mikeraggett

Marathon month of memories

One and Two: My run of nine nights away from home in the evening started with Saturday at Sadler’s Wells East with Jo and Sunday with the last item on my previous blog with BBPC at Cable Street and dinner in Shadwell afterwards.

Three: The new week kicked off with a dinner at Yoshino. Few will need reminding that this serves the best Japanese food in London and has ultra efficient and very friendly Lisa as it host. Lisa introduced me to Shoko when she came to a Prom in August when Dani Howard’s SIGNAL was given its world premiere. Since then we’ve touched base briefly at Yoshino and at the Drink Japan festival but decided to spend an evening together. It got off to a good start when I gave Shoko a copy of 101 Great Things about Japan (still available on Amazon) and heard a succession of “wows” as she leafed through it and suggested that I know more about Japan than she does. The clincher though was that Dee and I had loved our visit to Kamakura which is Shoko’s home town. It is also the setting for Kore-eda’s lovely film Our Little Sister. Outstandingly good food as usual plus lots of time to chat with Lisa too as the restaurant was not too busy. A lovely evening and pretty relaxing for a change.

Kamakura’s most famous resident – the13.5 metres tall Daibutsu at the Kotoku-in temple.

Four: Clifford Odet’s play Golden Boy is one I had not seen but heard of and knew it was to do with boxing. The Almeida production was excellent and featured Josh O’Connor in his first stage role for a decade as Joe Bonaparte, a promising violinist who is forced into prizefighting by a ruthless manager Tom played by Daniel Mays in a tour de force of coaxing, bullying and outright venality. He’s accompanied in his artifice by Lorna a hard-boiled Hayley Squires with a soft interior.

There’s a string quartet on an elevated platform at the back of the set who sparingly add poignant commentary on the action. But how do you show boxing on stage? Both symbolically and physically is director Sam Yates’ solution. A suspended punch bag has an embedded camera so we see both actual and projected close ups of Joe’s fights. For a play from 1937 it felt very fresh looking at difficult choices that have to be made to survive in hard times. Family pressures, feelings of responsibility, emotions, pride and jealousy are all there in a clearly guided production which left me with memories of some moments of great theatre some fine action and to ponder about moral dilemmas. A very worthy revival. And if you can’t get to the theatre it’s on NT Live in cinemas.

Five: On Monday, Shoko had decided she was free to accompany to what would be her first ever jazz gig. As an accomplished viola player she knows her music but had never been to hear jazz of which she professed ignorance. I had a job to do as I was to write a piece for All About Jazz anbout London’s latest jazz venue, the Blue Note London in St Martin’s Lane. The evening opened with a set by Gary Crosby’s Tomorrows Warriors. This charity run by Gary and his wife Janine for 39 years now, has done more than any other group to foster jazz in the UK and has some notable successful alumni including the Mercury prize-winning Ezra Collective and figures like Denys Baptiste, Soweto Kinch and Nubya Garcia. I’ve decsribed the gig elsewhere https://www.allaboutjazz.com/blue-note-comes-to-london but the best for me was to see alongside veterans like Denys and Gary himself, young graduates of the Warriors being given space on London’s latest big jazz stage. Next best was Shoko’s reaction who had her eyes ands ears opened to a new genre that she is keen to explore further. “I’m in a daydream about last night” she messaged next morning.

Six: I joined Frances for an insight event at the NT on Thursday prior to seeing Electra/Persona. We heard about the casting process and prop making and gathering both of which were interesting in the quantity of both that are done by in-house staff – many theatres use external casting directors and set and prop construction companies.

The play stars Cate Blanchett and Nina Hoss who get a (tonight) fumbling audience member to toss a coin to see who will play which main part Electra or Clytemnestra and Elisabeth or Alma. We had Blanchett as Electra/Elisabeth. The first half is a loose adaptation of Sophocles, played out on a massive wooden staircase on which I frequently worried for the actors’ safety and was glad I didn’t have to do the risk assessment. It was lively, bloody and exciting but whether Benedict Andrews had added anything to the classic text was up for debate.

Having talked earlier about video tech in the theatre, the second half – no interval but 15 minutes of clearing rubbish off the steps – was a staged homage to Bergman’s film Persona. I’m not sure which is the easier role: the mute Elisabeth subjected to extreme close up video projections while she huddles under a blanket or scuttles across the steps or Alma who tries to cajole her out of depression. A highlight was Ella Lily Hyland as Elektra’s sister Chrysothemis and providing the running commentary in Persona as Anna who coincidentally is a star of my son-in-law’s latest TV series Tall Tales and Murder which comes to BBC on November 3. Please boost his ratings!

Seven: Following Wednesday’s Blue Note excursion, Gary Crosby had kindly agreed to talk to me about Tomorrow’s Warriors so that I could submit an article featuring them to All About Jazz. Workshops run in the basement of the Royal Festival Hall in a region I didn’t know existed but Gary showed me around the various rooms where potential musicians are tutored, join jam sessions and develop their skills. We spent a delightful two hours talking about music, cricket and football as his nephew is one of Watford FC’s much-loved former players Ashley Young. I then spent the afternoon writing in the foyer before heading over to the Queen Elizabeth Hall to meet friends Gwyn and Yvonne, Shoko – if she managed to curtail Friday drinks at the bank where she works on time – and Dani Howard. Dani and I had talked previously about her interest in writing for period instruments and I had said I would introduce her to the key figures at the Orchestra of the Age of Enlightenment. Introductions all went smoothly and we went in to see a rare performance of the Girl from Arles. Bizet originally wrote incidental music for Daudet’s play L’Arlesienne but it has become part of the repertoire as two suites. The OAE decided to stage the whole thing in a new translation by Jeremy Sams.

Much of the music was familiar, little of the text althoughj the story was a well document saga of forbidden love. The set and props and one of the cast were supplied by pupils at OAE’s home in Acland Burghley School. It was an interesting experiment by the always innovative OAE but as one visitor commented, “You can see why it hasn’t been done since 1964”. The critics were kinder however: 4 stars in The Guardian and “a welcome revival” from the Arts Desk. However, it was an enjoyable evening rounded off pleasantly with a light supper in the Archduke Wine Bar until they threw us out.

Eight: Saturday was another outing with my daughter to the ballet, this time at Sadler’s Wells in Rosebury Avenue with dinner at Moro beforehand. My, how busy was Exmouth Market! The programme was Acosta Danza’s Cuban Baroