My recollection of the amazing decoration, elegant architecture and layout of the Nasrid Palaces was more the reinforced on a second viewing. When Dee and I had been here before we were able to wander at will but now with many vying tour groups – 9000 visitors on a busy day! – it was all a bit more regimented but still with time to admire the craftsmanship in wood, plaster, marble and tiles that make the palaces worth anyone’s time to visit. In my loft at home I have negs and contact sheets of the black and white shots I took on our previous visit – must dig them out when I’m back. Here’s a flavour of today’s visit – in colour.

Laura had been a brilliant guide giving us a short break during which she could smoke a couple of cigarettes – her theory is that smoke numbs the throat and gives her the ability to talk in a foreign language non-stop for three and a half hours. We didn’t discuss the other side effects! On the way out there was either a wedding or a magazine photoshoot in the centre of the very ugly palace that the Hapsburg Holy Roman Emperor and Charles V of Spain plonked in the midst of all this elegance to make his mark. I had hoped after being on my feet for five hours to get the bus back into town but it was so crowded that I gave up and walked – blissfully down – back to the centre. It was a pleasant stroll through the Gomerez forest and passing the ruins of the Bibalrambla Gate which was one of the original entries to the Arabic city from the 11th century until 1492 and is commemorated in the name of the main square.

Much needed respite came in the way of beer and a plate of freshly sliced Iberian ham and the discovery that I was only about 10 minutes form the hotel, where I went to put my feet up for a bit and write up yesterday.

I then made an evening tapas crawl and finished up in a quite posh restaurant where I was able to have another favourite dish carilleras de cerdo (pigs cheeks) served with half a baked apple and caramelised onions – a new take on traditional pork with apple sauce. They just overdid the Christmas thing with my coffee.

Then it was back via another spectacular lights display – a circle round the Puerta Real and when I got back even Navas Street was showing its Christmas spirit.

Madrid and Granada 2024

Westward Ho! Whoa!

So, I leave the hotel in what I thought was good time to catch the 07:35 to Granada. However given the construction work around Atocha Station it’s quite a trek to get there. Then once inside it’s up an escalator, through a huge airport style mall and then an airport style baggage security check which I hadn’t been expecting. However I find seat 7 in coach 2 which I’d been told by train operator Renfe was a special seat with extra space and fewer passengers to ensure a quiet journey. All good you’d think. But just opposite was a family of four with one fairly studious 7 year-old boy but a totally fractious 3 year-old daughter who screamed pretty well non-stop except when being stuffed with food. Bliss! I then freaked out as the announcer said the next stop would be Cordoba. Now I know enough about Spanish geography to position Granada due south of Madrid with Cordoba a long way to the south west. It dawned on me that the AVE (high speed) routes were limited and that it made sense to first build tracks to serve Cordoba, Sevilla and Malaga direct and then construct a new west-east line through Andalusia. As it happens we had seen much of the construction work for this route when visiting friends who used to live in Antequera or renting a cottage in the hamlet of La Parilla, near Iznajar some years ago. Some familiar scenery flashed by as we raced across Andalucia.

However the train did arrive at Granada Station at the time predicted and apart from my neighbours it was a good trip – announcements in Spanish and English, a trolley coffee service (which I didn’t use as it was instant Nescafé – in Spain!) and was clean and comfortable.

My plan was to walk to a nearby bus stop and get a bus to within a five minutes walk of my hotel. Oops! Read the front of the bus more carefully, Michael – CENTRO CERRADO DESVIO POR CAMINO DE RONDA. It meant it wasn’t going anywhere near where I wanted to be but the excellent CityMapper told me where to get off and take another bus. It worked and I arrived much too early to check in but they kindly relieved me of my bags, took my passport and sent me off to explore.

It’s a very fine hotel converted from a sixteenth century palace but fortunately with a lift and modern plumbing and facilities. I selected it because my only prior knowledge of hotels in Granada was the magnificent Parador inside the Alhambra where Dee and I stayed many years ago. This one looked OK and was five minutes walk from lots of things I wanted to do. Arriving before check-in rather forces you to go and explore which I did with glee as Calle Navas where the hotel is located is in a pedestrianised street full of bars and restaurants.

I was waylaid by the aroma of a decent coffee and then discovered that by walking straight up the road I was soon in the famous Plaza Bib Rambla said to be the heart of the city. And boy do they do Christmas here. A Christmas tree circus flying chair device, a cycle-powered traditional carousel and signs to Belens everywhere. These are the scenes of Bethlehem that are a tradition all over Spain. This one was in the splendid Town Hall building.

I found myself outside the market – Mercado de San Agustin which was still pretty lively on a Sunday afternoon and will be visited again. I did sit at a bar outside in bright sun where my phone said it was 17 degrees- oh that’s why I’m here. Looking at the competing menus displayed all around I chose a restaurant that served one of my favourite dishes aubergines with honey which I make myself quite often but this had the added benefit of being topped with miel de caňa which I can’t get in the UK. It’s black, not too sweet and made from sugar cane. My travels took me past the Cathedral, the Lorca centre I intend to visit on Tuesday – in common with most of the world it seems museums don’t open on Mondays – and onto the high-end shopping street Reyes Catolicos, which I skipped along not being much of a window shopper.

My one piece of shopping involved getting a protective sleeve to cover the dressing on my left leg so I could shower properly – in Madrid it had been an early morning struggle to keep it dry. Fortunately protect is protegir and bandage sounds pretty much like vendaje , so I emerge from the farmacia with just what I needed – and it worked well this morning by the way.

I went back to the hotel about five thirty where my luggage had already been taken to my very pleasant room and I spent a while unpacking, organising myself and taking a breather after a fairly hectic day. Post first day blog, read a bit of the Booker prizewinning Orbital and then it’s time to head out for dinner. There are lots of tourists so you can eat at any time you like really but the local families in the place I chose came in around nine to nine-thirty so a bit earlier than Madrid. It proclaimed to be famous for its croquetas so I ordered three filled with morcilla (black pudding) and caramelised onions. They were delicious and very filling so I had a small bowl of chips topped with freshly sliced ham and a spicy tomato sauce. I needed to walk off this repast so I headed off to the central area again to be blinded by the amount of sparkling lights strung across every main thoroughfare. They do do Christmas in Granada!

Back home for a little nightcap, a bit more book and a look forward to tomorrow’s trip to the Alhambra which I had pre booked with an English guide whereas our previous visit from the Parador allowed us to wander at leisure among those amazing palaces and gardens. Apparently you can still get day tickets but the queues are enormous. I’ll find out tomorrow.

Madrid and Granada 2024

On the road (rails, wheels and wings) again

A new adventure starts and I decide it’s going to be a pauper’s trip. So Saturday finds me walking to Lee station as the drizzle turns serious. I board a train to London Bridge, a bus to Liverpool Street and then the Stansted Express to the airport.

None of the luxury of drive up and get an overnight with parking hotel deal. No priority lounge either but a rather good bacon sarnie in Perch. For once there is a shorter Priority queue at Ryanair and we board the plane a mere 30 minutes late. However they make up time with a tail wind and we arrive in Madrid at the scheduled time. On message, it’s take the 5 euro bus into town – no car rental or taxis this trip. Having spent the flight finishing Haruki Murakami’s latest book The City and its Uncertain Walls in which fictional and (f)actual worlds intersect, unicorns die in droves through the cold and people are separated from their shadows, I was relieved to observe people with shadows as I exited the terminal – not least because it meant the sun was shining brightly from a clear blue sky – a real joy after my damp and dismal start to the day.

Sadly the Express bus to Atocha Station called at all the other terminals first and was rammed by the time it got to International Arrivals. So I had some near-intimate encounters with a couple of lady passengers as the bus swerved lanes and managed roundabouts on its way into the city. But we got there and my hotel for one night only was close., I’m glad I’d seen the glories of Atocha before because the elegant structure is now clad in construction work hoardings. I check in to the Hotel Mediodia and quickly set off in quest of a beer and a snack. The cafe Argemosa proves an ideal spot and I’m even given a free tapa – an orange segment topped by some cod and balsamic vinegar and an apple slice with chorizo and migas – both very tasty and a good sign that outside tourist traps, tapas with a drink are still a thing.

This was a very local neighbourhood bar with a massive collection of bottle openers and a reminder that life in Madrid is a bit different.

The blackboard reads:

IN MADRID WE DINE FROM 10 OK.

Refreshed, I wander through trendy Lavapies and make my way slowly up to the centre thinking that Madrid was not as Christmassy as Barcelona had been a couple of years ago. But then I got to Puerto de Sol and saw this enormous tree and a green Santa, a Grinch and a Gruffalo all receiving tips from the passers by – cash not performance notes

Then I walked up to another square and came across – of course – a Christmas market. Then as it grew dark, I started noticing the stars suspended across several streets. I had an evening beer in Plaza Santa Ana – one of our favourite spots on a previous trip – no free tapas here. I had another in a bar earmarked for a longer return visit, La Descubierta, where my Estrella Galicia was served with a slice of bread topped with chorizo and manchego,

I then ventured into a well-stocked bookshop and was amazed to see these titles on display next to each other. Very woke acceptance of past history!

Then it was on to the main event of my overnight in Madrid – a session at the Jazz Cafe Bar Central. I wimped out and booked for the 20:00 gig rather than the 22:00 as my train for Granada leaves at 07:35 in the morning. I had booked the gig and dinner option from their website and as a lone diner was shoved away into a corner – not unreasonable really and the tapas style board was good and went down well with a Rioja I’d had before, Ontanon. The band was the Joshua Edelman Sextet – Edelman on piano with bass, drums and congas and a front line of trombone and flute. They played a lively set of originals and standards with a heavily Cuban feel. Which suited my neighbours well as the couple were born in Havana but had lived in Spain for 40 years. As also was a much younger couple at the next table. So immigrants get everywhere don’t they?

A 15 minute stroll down Calle de Atocha signposted me nicely back to the hotel just as Madrid was getting started for the night. Like my daughter kindly remarked a while back – I’m old. Night, night

One of many stars lighting the streets around the centre.

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Carry on culture back home

SUNDAY 9 JUNE

Back in UK on Friday evening, Saturday shopping and multiple laundry sessions and Sunday it’s off to the Tate Modern with neighbours Sean and Maria and my friend Rosa who last saw me on crutches for Pina Bausch’s Nelken at Sadler’s Wells at the end of january. We four went to see the exhibition Yoko Ono: Music of the Mind. It was back in the sixties when I first heard about her when her film Bottoms caused a great media storm. I’d then obviously been aware of the John Lennon connection but had not really thought about her as a serious artist. But my goodness she is – yes there are some stunts that may be a bit gratuitous, but taken as a body of work this exhibition shows her to be a serious, thought-provoking artist – and very Japanese in her mental processes.

Her earliest works were immaculately typed and calligraphed utterly surrealist notions in her Action Poems with a wide variety of ideas that make you think about dreams, reality and which you’d prefer to be in. So many of these contain messages like the Painting for the Wind where you think how wonderful it would be if new seeds were spread by the wind allowing new life to grow, This idea recurred many years later when she and John sent acorns to world leaders to plant trees for peace. Some of the responses they received are displayed too. It is quite shocking to realise that Yoko was doing things 60 years ago that are considered edgy today. There are far too many to comment on all of them and to read all the works in the show you’d need to be there for days not hours. I might go gain.

Then there’s the mesmeric striking and burning of a match filmed at 2000 frames a second and replayed in ultra slow motion. You can’t take your eyes off it. Throughout the exhibition there is a constant exhortation to get involved to become art yourself – one of us did..

*Drawing round projected shadows makes an intriguing new piece of art and makes you wonder who were all these people.*

The joint projects with Lennon like the Bed In for Peace were shown in films you could watch from benches or bean bags and for many younger visitors these were probably news – I’m old enough to remember them vividly from media coverage at the time. Another of their films Film number 11: Fly was truly disturbing as a number of flies crawled over the naked body of the wonderfully named Virginia Lust accompanied by a very experimental audio track with Yoko’s vocals, John’s guitar and various tape recorder reverse effects. As a producer I hope they paid Ms Lust a substantial fee for her ordeal – she hardly flinched under all those tickly flies’ feet.

I had vaguely heard of the Half a Room project that Yoko first showed at MoMA in 1967. It does make you think about completeness, wholeness and things you are missing in life and trains the eye to see things differently.

As indeed does the bullet hole in a pane of glass where she encourages us to go and look from the other side. When first shown in Germany it was punningly entitled Das Gift with its pleasant English comnnotation but in German gift means poison. It reminds us that John Lennon was tragically shot by a bullet and there are far too many still being fired in conflicts all over the world. She and John were always very politically engaged. Their famous poster WAR IS OVER if you want it can be seen in the background and in many other areas of the exhibition

Getting involved is always on offer – playing chess on all-white boards, climing a step ladder to look at the sky, watching the sky above the Tate on an old B&W TV in real time – they are all asking us to think about art and artificality, imagination and reality and it certainly gave me a great deal of food for thought and arguments to counter those who dismniss this as gimmicks not art. Politics and collaboration are featured in the last two major exhibits. One started as a completely white painted room with a refugee boat as its centerpiece. During the course of the exhibition people have been invited to write messages in varying colours of blue felt pen so that the boat itself and the walls are covered in messages – some highly legible and frequent like FREE PALESTINE, others more intimate expressions of love. And the final room asks visitors to write messages of love for their mothers and pin them to a wall that is growing ever thicker as post-it notes are superimposed on one another.

*Add Colour: Refugee Boat at the tate modern makes us all think about the worldwide refugee crisis*.

MONDAY 10 JUNE

Then on Monday it’s off to Garsington Opera for a performance of Platée, an opera by Jean-Philippe Rameau I’d never seen and only ever heard extracts from. I’m quite a fan of the Baroque and even managed once to use a piece from his opera-ballet Les Indes Galantes as the soundtrack for a infant formula corporate video I made back in the 80s. I’ve been a friend of Garsington for many years now since beinhg introduced to it by my friend Susie Stranders (now at the Royal Opera House) who was music director for several years. I love the brilliantly maintained cricket pitch and the vintage coach ride to the walled garden and especially the glass box opera pavilion all among the lush Chiltern Hills. It helps that they mount outstanding productions with world-class musicians, singers and directors.

So now to Platée with my friend Jadwiga and I keen to explore new adventures knowing little of the story except that it was the familiar theme of the Gods interfering with mortals for their own nefarious purposes. On entering the pavilion we are surprised and delighted by the set which takes the form of Studio 3 at Olympus TV – a particular delight for me having spent a lot of my professional life in such places. During the lengthy and very lovely overture a script conference is taking place where execs demand creatives find ways to boost the falling ratings of the hit show Jupiter and Juno – or should that be Juno and Jupiter as egos are involved here. There are tacky (deliberately) animations on the big screen, the occasional countdown clock that we used to hope the public would never see. There is some brilliant choreography with the meeting room tables swinging around while the creatives search for a solution and for Thespis, Momus and Thalie (Holly Brown a very convincing stomping about the set frustrated producer) as they sort out the new scenario. Now there’s, rightly, no photography allowed during the production and I’m extremely grateful to Garsington for sending me some images to illustrate this blog. Sadly none of them show the entire set in all its glory – plunge pool, colonnade, cocktail bar, fire pit and so on – so hurry and bag a ticket if you can and go and see it for yourself.

*The opening production meeting in the ‘studio’ Photo: Julian Guidera*

The plot is convoluted but what matters is the music. First heard in 1745 at the wedding of the son of Louis XV of France to Maria Teresa Rafaela of Spain, the main character is a none too attractive nymph with whom the team persuade Jupiter to fall in love. Given that Maria Teresa was said to be no beauty, I wonder if there were a few sniggers among the wedding guests. The tradition at the time as we know from Handel was to combine dance with the singing bits to keep the audience happy and there are long passages where you just revel in the melodies, the unusual inventions Rameau introduced in both time and instrumental effects – a timekeeping tambourine was a lovely surprise. I was also struck by his brilliant writing for voices – the trio for the three seen above was ravishing and the choral pieces were beautifully sung by the Garsington Chorus. In the pit was the English Concert under the baton of Paul Agnew who knows this piece really well having sung the role of Platée several times. They were lively and committed throughout. It is a comic opera and the music included some funny elements that were presented skilfully. So yes, Platée is a role for a high tenor making the ingongruity of Jupiter falling for ‘them’ (in modern day wokery I guess) all the more absurd.

First entrance in flippers fresh from the swamp. *Photo: Julian Guidera*

Jupiter enters in a glitzy gold golf buggy and after a beauty parade in Love Island style chooses the dowdy nymph rather than the very pissed off supermodels who were gracing the stage with their colour coordinated wheelie luggage.

Photo: Clive Barda

Special mention has to be made of the dancers who produced some spectacular displays. My eyeballs will never lose the image of them lying in rubber swim rings performing synchronised swimming moves. Nor will I forget the whole casts’ falling repeatedly asleep while waiting for Jupiter to come to the wedding and equally the brilliant staccato movement of their chairs across the set in another scene. As Platée becomes more excited about the impending wedding we have an interlude from a sparkling La Folie whose sheen and style are a contrast to poor Platée’s OTT wedding outfit.

La Folie entertains us. *Photo: Clive Barda*

As we drove home Jadwiga exclaimed that she’d never seen anything like it. I have to agree that Luisa Muller’s production – so different in tone from the last of her productions we’d seen here Britten’s Turn of the Screw – but so admirably suited to the harum scarum, off the wall plot and the musical twists and turns. The TV execs got what they wanted – Juno stormed in full of jealously but then saw Platée and realised that she’s been gulled and all ended happily ever after for Juno and Jupiter.

Juno reclaims Jupiter *Photo: Julian Guidera*

As I said in another post last week when gods and mortals mingle it always ends in tears for the earthlings. It was a cruel end for Platée ridiculed for her pretension and slinking off back to her swamp. But then life ain’t fair is it? What is fair is that, despite everything, Garsington Opera can still put on evenings like this despite the draconian cut backs to the arts. In fact they’ve just opened a wonderful facility on the site Garsington Studios so that rehearsals can take place simultaneously for different productions and sets can be contructed, wardrobe and props made, making the whole production process so much smoother for all concerned. And when not used for the company, the studios can be hired out to produce income. Thank you Garsington for another superb evening at the opera, I can’t wait to come back for Benjamin Britten’s A Midsummer Night’s Dream on 19 July.

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Last day dilemma

Last days of holidays are often a bit of a problem. You have to check in for a flight by a certain time but what do you do with the time in between? In my case it’s a three hour drive direct to the airport at Palermo and I need to drop off the car around two o’clock to make the two hour check-in slot. Breakfasted and out before nine, what’s to do? I have a nerdy rush of completism. I’ve been in/by the Mediterranean Sea at Agrigento and Modica Marina and the Ionian Sea at Siracusa and Taormina but Sicily is a triangle and the long top side has the Tyrrhenian Sea. There’s a town called Cefalu that sounds interesting and that’s an hour from Palermo so I’d have the advantage of puting most of the drive in first thus reducing the get-to-the-airport-on-time panic factor. On the triangle thing, I’d been ignorant of why I keep seeing three-legged figures everywhere like the one below on airport floor tiles. So I looked it up and it’s the Trinacria the symbol of Sicily first adopted in 1282 which became an official part of the Sicilian flag in 1943. The woman is Medusa with her snakey hair, wheat ears for fertility and the three legs represent Sicily’s three capes at the points of the triangle – isn’t the internet useful sometimes.

So I leave my pleasant home for four days and set off for Cefalu. The first part of the journey is a repeat of yesterday as far at Catania but then veers off through the centre of the island on the A19. The A suggests autostrada or motorway and bits of it are but I reckon 30% of my journey was in slow single file traffic through mostly invisible roadworks – the odd digger made you think some work might be going on now and then. The landscape is generally brown and pretty dull until I get to Enna where on entering the Madonie mountain chain where the massive Pizzo Carbonara (o not a duly noted) is the second highest peak after Etna. I was surprised to see a ski lift sign by the roadside but there’s a resort here, Piano Battaglia, and a further two on Etna. Then it’s a long descent towards Palermo before a side road heads off to Cefalu. I’m glad I made the detour. It’s a very pretty town in a splendid bay and therefore totally touristy – but that’s no bad thing. It reminded me a bit of the Concha beach in San Sebastian (Donostia for any Basque readers). A long promenade, colourful beach umbrellas, the fight for a stretch of the strand, warm sea and bright sun – all the ingrdients for a fun holiday. So I headed to the ‘second most important cathedral after Monreale’. It’s, of course, up a flight of steps and built in Norman style between 1131 and 1240. Like Monreale it has a lot of gold and the altar piece is a massive and incredibly detailed mosaic of Christo Pancreator. And the museum nearby has a portrait by Antonello da Messina (of Annunciata fame) of a smiling boy. He was good.

A quick coffee and then off to the car hire return place, confirm no damage to report and take the shuttle bus into the airport. As this was my first journey since the operation, I’d been a bit worried about my hip through scanners but in both instances I just pointed to it and said either “metal hip replacement” at Stansted or point at hip and “metallico” at Palermo. In both instances I had a further wand wafted over me before being allowed to proceed. I did have a photo on my phone and my hospital discharge papers just in case but they weren’t required. The flight was delayed by 30 minutes but was happily uneventful. It was clearly not a busy time but still took 30 minutes to slalom our way through passport control. My suitcase had at least arrived by then so I retrieved it, I got the Stansted shuttle bus to the long stay car park, took a few moments to realise I didn’t have to change gear any more and arrived home having had a thoroughly enjoyable holiday in Sicily.

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Sicily of the stars

So Thursday dawns bright after a another horrendous Sahara storm in the night which has left the car looking like a Damien Hirst dot painting with sand blobs or a negative Dalmatian dog. The washers work, I can see out safely and set off. I decided to head for Taormina up to the northern part of the Ionian Sea nestling under Mount Etna, Sicily’s pride and joy. A bit like Fuji in Japan, Etna imagery is everywhere and it happens to be a very good wine DOC. I’m not going to do the many tours on offer. But she looks great from the road, (it should be said there are frequent stop areas so no driving danger involved).

Movie stars, models, la belle monde have made Taormina the playground of the rich and famous since the days of the Grand Tour. I was intrigued by a Monty Don BBC series about a garden made by the Brit socialite Florence Trevelyan. The best way there is up the motorway past Catania – a place I’ve decided to omit from my trip as it looks like a sprawling industrial city – actually Sicily’s second biggest. What the road does do is give great views of Mount Etna.I bypass Catania, the second largest city as I think it will be too much for the last of my days here. From the road it looks like an enormous sprawl as the Catania plain floats into the sea. Taormina looks much more attractive, after all Wagner visited in 1881 and said “We should have fled there in 1858 and spared ourselves many torments. The children could have lived on prickly pears!” It proved a haven for Oscar Wilde when he was too gay for Capri. The composer Ethel Smythe spent time here as did D H Lawrence. I don’t have Sky Atlantic but I believe series two of White Lotus was filmed here so it must be worth a look. Giulia does a great job getting me to the gardens I was seeking but of course there is nowhere to park and I descend back to the seafront some two hundred metres below. Following my Ragusa experience I look for a hop on hop off bus to take me back up. From a sign on the exterior, there’s supposed to be an Tourist Information point in the elegant station but there isn’t, not even a closed window. I wonder for a moment if I should have come by train. I enquire of a taxi driver who says he’ll take me up for 50 euros which I politely decline, have a wander along the seafront and have a coffee to think about things.

The station at Taormina and a cove and beach.

Eventually I decide to drive back up and hope a parking space opens up. I’m amused by Giulia’s instructions to take ‘via Luigi Pirandello’. I think whoever was responsible for street names had a great sense of humour. This street from lower to upper Taormina is a hair-raising, gear-changing succession of hairpin bends – with as many twists as Pirandello plot.

The centre looks very crowded and touristy and I let her take me straight to the gardens again. They were created by Florence Trevelyan who came to Taormina after – rumour has it – Queen Victoria exiled her after an illicit affair with Prince Edward. Whatever she built a house near Taormina’s Greek Theatre, She married Salvatore Cacciola a doctor and sometime mayor of the town. She also bought the small island Isola Bella and a large expanse of land up in the centre where she laid out a private leisure garden with views of Etna and a whole host of follies (a feast for my folly guru Gwyn) which she called her ‘beehives’. They are in many different shapes and sizes and made from a variety of stone, cloth, brick, pipes, wood and other architectural salvage. There’s also a war memorial formed by an Italian wartime two man submarine, her own henge and lots of bougainvillea (one on the move?), sunflowers and fragrant plants.

Time for lunch and where better than Ristorante al Giardino? I happen to be wearing my Murakami T-shirt today (a story from another day here). It elicits an admiring comment from a couple also dining there. I tell them the story and we have an intersting conversation during which Lilian – who I think said she was from Chicago – and her companion express an interest in travelling to Japan so we chat even more. They move on and my sea bream in lemon sauce arrives with a glass of Etna Catarratto – perfect. I explore the town a bit and then head back to find my car. From up here have a great view of the station from above – glad I didn’t come by train and try to walk up! – posh dolce vita hotel and the beaches I was walking along earlier. It is a truly spectacular coastline and I can see while it appealed to so many in the belle epoque and to producers of glitzy TV.

As I set off back down the A18 I think of making a slight detour to a town the sign for which I’ve seen a few times as I pass. Augusta is the very pleasant capital of Maine. I think there’s another where people play golf. So when I see a sign claiming it as the city of two ports I visualize myself sipping an evening beer watching activity in a quaint harbour. Fat chance! After a rigorous exploration of the terrain I discover that the two harbours are #1 Military and #2 oil terminal complex. Tail between legs – back home!

Augusta – Intersting town gate, military harbour and oil refinery sprawl.

My evening beer is in the brilliantly named Civico Maltato (the malted city) near the amazing cylindrical church of St Thomas of the Pantheon where the setting sun catches the stained glass dramatically. I had food left over from last night’s culinary efforts so it’s back home to eat and pack.

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Noto bene, Ragusa rifusa e Medic-toeranneo

So after a local day yesterday and still glowing from last night’s theatre trip – I know family and friends have seen opera in Verona but this was a first for me and was just astounding – I planned to venture south to Noto and Ragusa both highly recommended both by the book and Gwyn and Von. Giulia Googlemappa took me on an interesting route when I’d clicked no motorways. It wended its way through flat areas near Siracusa with citrus fruit and olives, gradually segueing to slightly more upland areas near Avola of wine DOC fame where slopes were covered in poly tunnels and black and red vine protection nets. Necessary eyesores I suppose but not pleasant companions among rural roads fragrant with rosemary (I nicked some for later) and other odours.

I could see that Noto was a seriously hilly town so I made my way quite a way up, found a parking spot, shot the street name so I could find my way back and set off up to the centre. My first encounter in a pleasant, not quite yet awake square, was the Chiesa di Santissimo Crocifisso. I mounted its steps and entered a really splendid space. Apart from the church itself there was a pair of Roman era lion sculptures which used to be outside but were moved into the nave in 1984 to prevent further environmental damage – early onset climate change awareness, perhaps.

*Church exterior and interior and the very friendly lions.*

Walking around in 32 degrees brings on a thirst but as I’m driving and it’s only 10:30, I settle for a granita. I’d had it explained somewhere that the granita started in Sicily because they brought down great blocks of ice from the mountains to preface the refrigerator and a bright spark said we can make money out of this. Siracusa lemons are also highly regarded so I was honoured to receive this refreshing dish – served with a spoon rather than in a glass with a straw as in Spain. Off to find the cathedral and town hall both must-see buildings in a town where at every corner you are stunned by the architecture and the expense of constructing these palazzos.

*A random palazzo of which there are so many.*

So of course there are more steps up to the cathedral and from the top I look back at the town hall which was built in 1746 in a style ‘inspired by French palaces’. Well just wow. Twenty arches on thin columns defying gravity. I prefer the baroque cathedral of Saint Nicholas myself from1776.

Inside the cathedral I was able to have a moment of levity with my grandson Jake by WhatsApping him a pic of his namesake suggesting he was praying for good A level results – pre-university entrance qualifying exams for those not familiar. Poor Jake some of the worst exams of your life. But you’ll be fine, I’m sure.

I think I could have happily spent more time in Noto, but Ragusa called. The drive there was exhilarating through undulating foothills and then into switchback roads through Modica and then into some real valleys, nay gorges Agrigento, as we approach Ragusa. It’s perched across a hillside and gave me a first problem. Note to self number whatever by now: be precise with Giulia delle mappe. There are two Ragusas and she takes me quite logically to the one where you can drive, park your car and enjoy a bland modern city. However I need to be in Ragusa Ibla further across the hill. Two towns joined by a staircase threatens the guide book. I follow brown Ibla signs and being turned back by a cop at a another road sign that said ‘city centre permit holders only’, I do a U-turn and find a convenient parking place and start to walk up into the real Ragusa. At first sight it reminded me of Deja in Mallorca clinging to its hillside. However this was a really big hillside and after 170-odd steps with a few bits of level in between I seem nowhere near reaching the centre. I also missed my footing a couple of times as the steps are uneven and recalling a broken elbow in Mallorca and my daughter’s admonition “You are old” I regretfully abandon Ragusa, retrace my steps, carefully, back down to the car and head off back to Modica for lunch. This may be a major regret of my life as Ragusa sounds amazing. Tant pis! I am old!

*Ragusa cathedral, as almost an abstract painting and from a distance!*

Sitting with a beer and a ham and mozzarella cannoli in Modica, feeling a little crestfallen let’s admit it, two thoughts occur to me: Italian pastry is very stodgy and I’ll avoid it in future – understand it’s role is to be filling while hiding the fact that fillings are the expensive bit while flour and water are plentiful, Second I’m on holiday on an island and while I’ve seen the sea I’ve not really been that close or indeed to the seaside. So Giulia is tasked with taking me to Modica Marina which sounds like it should be on the coast. It is and it’s lovely. Free parking until the season kicks in on June 25, a sandy beach and a promenade which I guess would be filled with eateries when the season starts, and aloo. I sit on an bench for an hour and read Colm Toibin’s fabulous sequel to Brooklyn, Long Island. I’m biting my nails with the jeopardy at every turn. What a writer! This is what holidays are meant to be. Eilis takes a dip in freezing Irish Sea in the chapter I just finished.

*Beach and promenade at Modica Marina and yes there were lots of people swimming – well a few.*

Encouraged by this I took myself to the strand, removed my shoes and exposed the wounded Birkenstock toe to the healing influence of the warm and salty Med. Seems to have worked as it’s not leaking stuff anymore. Now I’d said to lots of people I was booking a BnB in Siracusa so I could market shop and cook one night or so, because I love markets and regret not being able to shop because I’m in a hotel. Well Monday I’d just arrived, Tuesday was the theatre trip and a huge lunch so now looked like the tine. A local supplier allowed me to purchase one potato (cubed and fried in olive oil with the rosemary I’d knicked), an aubergine, a pepper and he had a piece of pork fillet (unusual in Sicily) an attractive option after an almost entirely, and happily fish diet, it seemed a good idea. I cubed the pork and made a mini-ratatouille with the veg and enjoyed it with the only possible wine since I’d driven through Avola in the morning.

*Local street vendor and local wine. Good Night!*

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The paper gods

So it’s Tuesday and Syracuse. I’m booked for Fedra at the Greek theatre at 19.30 so decide Ito spend the day doing a tour of Siracusa’s famous island Ortygia. There are two bridges onto the island and the main street close to my apartment, Corso Umbero I, leads directly to one of them.

Confronted almost immediately by a cat on a hot car roof, I have to head off the way it’s pointing. So I go there and admire the ruins of the Temple of Apollo – grey not the golden stone of yesterday’s ‘Valley’, but impressive in scale. And it dates back to the sixth century BCE.

*Apollo’s temple remains and the arch I loved.*

I walk on through the Jewish quarter, cursing Netanyahu for giving them an undeserved bad name, and find myself enchanted by a tiny church (San Paolo I think) with a magical Catalan style multi-column arch – just so elegant. As I pass through the narrow streets I am often lured by planting displays into dead ends – hey, that’s discovery! I emerged at a seaside street and opposite was a building that made me think I’d chosen the right BnB.

Shortly after this, as a self-styled writer, I was intrigued by the Museum of Papyrus. Yes I known it’s importance and Egypt and all that but why in Sicily? So I have to go in and find out. It transpires that in times past papyrus plants came to Sicily as part of conventional trade deals and found a home on the river Caine, where it has flourished. It’s not just a museum it’s a whole research centre into papyrus ancient and modern with rooms stacked with files and specimens that we could not enter. But where we could go was fascinating with a video tracing Carrado Basile’s fascination with all things papyrus, the production process and examples of works on papyrus from many different centuries. And of course they had papyrus boats which I had heard of before. I was particularly struck by an ancient Egyptian palette and pens.

After an unexpectedly interesting hour and a half (always keep an open mind!) I walked on around to the easternmost point of Ortygia but I couldn’t see the mainland., but the sea was good and the prospect appealing.

It proved even better in that a bar with a beer was close by and restored me to walk into the main square in quest of Caravaggio. One of his paintings The Burial of Santa Lucia is in a church here. It isn’t, but there’s a technologically brilliant facsimile involving hi-res scanning and 3-D printing. It’s in a room with a modern take on the subject that I liked for it’s expressionism and a photographic tableau recreation that was quite scary.

*The ‘original’; detail of Lucia, modern response and detail from photo recreation. Chiaroscuro lives!*

This church dedicated to Lucia the patron saint of Sicily is at the edge of a very impressive main square with the cathedral and of course lots of restaurants, It’s a fine cathedral too.

*Chiesa Di Santa Lucia; the main piazza, Cathedral frontage and amazingly original Greek temple columns incorporated into the Christian cathedral. I’d never seen this before.*

It’s time for lunch and I take it back by the other bridge off Ortygia, A seafood mixed grill gives me two enormous prawns, octopus tentacles (sorry!) and a squid and a slice of swordfish, full stomach, oily fingers and a good local crisp wine to set it off,

Next step was to book a cab for the Teatro Greco and sadly do some laundry. I’d packed a few pairs of pants and a couple of tops too few. The dryer on the balcony was struck by a Saharan sand storm in the night so I had to do it all again next morning. Reassurance – I do have clean pants.

But the theatre visit was incredible. Loads of young people thronging their way in – set book at school? The amphitheatre is a stunning semicircle and despite the cushions (thanks) you can still see much of the original stone seats. It gradually filled up.

I had an interesting exchange with a group of young women who asked whether I’d understand a word. I told them I knew the story and loved theatre and wan’t going to pass up a probably once-in-a lifetime experiences. They sang Happy Birthday to me and we were friends for the duration – I did feel a little uneasy as an 80 year-old among teenagers but soon the play was the thing and we all became absorbed by a production directed by the Scottish Paul Curran. And what a production! A huge godhead formed the main set dressing, otherwise mostly scaffolding, A mix of wafty mauve-tinged shifts for the chorus, dramatic yellow for sad Oenone, black for Fedra and an amazing gold outfit for Aphrodite. The opening Chorus scene was a great dance routine The opposing armies were in rescue services hi-vis gear and helmets.. And as so often with Greek drama it all ends in tears and cheers. The audience stood as one at the end to salute the performers,

*Never was going to end well but brilliantly performed with size of auditorium and fading light to contend with – so glad I went.*

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The Valley (!) of the Temples and sea to sea

After a pleasant breakfast on a sunny terrace at the BnB with views up to the top of the old town and out to sea, I set off for Selinunte, the amazing archeological site just ten minutes from the centre of Agrigento. I noted as I went to the car, that inverted umbrella displays were not the sole prerogative of Valdepeñas where I’d first seen streets full of them a few years back.

As you approach the main entrance this magnificent ruin dominates the hill – yes hill – in front of you.

*The Temple of Juno Lacinia built between 460 and 430 BCE*

I wanted to stop the car to shoot it from a distance but the stream of visitors’ vehicles would not permit that. Just believe me it’s a breathtaking moment, like first seeing downtown Boston from the I-93 or the City of London from the M11. There was chaos at Gate V so I carried on to a gate at the other end of the site where there was no access, for no specified reason. I was told to return to Gate V. There was less chaos by now and I was able to park under a shady olive tree, buy my ticket and trudge up the hill. It is steep and it’s definitely not a valley. There are lots of useful information boards in Italian, English and French and the site goes on for a long distance from this eastern end along a ridge towards the sea. It is quite stunning.

This first temple of Juno is obviously a ruin and as I walk along the hill/ridge I pass burial chambers and evidence of multi-cultural appropriation. The Romans desecrated the Greek buildings and remade them. The Arabs had a go too and finally the Christians took over and the original worship of Gods various and Nature were subsumed by the dominant faith. Original fortifications became burial sites since they thought they were safe from invasion. I was reminded of the triple-whammy of Empuries in Spain where the Carthaginian original settlement was successively taken over by Greeks and Romans all with their own ideas of what’s to do with the place.

Then as you walk musing about all this along you come upon this:

*The almost complete Temple of Concord from 440-430 BCE.*

I really needed hiking poles (not available) to scale the outcrop to get this shot – but I was very careful, I promise. (For new readers I have a recent history of falls resulting in stitches to the head.) It is a stunning piece of craftsmanship and design and crowns the site with its awesome presence. Even I’d be inclined to pray. There are lots of other ruins, sculptures and relics scattered over the hill but there’s also a garden and you know how i like a garden. It had oleanders, rosemary, lavender and herbs I wasn’t sure about but a lovely fragrant and cooling period on the hillside at 32 degrees.

*Oleander, olives and prickly pear – very Mediterranean!*

Around this point I decided I’d gone far enough and found this excellent shady arbour for my return. The only problem was that I was accosted by a lizard and history tells what trouble that can get you into. (Again for those who weren’t there, an inquisitive lizard in Ibiza led to a group of us entering a team of plastic lizards in a local 5-a-side football tournament. Full story is in YBR 39 available from https://thewatfordtreasury.com/ or I can send the text of the article as a pdf to anyone who cares.) Happy memories of absent friends.

On my way back I passed an enclosure celebrating the return of the mountain goat to the – signboard quote – mountainside. I guess the threat of sacrifice has passed and they can safely graze. There was a cafe nearby so a late morning coffee set me up for a cross-Sicily drive. I hadn’t covered the entire site but had spent a full two and a half hours of marvelling at the ‘Valley’ of the Temples.

My next four days were to be spent in Siracusa so I needed to traverse Sicily from the Mediterranean Sea on the west coat to the Ionian Sea on the east. With a co-navigator I might have drifted about the centre from town to town, but as a lone traveller, I decided to take the A19 motorway that cuts straight through the middle. It was a scenic journey nonetheless, with the lush citrus groves near the coast, giving way to olives and almonds and then to a rugged landscape of harvested cornfields, rock outcrops and an overall brown-ness. It was very hot today but we were clearly gaining height as warnings about winter tyres being obligatory were joined by snowflake signposts and skidding dangers when icy. Hard to imagine that today. But like roads everywhere there were many stretches with road woks reducing the dual carriageway to two-way operation. What I did note was that in every lay-by there was scattered litter – some loose, some in plastic bags. From my limited experience I would say that Sicily is a mess when it comes to both clearing up rubbish – and I regret to say dog shit – which is everywhere.

Another aspect of Sicily that’s rubbish from my sample of one is the food on offer in service areas – I stopped at one for a late lunch and fuel. Everything was in bread including a soft bread bun that contained breadcrumbed chicken fillets! No salads just ciabatta, panini, focaccia and buns. I finally settled for a lemon Fanta and a bag of crisps. And I have to say that the offer was familiar from a number of the numerous ‘street food’ outlets in Palermo and Agrigento.

For once I found the BnB very easily but had to wait for someone to come and let me in. He was pleasant, efficient and explained that the breakfast part was served in the Hotel Mediterraneo two minutes walk away. He also carried my suitcase up these and into my very pleasant apartment which has this open plan living kitchen, dining area and a bedroom and bathroom and a balcony with clothes drier. Good choice I think.

Parking is free in nearby streets – narrow and mostly one way – I had to move my car to let someone else pass while waiting for the guy to arrive. So I went and parked, returned to put the phone that’s done sterling SatNav duty and charging block on to charge, unpack and then set out to explore the immediate neighbourhood. Luckily just round the corner is a bar with a much-needed post-driving beer. I start walking towards the sea and passed a garden that made me stop and think because of its very explicit signage. I’m used to Jewish quarters in lots of Spanish cities and had read that the Giudecca is one of the areas to explore on Ortygia, the island that forms a large part of Siracusa.

I make it to the twin bridges across to Ortygia but had planned that for tomorrow so I do a restaurant recce, buy some basic supplies for ‘home’ drop them off and then go to eat Siracusa-style tuna, cooked with onions peppers and tomatoes, helped along with an Etna red, half with the meal, half carried through the streets to enjoy while unwinding with music and a book. Buonanotte.

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Sicily day 2 – the fun continues

I’d booked a tour of the Palazzo Conte Federico from the UK as I thought it might be interesting to do a ‘Stately Home” tour abroad – and it was to be conducted by the current count. That was for 11 o’clock so I had a while to wander in search of breakfast and the famed Ballaro market. Previous readers will know how much I love a market. And in Siracusa I’ve arranged to stay in an apartment with cooking facilities so maybe I can buy something in the market there. But back to Ballaro – not the elegant framework of La Boqueria in Barcelona or those in Valencia, Madrid and Palma but a sprawling muddle of streets – one actually via Ballaro – with pub umbrellas (mostly Messina beer), tarpaulins stretched over metal frames and a variety of stalls with staff hawking their produce. It was hot, it was colourful, it was lively and it was fun. It also provided A stall with seats, freshly squeezed orange juice, coffee and a croissant so breakfast was ticked off. And I may well have seen the swordfish being cut up that I had for lunch later. Certainly the guy was making a fine job of carving up tuna.

I strolled through the streets in the neighbourhood, narrow, golden sandstone, church at every corner and found the Palazzo a little ahead of time. The young count, Andrea, was preparing to take tickets and asking people to wait but nobly allowed me in to use the loo. They may be one of the richest families in Palermo but they buy their hand wash in Lidl! I know the Cien brand well. The tour was fascinating and the palazzo deceptively large given it’s street frontage. It contains within it the last of 26 original lookout towers from the medieval city when it stood on the edge of the harbour. We’re now a good mile inland and most of newer Palermo has been reclaimed at various periods of history, including a large area using bomb damage wreckage after the Second World War. The website gives you a good impression of what I saw. The fun bits for me were that the 86-year-old count was and is a highly decorated racing driver and now ventures outside Italy to race since anyone over the age of 80 is prohibited from competition in Italy. His wife is a gifted soprano and we entered her studio to find a prized Pleyel piano apparently played by Richard Wagner on a visit. This is my third Pleyel – Chopin’s in Mallorca and de Falla’s in Granada. And I’m planning to hear some Wagner on Friday evening.

*The Pleyel piano, Richard Wagner and Contessa Alwine Federico soprano and champion swimmer*

It was a fascinating tour, well handled in alternating Italian and English by Andrea and gave one an insight into how the other half lives – or lived perhaps if you need to have paying tourists traipsing though your home between 11:00 and 16:00 every day except Sundays. There were lots of stairs too so the hip got a good workout.

As I exited and walked down a narrow street what should I see but a lady with a clapper board marking a take. A minimal crew was shooting what appeared from the OTT acting on show to be a dramedy, comedy drama or outright farce.

Next stop was for a coffee near the epicentre of the city – Quattri Canti where the posh streets Corso Vittorio Emanuele and Via Maqueda meet. It’s very busy but coffee is still only one euro twenty despite the tourist nature of the area.

Next was a visit to the famous, or infamous because of its nudity, fountain Fontana Pretoria. It has no water flowing but is an impressive structure.

And then on to a pair of churches – one of which had just closed! But the Chiesa de San Cataldo was wonderfully calm and simple – a blessing after the ornate nature of the majority. It also has three red domes and some impressive brickwork and a great stained glass cross.

*China’s San Cataldo’ domes outside and in, the cross with interestingly Arabic patterns behind and the one that just closed Chiesa la Martorana.*

Lunch nearby was pasta al pesce spada e melanzane – there were lots of both swordfish and aubergines in the market and it restored me for the next visit. This was only a short distance away but almost unreachable because of workmen relaying the enormous slabs that make up Palermo’s streets.

The Galleria d’Arte Moderna proved a bit of a misnomer as paintings in the collection stopped at 1935 and was almost entirely figurative. There were several paintings I really liked however so despite expectations not being met, I was glad I’d gone.

*An almost American Gothic, a Sargent-ish portrait and a seascape that reminded me of Sorolla.*

It was time to rest the feet after a day of constant movement. But on the way back passing Giardino Garibaldi I was struck by this massive Ficus macrophylla reputed to be 150 years old. It’s what we know better as the banyan tree.

As I was walking along via Torremusa I noticed white carpet on the church steps and popped in to catch a wedding ceremony in full flow. Another enormous and brilliantly decorated church like so many in the city. This one was the Chiesa Parrocchiale di Santa Maria della Pietà. I was very discreet and didn’t even offer to make a speech.

Back at the apartment for a brief rest, a shower and then out for dinner locally with a whitebait starter and some sausages to follow. They were quite spicy – close to merguez. Well as Paola said when I told her I was going to Sicily “Sicily – it’s Africa!” She’s from Rome.

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Culture crash

Well I usually only blog when I’m travelling and this was going to be about a planned trip to The Hepworth Wakefield, Ian Prowse’s Mersey Hyms gig at Appletreewick in the Dales and the Yorkshire Sculpture Park, where there’s an exhibit of works by Yukihiro Akama – one of which I was given as a birthday present by Dee in 2015 according to my meticulous (nerdy) records of art we own .

What is brilliant is that they are all carved from a single piece of native English wood (oak in this case) and signed underneath. The chance to see a major exhibition of his work in Yorkshire where he’s lived since 2011 after being trained and working as an architect in Japan, combined with these other cultural events and staying in Bradford with our friend Graham was a great excuse to head north.

The week started well with a visit from our friend Daisy Scott from Boston. We first met and worked together in 1994 on an English language project for the publisher Longman, so a thirty-year friendship called for a celebration. But then disaster struck. When deciding on a title for this piece a number of puns occurred: Cultural Awokening; The Tripping Point; A Bridge to Fear; Anatomee of a Fall and so on since the week was curtailed by me catching my large left foot on a paving stone on the Hungerford Footbridge across the Thames, getting a serious gash in my forehead – again! – and taking Daisy for a new but non-cultural experience – a visit to St Thomas’ A&E (Emergency Room for her). I later emerged looking like this:

By this time Daisy had left after looking after me extremely kindly. Let me add some context to all this. On Sunday we had a Sunday lunch in the Queen’s Arms in Kensington, probably annoying the patient staff by taking far too long with catch up chat to order any food. But we did eat well and then went to see the Yinka Shonibare exhibition at the Serpentine Gallery. I’d known his work from other galleries and the fourth plinth in Trafalgar Square but Daisy knew nothing of him at all. We were both completely in awe of his creative imagination and power and the technical command of the technicians in his atelier to put such an amazing show together. Check it out from the link above and if you can get there – GO!

We had arranged by email to do a theaterathon (AmEng spelling works better) on Wednesday before Daisy flew back to Boston on Thursday. It was to start with lunch at the Union Club where Dee and I took Daisy many years ago but which is always a delight. We met there, ate well and started our thespy adventures by walking to the Theatre Royal Haymarket where Daisy in the States had managed to get two tickets for the utterly sold-out Portrait of Dorian Gray with Sarah Snook of Succession fame, She had warned me that we were in the gallery and needed to climb 65 steps to get there – a good test for the hip. Because we were going to be so high up I’d brought opera glasses – we had his and hers from the Royal Opera house in red velvet bags and I gave Dee’s to Daisy as a gift which she received with some emotion – they were great friends too,

In the event, the stairs proved doable as people were moving quite slowly and the opera glasses redundant as the whole perfoprmance is a mixture of theatre and live television with images displayed on a number of large screens around the auditorium. The sheer brilliance of Snook was matched by the choreographed balletic movements of the camera technicians, make-up artists, prop, wig and costume handlers who shared the stage with the actor who played 26 characters without breaking step. I was relieved I wasn’t vision mixing the feeds from on stage cameras with pre-recorded clips in a seamless two hours that flew by. The story might have got lost in the pizzazz but it didn’t. The production and her performance were truly phenomenal and it was very gratifying to see her call all the techies on to share the curtain call. We descended the steps light as air and proceeded to make our way to part two of our excursion buzzing with excitement at what we’d just seen and marvelling at how it had been achieved.

We had ample time to stroll across Trafalgar Square, through Charing Cross Station and use the eastern side of the Hungerford Foot Bridge to head for a cuppa and then the National Theatre for The Underdog, the Other, Other Bronte. And that’s where it all went wrong. The aforemention trip occurred – no alcohol involved yet as we didn’t want to fall asleep in the plays – and the day descended into (literally) a bloody mess.

Daisy was an absolute star, failing to panic, prodiucing tissues and keeping me talking to check I wasn’r concussed. We were soon joined by a group of passersby who gave my faith in humankindness a massive boost. Another Daisy – tall and curly haired rather than short and with cropped hair – rapidly called 999 and was giving them information about me and the accident when a women in a striking red dress bent down beside me and said “I’m a doctor. I’m from Belfast, I’m here for a conference. Let me have a look at you.” and then: “That’ll need stitches.” Daisy S was now the possessor of a pharmacy worth of wet wipes, tissues, plasters all handed over by concerned tourists and locals. I had by now assumed a sitting rather than a sprawling pose and was helped to my feet by two gentlemen each with a arm under my shoulders. We thanked everybody most warmly and assured them that we would be fine getting to A&E. So many kind, concerned and helpful people! My big worry was that I might have smashed my new hip but I was able to walk quite freely off the bridge down the steps past the Festival Hall and find a taxi to take us to St Thomas’ Hospital. The driver demurred at first: ” There were others looking for me … ” – then saw my face and said “Get in!”

There was a queue of about fifteen people waiting in and outside the A&E entrance and I pushed my way to the triage desk with apologetic hand signals and, I’m pleased to say, encouragement from those in line. We waited a few moments, gave my personal details and described the accident and were then directed to the Urgent Care Centre where Annabelle cleaned up the wound, let me wash my bloody hands and arms in the sink, put a temporary dressing on the gash and sent me to wait for treatment. One of our plans for our early arrival at the NT was for Daisy to find a quiet spot and good wifi to have a video call to her husband Jerry back in Boston as they’d been missing each others’ calls. There was a conveniently vacant children’s area where Daisy managed to connect and also brought the phone so Jerry could admire my wound and say Hi. As time went by I despatched Daisy to the National so that one of us a least saw the play. She later reported that we’d seen the better play in the afternoon. I might still catch it one day although I have a lot of outings in the coming weeks

When you are in it the NHS is just so excellent. I think I was probably waiting for about 90 minutes before Amy called me in and was such a calm, efficient and friendly nurse pratitioner who cleaned me up fully, gave me a full concussion test, told me I had a build up of ear wax while checking my vital signs and then put in the six neat stitches you saw at the top of the blog. We had such a relaxing conversation about all sorts of things and I just pray – and will vote in such a way – that the NHS which can give me a new hip and make me feel safe and better after a stupid, self-inflicted accident is rescued from the predators.

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Last day observations

Despite not being in the best of health throughout, it has been a great stay in this wonderful city. I’ve visited familiar places and several new ones, heard great music and seen amazing art. I need to catch a train from Passeig de Gracia around 14:30 to get to the airport in good time for security and check in so decide to forgo further wide exploration today and walk about other part of the Eixample. Apart from the Berasategui restaurants, there are other reasons to come back – I didn’t do the ‘immersive Dali experience’ at IDEAL, the Digital arts Centre, I didn’t get to the European Museum of Modern Art and of course I’d love to go to the Liceu Opera house again to hear something to my taste performed.

One of the things I love are elegant shop signs from the golden age. Dee had an obsession with door knobs and knockers, mine is with shopfronts. Dee also loved hat shops so there’s one here for her! I collected a few more this morning as I strolled the nearby streets. It’s a little more cloudy today but still pleasantly warm although down a bit from yesterday’s 22 degrees (that’s 72 Daisy).

I also snapped a few more of the elegant houses that jump out from the streets at regular intervals. It’s a city where you need to be sure to look up as you walk through the streets.

But I needed to look down at the top of the Passeig as I came across this excellent manifesto which is something that as a sort of creative I feel very strongly about. It’s set in the pavement outside a Barcelona city office.

Just round the corner at the Palau Robert a poster for an exhibition reminded me of a day in the spring when Frances, Rosa and I went to see Pedro Almodovar’s Parallel Mothers. Alongside the usual convoluted emotional stories of two women, he finally addresses the horrors of the Franco era. The film involves a search for the body of a great grandfather in a mass grave. The poster examines 85 years of trying to reunite families with lost relatives. So far of the 114,000 ‘disappeared’ only 19,000 have been recovered. As Almodovar said in a Guardian interview, ‘Now is the time to remember Franco lest his victims be forgotten’.

Inside the Palau is a much happier image – Barca’s first heroes. There are displays of other sports – boxing and motor sport very popular – and fashion during the early part of the 20th century. This is the 1919-20 season team that won the Catalunya championship as well as that of all Spain. The caption claims that the 20s was the decade when football became a mass popular sport.

Sipping a last beer before boarding the train I noted that at none of the bars I’d been to had I been offered the little complimentary dish of olives, crisps or nuts that had been common on previous trips. Now whether this is a factor of the cost of living crisis or just a metropolitan thing I’m not sure. Certainly the news programmes were filled with analysis of the government’s crisis measures – reducing VAT on food staples, capping fuel prices and handouts of 200 euros to those most in need as well as some measures to encourage businesses to recover. I didn’t find Barcelona quite as depressing as London from the point of view of rough sleepers and boarded up shops – but I was in a rather posh part of the city for most of my trip. And as I descended to the train station my last view was of Gaudi’s brilliant Casa Mila known as La Pedrera (the stone quarry). It was his final civic architecture before devoting his life to the Sagrada Familia. A fitting end to an excellent week in this great city.

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A day on Montjuic

I so enjoyed my visit to Miro’s studio in Mallorca last year that I decided to visit the Fundacio Miro in Barcelona. It’s situated up on Montjuïc the mountain where the Olympic Park was in 1992 and which continues to be a tourist attraction. Three stops on the Metro to Parallel and the the Funicular up to Montjuic.

It was a disappointing trip compared with the ones in Bilbao, Budapest and San Sebastián in that it’s almost entirely in a tunnel with just occasional sights of scrappy play areas and none of the vistas across the city I was hoping for. However, a few steps from the top of the funicular, my wish was granted with this view dominated by the magnificent Sagrada Familia.

On the way to the Miro Foundation was a sculpture garden with some of the worst signage I’ve ever come across – tiny aluminium stakes with titles engraved – totally illegible. At Miro, things were handled much better. There is a huge collection of paintings, sculptures, tapestries and found objects displayed in spacious galleries. I’m glad I’d been to the studio in Mallorca to get an idea of Miro’s working methods. It’s also good to see that artists who choose to follow a different kind of visual vocabulary are well grounded in basic draughtsmanship.

Exterior, an early portrait and two more typical Miro painted works.

I particularly love his amusing sculptures from everyday objects. As a not-very-royalists person I was much taken by King, Queen and Prince (below right), the huge (nearly 6 metres across) Sobreteixim with eight umbrellas and the dramatic use of a coat hanger.

Another artist provides a fascinating object here. Alexander Calder was the only non-Spaniard invited to contribute to Spain’s pavilion at the 1937 Paris World Exhibition. Alongside several Miro canvases, Picasso’s Guernica, Calder’s Mercury Fountain was seen as a further protest against the atrocities of the Franco regime including the attack at Almaden the town that provided a substantial quantity of the world’s mercury. Calder donated the sculpture to the Miro Foundation and we view it from behind a glass screen since the toxicity of mercury has been discovered. Funny thing is the Egyptians knew about mercury too and thought it chased away evil spirits – may have killed some of them too.

A temporary exhibition here featured another favourite artist. It was called Paul Klee and the secrets of nature. It hads a fascinating collection of drawings and early paintings again demonstrating complete draughtsmanship abilities before going his own chosen way or ways in his case as there was so much variety in his work.

I had a coffee in the cafe before continuing my walk along Montjuic. I was heading inexorably to the National Art Museum of Catalunya, which I had told myself I wasn’t going to bother with on this trip. I remembered, bothwith the children ages ago, and with Dee more recently standing on its terrace on a Friday evening eagerly awaiting the magic fountain’s display. No use waiting for it on Wednesday afternoon. I do remember it as quite spectacular with water jets synchronised to different music genres at different times and changing colour appropriately. Looking down at it brought back good memories. I then thought ‘Well I’m here, it’s free with the Barcelona card so why not?’.

Looking down towards the magic fountain and the National Gallery.

The majestic central dome covered an area in which there were easels for wannabe artists and a fabulous soft play area with kids swarming all over. If that what it takes to get folk in and keep galleries alive, I’m all for it.

I decide to eschew the old masters which I have seen before and head for the modern floor upstairs. Neatly divided into four areas it shows the development of Catalan art from the turn of the century to the present day. In the very first gallery devoted to modernisme, what did I see but the actual dining table Gaudi had designed for Casa Battlo.? There were lots of beautiful wooden, glass and metal objects in that fluid style.

As I progressed through the galleries I saw works by familiar names like Rusinol, Sorolla and Picasso. I was especially taken by a cunning Rusinol self portrait. Look carefully!

In the next room I was introduced to the work of a female photographer Mey Rahola who shared a love of sailing and photography with our friend Joe Weiler in Boston. She was lucky to be around at a period 1934-36 when it was OK for a woman to engage in such pursuits. The Civil War put and end to that as she went into exile in France but had developed her own documentary style and continued to take photographs professional during the Second World War.

A new set of rooms for 2022 are devoted to the art of the Civil War period and range from propaganda posters, depictions of the horrors of war reminiscent of Goya – one wall of etchings reminded me of Los Caprichos. It’s interesting to see how Spain is re-evaluating the whole period that was so traumatic for so many. When I raised the refugee elements in Isabel Allende’s book with Rosa and Pepita over lunch Pepita didn’t really want to discuss it as, although born after the end of the war, so much of her childhood and early years were shaped by it. One of Rosa’s video installations Lost was on the subject of babies stolen by the church during the Franco period. It casts a long shadow.

Memories of Goya – a series of etchings and *Mass execution in the bullring at Badajoz* which reminded me of his famous *Third of May.*

Enough gloom. Back out into the sunlight of Montjuïc and a walk through the Botanic Garden towards the Olympic Stadium where a convenient bus arrived and took me back to the funicular. A little later a further trip to the Cerveseria rounded off a thoroughly enjoyable day up above the city.

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Ancient and modern

My children returned from a trip to Egypt raving about it and insisting it be added to the bucket list. When I mentioned this at lunch on Boxing Day, Pepita and Rosa who had both been and loved it, suggested I visit the Museu Egipci in Barcelona. My visit to the Sagrada Familia was booked for 14:30 so what better way to spend the morning? Also it was directly along Calle Valencia a left turn out of the hotel. It proved very rewarding. As all had said, the time zones are astounding. Craft, writing, tools of such complexity 3000 years BCE do blow the mind. Yes some of the names are familiar – Rameses, Ptolemy, Cleopatra, Tutankhamen – but how do they relate? The museum is small, on three floors of a town house, but highly informative with several modern x-rays conducted with Imperial College in London and others to analyse what had been collected over the years, by Howard Carter among others. These showed levels of skill that are mind-blowing given the eras involved. Quite a civilisation! Bucket list duly updated.

The entrance, their prize mummy from 2300 BCE, a fabulous model corncrake, limestone relief of Ramses II, an early castanet, necklace in lapis and gold from 1500 BCE and the most magnificent carving of a (supposed) God – because of its quality.

I headed off along Calle Valencia in the belief that this would bring Me to, or close to the Sagrada Familia. To my delight I found another local market on the way and decided to have an early lunch as everywhere near the basilica would charge a premium. I’m not entirely a cheapskate but don’t like being ripped off. I had a very fine fish soup with pan con tomate and was equipped to revisit the icon of Barcelona after a good many years. I first came when the children were young and we could roam among the half constructed towers, then later with Dee while they were still hoping for investment to finish it, probably ten years ago. As a deeply religious man, Gaudi would probably appreciate my OMG reaction on stepping inside. The nave is finished – it’s not open to the sky any more. The stained glass is all in place and it looks magnificent. Only once back outside do you see the tell-tale crane and realise that some of the towers are still to be finished. But they say it’s on track for 2025 only 135 years after the foundation stone was laid.

Various aspects of the interior, a recreation of Gaudi’s workplace in the crypt and a portrait bust of the great man.

The exterior is equally brilliant with enough religious and natural symbolism to fill several volumes – available in the shop of course. But here are some of my favourite elements.

Having walked all the way there, I took the Metro back to Passeig de Gracia, put my feet up for a while in the hotel and then headed out to the Gastropub Obama – yes really – for a light supper. Claims to be British American but the most prominent beer on offer is Guinness. It was fun but the Cerveseria Catalana gets my vote for the best place in the area.

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Culture magpie

So Friday morning begins with a trip to El Corte Ingles to secure a USB to lightning cable. I don’t think I’ve ever been to Spain without at some point setting foot in the country’s prime department store. It delivered what I needed on the seventh floor – escalators all the way I’m pleased to say. Next on the agenda was to follow the advice given me on Wednesday evening and book a guided tour of the Palau de la Musica Catalana – all sorted for 11:30 tomorrow.

Next stop the Museu Picasso Barcelona – also free with Barca Card but they make you get a paper ticket from the box office as well. I’ve been here a couple of times before and while there’s always a good selection of Picasso’s paintings, prints and ceramics there is a major exhibition as well. This one is devoted to David-Henry Kahnweiler the German born dealer, collector and patron who did much to launch the careers of Picasso, Braque and Juan Gris.

Kahnweiler was quick to spot the movement that would become cubism and established a tiny gallery (four square metres) at the age of 23 where he exhibited early works by the then unknown Picasso, Braque, Leger, van Dongen and Vlaminck. He was friends with all of them and made good sales to kickstart their careers. As a German he had to go into exile in Switzerland during the First World War. He was considered an alien and his entire collection was sold by the French authorities in auctions at the Hotel Drouot. The sale catalogues make for interesting reading and a comprehensive listing of early twentieth century art.

Picasso sketching Kahnweiler, one of the photos in the exhibition.

There were works by many of his protégés and details of weekly soirées at Bourgogne-Billancourt where he entertained artists and potential purchasers. Picasso once wrote, ‘Where would we all be without Kahnweiler’s sense of business?’ I found it all fascinating, so much so that I took no photos – sorry. That is until I came to the huge room devoted to Picasso’s deconstruction of Velazquez’s Las Meninas. He made a series of over 50 paintings in which he analysed and recreated aspects of the famous work. This is my favourite. I love his self-portrait at the bottom right and the dog and the use of many images of his familiar iconography that find no place in the original.

After nearly three hours it’s time for some lunch. Everywhere in this area – the Born – will be expensive as it’s a major tourist attraction. However I find a corner in a popular venue and emerge refreshed. The Messi shirt shows that Argentina’s captain is still much loved in Barca. I was also surprised to find a flight of Japanese kites in an adjacent courtyard.

A few metres along Calle Moncada is a Museum new to me – MOCO. It has a branch in Amsterdam and opened in Barcelona in 2016 and I haven’t been here since before then. It’s devoted to MOdern/COntemporary artworks and features Keith Haring, Julien Opie, Damien Hirst, Dali and Banksy as well as less familiar local names. I did take a few photos here.

Dali, Banksy and a three layer asynchronous animated video wall that took my fancy.

As I’m quite a way down in the old part of the city I think it’s time to see the sea – well at least Barcelona harbour. As it’s Christmas time there are lots of tacky amusements on offer spoiling (for curmudgeonly me) a stroll along the waterfront. But there are some highlights. Graphics have always been wacky here since the Olympics, there’s always one seagull that won’t conform and I enjoyed the peace of the sun going down across the harbour looking out to the World Trade Centre where we filmed material for a promotional video for the Direct English franchise several years ago. All of course under the watchful gaze of Cristobal Colon.

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Tapas and Tapies

So refreshed with my tapas in the Cerveseria Catalana and buzzing with my visit to Casa Battlo, I thought it was time for a bit more art exploration.

As I came from the station to the hotel on my arrival I had walked past this fine building with its wild bird’s nest hair. It’s the Antoni Tapies Foundation. I’ve seen Tapies’ work in other galleries but thought I’d take a look. Entry was free with my trusty Barcelona card so even more incentive. There were two exhibitions – one showing Tapies’ increasing use of varnish to affect the outcome, the other to Bruce Conner of whom I confess. I had not heard.

My first surprise was that although the building looked like it would be a gallery, I had to descend a flight of stairs to get to the subterranean exhibition space. Excavating basements may be popular in London now among the wealthy, but Barcelona has clearly been doing it for ages. As well as this space, I’ve walked past loads of Parkings with precipitous descents to way-below-street garages – glad I didn’t rent a car this trip as entrances are frighteningly narrow as well and I did recall wedging a Transit van on the way into a car park right beside the Callao metro station in Madrid while on a shoot there some years ago.

The Tapies space itself was light and airy with a suitably small number of paintings and objects displayed. They covered 30 years of his work from 1958 when he was awarded the Carnegie medal for painting, to 1988. I liked in particular his surrealistic deconstructed chair and several of the sinuous marks he’d made with painting and overlaid varnish. And of course there’s always the coarse one – he had a thing about the black letter X. Have a look.

The other exhibit a further floor below was of work by Bruce Conner who’d escaped me but according to the descriptions on the wall was ‘the father of the video clip’. There were nine films in all ranging from three to fifteen minutes. The first was a horrific observation of the Bikini Atoll atomic bomb test, the next a sequence-shifting report on the assassination of JFK. Others were lighter – a piece called Looking for Mushrooms with music by Terry Riley,a noted consumer of same, so was all kaleidoscopic, psychedelic monochrome magic. Others used animation and effects considerably ahead of his time. I’m not always a big fan of video installations as art but these were eye-opening and thought-provoking. They also covered the period 1958 to 1976.

I stopped off at a supermarket on the way back to lay in beer, wine and brandy for the week ahead. Dee and I always liked a drink in our room to gather ourselves before going out to eat and old habits die hard. As I started writing the first blog I realised that I’d forgotten to bring the charger for the iPad mini on which I write, so scribbling would have to wait for tomorrow. So I got to my fine pigs’ cheeks a little earlier than might have been.

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Music of the stairs

One of my reasons for choosing to come to Barcelona this year was to visit Gaudi’s famous Casa Battlo. I became friends during the year with a young composer Dani Howard who had composed the tracks for the guided audio tour of the house and I was keen to see inside the amazing building and hear how Dani had responded to her brief. The hotel has a breakfast buffet but I went in quest of something simpler. Opposite Casa Battlo was a Santander Bank work cafe which I thought I’d try. Result too, as Santander account holders get a 30% discount, so it was a very cheap juice, coffee and croissant. Loads of other industrious people were poring over laptops, negotiating on the phone and working hard. Interesting idea.

The Santander Work/Cafe and Casa Battlo exterior

The first part of the tour is in the basement in a Yayoi Kusama style mirror room. You step onto a moving metal platform and make a large circle through projections of the architect himself slumped exhausted among his drawings and the objects from nature that inspired his designs – fish, shells, mushrooms, rock formations. This is accompanied by a very watery track, whooshing waves mixed with orchestral sounds and set a theme for the tour which likens Gaudi’s structure to a section through an inverted ocean – I didn’t write the script!

The tour proper is guided by a tablet with sixteen icons to select when you enter a room with that sign and commentary and music play. I absolutely love the building – the innovative elements, gorgeous woodwork, wrought iron balustrades and typical Gaudi trencadis – the patterned facades we usually call mosaics which combine broken tiles, glass and other materials making Gaudi the great recycler. I’ve added a few images from the house but it’s very tactile as well – you need to be there.

*The atrium , wonderful early phone, lovely eccentric door and internal watery stained glass.*

The house is tall and has this fabulous double atrium from floor to skylight flooding it with light – a very clever touch. So the the tour heads inexorably upwards until you reach the roof with great views over the city. As you mount each flight and select the next images so Dani’s music changes to fit the atmosphere and function of the room you’re in. It is wonderfully varied – simple piano pieces at times, what sounds like a marimba and cello rippling away for another but generally fully orchestral and often choral themes that work extremely well. The huge uplifting crescendo for the top of the stairs gave even my weary legs a jolt of energy. I think there’s a Battlo Suite for concert performance in there – rights permitting of course. And certainly there needs to be a CD or stream if this varied and atmospheric music wher a few recurring motifs are developed with creativity and technical skill to match the tone and function of each area of this amazing house. Great job Dani!

*Water supply on the roof and trencadis flower pots on the patio*

After a few moments contemplation on the roof marvelling that the large structures were in fact the house’s water supply we descend through another work of art. What was once the fire escape has been transformed by the Japanese sculptor Kendo Kuma who has draped the walls in swirls of aluminium links of chain mail which are aesthetically pleasing and highly tactile.

You exit through an immersive screen cube with projections of Gaudi icons and responses by artist Refik Anadol. The website suggests an hour and fifteen minutes – I went in at 11:00 and out at 13:30. House and music in utter harmony and I even made it up and back downstairs. I’d heard of the nearby Cerveseria Catalana and thought that would be a good option for lunch. Hah! Why I’d heard of it is that everybody else had, so I waited a little less than the threatened twenty minutes – it sometimes helps being just one – and enjoyed the amazing atmosphere and some great carved ham with a beer and then a glass of Verdejo with some anchovies and padron peppers a combination I’d not had before.

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Tourist or traveller?

Excuse the philosophical start to my Barcelona trip but my friend Frances has just come back from a guided tour in Vietnam and Cambodia which she thoroughly enjoyed. Over a few beers with Graham in Liverpool last weekend we talked about the difference between travelling and touring. As my family and late wife will attest Raggett holidays were always travelling. Planned by me, booked by me and executed, however badly, by me. But as age creeps on it made us all wonder the time for a bit of organisation by others might be timely. Graham’s fear was that he’d find himself in a group of Daily Mail reading Brexiters and be most uncomfortable. Fran’s tour was happily free of such companions and Graham was a little reassured.

But as I set off for Stansted to begin this latest venture I had a rare sense of unease. Could I still do it? Should I be with Tui rather than intuition? Hey I’ve done Rome, Lisbon, Malaga and Cadiz and Mallorca – with Covid tests – so why the worry? I’ve had real, not man flu for a week – three lots of Benyllin at home and a trip to the pharmacy for Mucosan (better I would say after two doses) and cancelled a Barbican concert on Sunday because I didn’t want Rattle’s baton picking out the cougher in the stalls. So maybe confidence is down a bit through illness. There was a moment during the miles of steps through Stansted that I thought there must be a better way to do this. But hey, if you buy and fly Ryanair you know what to expect. Everybody chooses Priority so that queue is longer the the Other Q, but at lest you do get on first.

Flight was fine, great snow over the Pyrenees and a wonderful descent into Barcelona along the coast. Then the traveller took over. I’d booked a Barcelona 5 day card for unlimited travel and free entry to 20-30 museums several of which I intended to visit. However Terminal 2 is huge and the Tourist Office is at the other end, the best part of a kilometre away. I get my card and set off back to where I started to get the train into town when I realise I’ve left my second bag on the floor while sorting out the card. So steps are retraced, bag retrieved and the trudge to the train is on again.

It’s a nice train, with diverting behaviour from two young ladies, whose black suitcase rolled towards me as the train pulled out. I rescued and returned it amid great giggling. The journey was initially through industrial suburbs and just as it got interesting it went underground, But it delivers me to Passeig de Gracia station five minutes from the hotel – if you come out the correct entrance. So fifteen minutes later I rock up at the hotel where they let me check in early which is a relief as I need to sit down for a bit. It is an OK hotel in a modernisme building but sadly my room does not have one of those nice balconies overlooking the street. There is a swimming pool on the roof but not open in December. Great views over the city though.

Refreshed, I was soon in proper holiday mode with a beer and tapas in a local bar on the Rambla de Catalunya. The eagle has landed!

The evening’s plan, cough permitting, is to go to the Palau de la Musica Catalana to hear Philippe Herreweghe, the Belgian conductor doing Beethoven’s Missa Solemnis. I knew vaguely where it was – no Google maps with roaming charges back – and I was on the verge of asking a waiting taxi driver for directions when I spied the exterior. Almost as embarrassing as one day in a market when I pointed to a cauliflower and asked ‘come se llama?’ To be told with an uproarious laugh ‘coliflor’. I’d booked my ticket online and was shown to my seat in the magnificent auditorium – the absolute epitome of modernisme design and execution.

Soon after I was seated I was hissed at by a lady of some few years younger than me I would estimate, indicating that I was occupying her seat. My neighbour explained that a group of them usually sat together but there had clearly been an “error” at the box office. She didn’t seem that bothered and despite my offer to swap several times I was told ‘no pasa nada’ – it doesn’t matter. Maybe my limited Spanish kept her from an earbashing.

The orchestra, choir and soloists arrived followed by the rather ancient-looking conductor – he’s four years younger than me but you wouldn’t guess it. He also had to take a couple of comfort breaks between segments – unusual in this work – but pee breaks are something I sympathise with for anyone. I love the Missa and this was an enthusiatic rendition but not the best I’ve heard although the soloists were outstanding.

It was exceptional to hear a great piece of music on my first night in town and my companion recommended a guided tour and the cafeteria in the basement. ‘Cafeteria si,’ she said ‘restaurante no – es muy caro!’.

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Chopin/Graves Take 2

First things first – a trip at 10:00 to Clinica Belice for my two days before PCR test. Take 2 on that too as they needed to see my passport which was in the hotel – I’m really rubbish at this travelling lark. They were very efficient and friendly and I’m promised results tomorrow evening, [received Negativo at time of writing so if they have crew I might get home!].

Then later than usual to retrieve the car and set off. Well at least I know the way to Valldemossa and with the cloud much higher over the mountains I can appreciate the gorge that leads through the Sierra Tramuntana up to the town.

I know where to park so am soon in the Chopin/Sand cells inside the monastery. It is fascinating and reading George Sand’s disgust for the locals probably explains why they didn’t have a good time here. Her Un hiver en Majorque has some joyous descriptions of the landscape among the groaning about conditions and the impounding of a Pleyel piano for weeks by evil Spanish customs. When you read the copy you realise that they were only here for eight weeks and you wonder why all the fuss? She wrote about it and he composed some of his most famous works. Guess that worth some fuss – 24 Preludes Op28 are very highly regarded by Chopinistas.

The Cartuja cloister, entrance to Cell 4 and an interior view of the two rooms.

What is fascinating is to see the wall displays of facsimiles of his manuscripts with furious revisions. He hit the paper hard as well as the keys. And it is good to see his bust keeping a watchful eye on the piano they’d paid Pleyel 1200 francs for and from which he’d had so little use thanks to customs difficulties

To talk of them living in a monastery cell sounds like real deprivation and there were three adults (FC, GS and maid) and two children living there but they did have a garden of their own which Mme really enjoyed with its stunning views.

I’m not sure whether the trees had formed this circular shape in their day but the view this way hasn’t changed much.

There’s not a huge amount to see and an hour and a bit sufficed. Valldemossa itself is too touristy for my taste, highly groomed streets, some interesting art but a whole lot of craftish tat. So i have a peremptory stroll, stopping of course to snap Chopin Street and WhatsApp it to my friend Jadwiga who is Polish and a Chopin groupie!

As I left the town I was struck by the large number of plane tree avenues leading to and from Mallorcan towns – there are some on the mainland but it feels rather French midi to me. I love them. Good now, but must be great in summer.

Having not eaten until four yesterday I thought ‘wouldn’t it be good if there’s a restaurant between here and Deia.’ There was and it is clearly very popular because while there were only a few diners when I arrived just before two, by the time I left it was full. I had some great sepia in a spicy pica-pica sauce and habanitas con baicon – an old favourite but here the very small broad beans had leeks, onions and peppers as well as bacon. Very tasty and timely – I thought.

The short drive to Robert Graves’ house was familiar too and I much prefer the town to Valldemossa – sorry if that makes me a tasteless Brit. There was a convenient parking spot right opposite the house so I crossed the road full of hope.

The nicest ‘P off we’re closed’ sign ever!

Once again the lack of a planning companion struck – they close at 13:00 so I should have come here first. Doh! However the gate was not locked and I crept in to have a look at the garden at least. I was caught by the very friendly and fluent English speaking gardener who said he would have shown me round the house but had to leave at three-thirty. We chatted about the problems of gardening – it rained for the whole of November and everything is behind – but he’s doing his best, upon which I complemented him, explained I couldn’t come back again this trip but be sure not to miss it next time. He allowed me to take some photos and rewarded me with a couple of incredibly juicy tangerines.

Graves’-house, bust (by Epstein?) studio and tangerines.

With little encouragement, I decided to carry on round the Ma10 to Soller and then head inland and back to Palma through the middle. With today’s better weather in the mountains their scale, variety and colours were amazing – just not enough safe stopping places for photography but I managed a few.

I passed through some interesting towns that would repay a visit: the Botanic Gardens at Alfaibia are closed until March, but look fun; Bunyola had some interesting buildings; and as I came to the end of the Ma2040 I found myself at the Mallorca Fashion Outlet – no point me stopping there! This is on the outskirts of the town of Inca which is linked to Palma by a near-motorway standard Ma13 so I headed on home or back to the hotel at least.

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Christmas Day and a day in a box

Imagine my delight when drawing the curtains to see the bright green shutters on the building opposite bathed in glowing morning sunlight and framed above by bright blue sky – yes this is Christmas! So I have a light breakfast and set off to the airport to pick up a car to go and visit Rosa and her mother and join them for Christmas lunch. Rosa had rented a villa through AirBnB in the middle of nowhere – in fact the guy who opened up for them said they were in the exact centre of the island – a claim I suspect is shared by several locations. But for any geolocators out there it’s between Sencelles and Inca, Benigali and Costitx. It’s in a part of Mallorca renowned for early settlements and since I’d never encountered the term Talayotic Period (1200-123BC) we decided to go and explore a couple on our way to lunch. Before we set off Rosa, Pepita and I had a ‘conversation’ about our very different experiences and lifestyles and with a few gaps where expressions failed us we got on very well I thought, there were a few smiles and chuckles at least.

At the Santuari Talayotic de Son Corro, supposedly columns built without mortar but showing signs of steel rods and cement.

We were, it must be said, slightly underwhelmed and the visit did not take too long so we set off for another which Google maps said was nearby. We found the hamlet of Binifat quite easily but found no sign of its talayot. Fortunately, a group of people were arriving for a family lunch and with the benefit of my two fluent Catalan speakers, a brother-in-law was fetched who give detailed instructions. Pepita decided it might be a few steps too far for her ailing knees (she is a little older even than me – I was told; I did not ask!) so we left her with the car looking for wild asparagus in the hedgerows and Rosa and I strode off down a lane and as instructed found a very small gate that involved clambering over a low stone wall and the along a fenced path beside a farm pasture. It was a slightly more impressive find with a circular shape and massively thick walls. I did not enter as it would have involved a crawl and I had posh trousers for Christmas lunch not my old jeans, but the nimble Rosa made it through and reported an interior circle looking very similar to the exterior. It would once have had a roof but that is long gone. The signboard at Son Corro said Talayotic sites were used for animal sacrifice and wine drinking and I think there were devilish cults and witchcraft involved too.

We rejoined Pepita at the car, asparagus-free alas, but glad she didn’t make the walk when we showed her the photos. We then went to a village called Costitx where there’s a restaurant inside the Casa Cultural building that also houses the library and the town hall. There were many families at tables enjoying the Christmas lunch – as did we. It was clear that apart from us the two extremely tall and thin maitres d’ (don’t they eat their own delicious food?) knew everybody and teenagers were subjected to lengthy hugs, cheek pinching and sundry other embarrassments. The restaurant could be quite hard to find as it’s called Notenom which means I have no name In Catalan. Two dishes were placed in front of us with the note that these were just nibbles and not the real thing. Whoa! Twelve beautifully crisp calamari rings and a plate of mussels in a fabulous onion, garlic and tomato sofrito. They were excellent but we decided to hold back for the real thing and half the mussels came home with us in a takeaway container. Next up was traditional Mallorcan sopa de Nadal which is filling chicken broth into which are placed pasta shells stuffed with spicy minced beef. I had to apologise for leaving a couple of the pasta shells with my regular excuse “Mas anos pero menor appetito” which usually garners a sympathetic smile. Next up was a huge chunk of Corvina served on a bed of potatoes. We had a) to enquire and b) Google to discover that what is often claimed as the tastiest fish in the Med is ‘brown meagre’ in English should it ever occur. It was quite meaty, very flavoursome and not too strong and I was glad I’d held back – at last a plate to be proud of. I declined the good looking almond cake with ice cream but one of us has a sweet tooth and a slice of that found its way (sin helado) into the homebound bag. No cooking for the Pascuals for the rest of their trip. Since picking up the car I have been most abstemious as even my Catalan understands “Al Volant Zero Alcohol” and I don’t intend to find out how strict they are. However a glass of crisp white with the fish and a copa de cava to celebrate Nadal were essential. It was an unusual but most enjoyable afternoon and was rounded off by chanting youth in hats and horns singing their way through the restaurant to the astonishment even of the owners.

I drove Pepita and Rosa back to their place and had a further coffee and chat before setting off back to Palma. I needed no more food but a few glasses in the hotel’s Sky Bar with views over Palma at night made for a memorable day.

Boxing Day dawned sunny again and I had decided to set off for Valldemossa to visit the Chopin George Sand museum and Deia to see Robert Graves-house. Oh where’s the trip planning suprema when you need her? I drove out of Palma admiring the mountains, arrived, parked, made my well-signed way to the Cartuja, the monastery where they lived and found this.

Right place wrong time – for those without Spanish Domingo cerrado means closed on Sundays and what day was Boxing Day 2021?

I decided to use the rest of the day as a recce and sightseeing day and after a coffee, I set off on the Ma10 up the west coast. Now loyal and regular readers of these scribblings will know that I can get close to ecstatic about twisty mountain roads with sheer drops, sea vistas and hairpin bends with rock fall warnings. You’ll be pleased to hear the Ma10 has been added to the list – it’s a beauty. And I had no one to scare! It does have a few miradors along the way so here was my first pause at San Marroig (from Cap Roig near where I used to have a house in Begur I know that roig is red and you can see why.

Fun cloud formation to the south and the red cape winking at us. and fabulously clear water in the cove below me – nearly tempted me but it’s a long way back up!

Next was Deia home to poet Robert Graves-for so long. His house will have to wait till tomorrow too. But the town perched on its hill is lovely. After a lot of trips to Andalusia it should really all be painted white but the ochres and browns suit the landscape.

I stopped by a large reservoir the Garg Blau – it was very blue – and was very impressed that they’d rescued a sixth century column from being flooded and given it pride of place and a plaque in a pull off on the Ma10.

I carried on with a brief stop in Soller which has a famous tourist train ride down to its port – not today’s though. Some interesting architecture and a quick coffee sufficed. The Ma!0 gets really hairy after Soller as I headed for Pollença where I thought I might get lunch.. Real hairpins, narrow stretches and brilliant views of proper mountains – the Soller Pass is at nearly 500 metres -and then down into a fertile plain behind Pollença. It’s a great old town and had a couple of open restaurants but with wing mirrors at risk in some streets and no obvious parking I decided to head for its port where surely there would be restaurants – it’s a resort after all. And there were. It’s by now gone four o’clock and I’m peckish so olives and bread with allioli keep me going as I order a frito misto which the menu said had a variety of fried seafood but when it came it was distinctly non-fishy. I enquired and was told I’d ordered Frito Mallorquin. It was very tasty but one guide book says it is not for the faint hearted – main ingredients: cubed potatoes, red peppers, onion, garlic, artichoke, black pudding, lamb and chicken livers all fried up in olive oil. I’m OK with offal but I could appreciate the guide book warning which I found back at the hotel for many others. The best thing was watching the evening sun fall on the lovely bay at Port de Pollença.

By the time I’d polished that off and found a less tortuous route back to Palma it felt like most of my Boxing Day had been spent with me at the wheel of my tin box – no complaints from me though – I always did like a location recce!

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Where did January go?

So after a refreshing break in Alicante it’s home to reality: car for MOT; final eye test after cataract surgery and the promise I made to sort out 45 years worth of company paper work for shredding. So glad I did take my Christmas break.

The first play of the new year was the intriguingly named Bengal Tiger at the Baghdad Zoo at the Young Vic. The tiger of the title is the ghost of an animal shot by a US marine stationed in Iraq during the ill-founded war. It (in human actor form) prowls around the stage bringing memories for the marines and philosophical questions for their interpreter Musa who used to be the gardener to Saddam Hussein’s two sons, who appear later, and cause a guilt-trip for Musa who allowed them to exploit his daughter.

It was surreal, written by Rajiv Joseph and directed by Omar Elerian who has a track record with surreal with Ionesco’s The Chairs and Rhinoceros which we saw at the Almeida. It was funny. moving, if a bit erratic, but a worthy start to a year of theatregoing.

I loved Maggie O’Farrell’s book Hamnet. I did not like Lolita Chakrabarti’s stage version which a gang of us went to see at the Garrrick with great expectations and emerged with great disapppointment. I had misgivings therefore about the much talked-about film version, somehat allayed when I noted that Chloé Zhao co-wrote it with the book’s author. So I booked a matinee showing at Picturehouse Central and decided to go into town early and take in the last few days of Wayne Thibault at the Courtauld Gallery. I don’t think I’d heard of him but an email from the gallery intrigued me so off I went and am very glad I did, The exhibition was entirely of works from the 1960s when he was grouped with the Pop Art movement. He painted still lives of everyday Americana – slot machines, deli counters, cakes and the like. They were very affecting in making you look intensely at the ordinary and think about things in a new way. He also made prints of several of the subjects one of which on display he had hand coloured twenty years after making the original etching.

I loved the thick paint around the lollipops

I had an hour to spare before the film so popped into Yoshino to say Happy New Year to Lisa, collect my supply of gyokuro tea – my first drink of every day – and have a delightful light lunch chatting to Lisa as she prepared the space for a 30 strong party of Japanese bankers that evening.

Hamnet the film did not disappoint. It matched the slow reveals of the book, filled the screen with nature, glovemaking and the love and the games of young children. The storytelling was clear and excellent and the child actors were all very accomplished. The tragedy was well handled and the closing scenes at the Globe had me welling up. What a performance from Jessie Buckley! I knew she was good but this was astonishing.

From time to time, the orchestra of the Orchestra of the Age of Enlightenment organises trips for Friends. I wrote about a visit to the amazing Hatchlands keyboard collection with Steven Devine last year. This one was to explore the wonder that is the V&A East Storehouse with Martin Kelly, my viola-playing team captain when we won the Chistmas Quiz. Martin had selected a number of instruments from the extensive V&A catalogue and gave us fascinating insights into the contruction, history and use of instruments ranging from the tiny kit fiddle used by dance masters to the enormous Dragonetti bass via a serpent and a harp and others from the racks. Some of the detail of design, carving and inlay was phenomenal. The breathtaking size of the storehouse and the randomness of displays made for a fascinating visit even after Martin had finished his excellent part of the tour.

Then it was back from drenched Hackney Wick to the Royal Opera House for an insight evening on the subject of Boris Godunov with my friend Susie Stranders taking us expertly through Mussorgsky’s score. I got there early and spent an hour not reading my book but chatting to a gentlemen with shared widowerhood and love of music as topics for conversation. As we left the table to go to the talk we shook hands and he said, “By the way I’m Mike”. “Me too,” I replied. Susie’s talk was peppered with anecdotes from performances and some excerpts sung by cast members including Bryn Terfel who is Godunov.

I’ve seen Sheridan’s The Rivals several times but went with Frances to The Orange Tree on her recommendation, She’d already seen it when I was away and came to see it again. I congratulate her on her taste. Updated to the flapper era 1920s, Tom Littler’s production was wonderfully funny and Patricia Hodge as Mrs Malaprop was outstanding. The rest of the cast were superb too in the intimate Orange Tree space where you feel part of the action. I recalled going with my grandchildren to see the Richard Bean and Oliver Chris update Jack Absolute Flies Again at the NT a few years ago. Sheridan’s work from 1775 stands a lot of different interpretations. Must be something about the core material!

The OAE often invites friends and the local community to open rehearsals at its base in Acland Burghley School. On this day there was a Friends event at 2 pm followed by a Community one at 4. I was very impressed to see the numbers of people streaming into the school as I was leaving. The orchestra was rehearsing mostly Mozart’s clarinet concerto played by principal clarinetist Katherine ‘Waffy’ Spencer and directed from the violin by leader Kati Debretzeni. Waffy was at pains to point out that the work was written for the basset clarinet and she has had one made specially so that the concerto can be heard as Mr M intended. As always it’s fascinating to eavesdrop on the discussions that form the final performance and the exchange of ideas around this most democratic of orchestras. They were off to the Anvil in Basingstoke, Oxford and the Warwick Arts Centre before coming into the Queen Elizabeth Hall on Sunday 1 February. Waffy then introdued a piece they were going to play as an encore – an adaptation of an aria from Mozart’s Die Entfuhrung where the warring male and female protagonists were a bassoon and her clarinet. It was lively and very funny.

Kati makes notes, Waffy cradles her basset clarinet ‘Grace’

I then made an interesting cross north London journey on the C11 bus – Gospel Oak, Hampstead Heath, the Royal Free Hospital, Belsize Park and eventually Swiss Cottage – to the Hampstead Theatre to join Frances for a new play in the smaller downstairs space The Ghost in Your Ear.

This was an interesting event in which we were all equipped with headphones to hear the script of a ghost story being read by an actor in a sound studio for an audiobook. It’s written and directed by Jamie Armitage and the sound design is buy the brothers Ben and Max Ringham who did such a great job with Blindness at the Donmar back in the lockdown days. As someone who has spent a lot of time in the control room of audio studios it was intrinsically interesting and the story getting progressively scary was very well paced. Frightening it was, but not heart-attack inducingly so.

I got a final sign off after my cataract operations and can now revert to my familiar state as ‘a bloke who wears glasses’ with varifocals with no correection for distance and enough for close up that I can type and read my phone and kindle without need to rummage about for reading glasses. I then had the pleasure of two trips to the Union Club, first to have lunch with my dear friend Michele who has had a hard year as as a make-up artits as the film and TV industry shrinks and then for dinner a couple of days later with newly-master’s Guildhall graduate Kristina, a fine soprano, her boyfriend Luka and Paola who looks after tickets and data for the OAE and who I know well from my many visits to their gigs. On both occasions food, wine, service and company were excellent.

I went ( slightly by mistake and rescued by checking my ticket folder) to a matinee of Woolfworks at the Royal Opera House. This ballet had been heavily advertised in ROH emails and I had hoped Rosa might be back from Spain to come with me. Not to be however so I set off on my own and didn’t pick up any new friends called Mike on this occasion. The ballet by Wayne McGregor is based on three Virginia Woolf books: Mrs Dalloway; Orlando and The Waves. I’d read the first two but not The Waves, which I’ve now purchased. The work is classed as a three-act ballet but I felt it was three one-act ballets given the variety of source material and treatment. Mrs Dalloway was all bustling charatcters around three huge revolving wooden frames introduced by Gillian Anderson reading an excerpt from Woolf’s essay On Craftsmanship. The stories of Clarissa and the shell-shocked Septimus intertwine with elegant moves. Orlando matches the surreal nature of the book by having gold-costumed charaters with ruffs anf bustles making their way through several centuries and a gender change all accompanied by a startling laser display that carved up the stage and indeed us in the auditorium. The Waves was played out against a projected backdrop of extremely slo-mo monochrome waves and ends with her suicide note being read. The score was specially composed by Max Richter and was very filmic, dramatic and emotional. It’s still on and comes to cinemas from 9 February if you fancy a look. Highly recommended. https://www.rbo.org.uk/tickets-and-events/live-in-cinemas-woolf-works-details

The last week of January contained three remarkable outings to the theatre. The first was Tom Stoppard’s Arcadia, generally acknowledged as his masterpiece and you can see why. With its time shifts, a quest for the unknowable, dangerous relationships and moments of side-splitting humour it makes for a mind expanding evening. I’d seen the original NT production and this version at the Old Vic couldn’t be more different, but as with Sheridan earlier, the class of the work shines through. Whereas the NT production was naturalistic with vistas of stately home parkland, the design of which is an imporatnt factor in the play, Carrie Cracknell’s version at the Old Vic is sparse, in the round with a few props and helps you to concentrate the interplay of the characters and the richness of the language. It was a bit of a shock also to see the venerable Old Vic transformed for an in the round production as apparently all this season’s plays will be.

The Old Vic transformed for a season in the round

The mood changed abruptly the next evening when we went to see Guess How Much I Love You at the Royal Court. Written by actor Luke Norris and directed by Jeremy Herrin it is a play about a couple’s loss of a child through a non-viable pregnancy. Their grief and their reactions to it are powerful and moving. Rosie Sheedy and Robert Aramayo – newly Bafta-nominated for I Swear that day – display an array of reactions to the terrible news the ultrasound scan brings them through changing scenarios over time. But within the overall sadness of their plight the play has great moments of lightness and humour. Very effective set design and lighting gave a real sense of their enclosed and captive lives as they lived through the intensity of loss and eventually move towards a more promising future.

After intellectual exercise and emotional turmoil the week ended with J B Priestley’s When We Are Married at the Donmar. Sheer madness and hilarious farce ‘oop north’ when three couples discover that they weren’t officially married by a young curate 25 years ago. Facades fall away, roles reverse, past pecadillos intrude and there is a literally staggering performance from Ron Cook as the photographer from ‘The Argus’ who has been sent to snap the triple anniversary for the paper. Told to go away he gets progressively drunk, his cheeks redder at every new appearance, and crashes his way through the set. It was a shock to see John Hodgkinson as the host of the celebrations Joseph Helliwell since we last saw him covered in blood as Titus Andronicus. I’d never seen this play before and it made me rethink Priestley who I only knew from An Inspector Calls and Time and The Conways.

The month ended with a final piece of drama on the stage of Vicarage Road Football Stadium where I had the pleasure of Frances’ company in the hospitality Sir Elton John Suite which I’d won through The Supporters’ Trust lottery. We had good food and wine, visits from Luther Blissett and Tommy Mooney, a poor loss to Swansea City on the pitch and later the news that our much-loved manager Javi Gracia had resigned. He’d been back to his family in Malaga earlier in the week and I think decided that wet, grey Watford was not where he wanted to be. The club have gone through many managers (23 I think, some twice as with Gracia) over the fifteen years the current owners have been in charge but only a few have got in first by resigning.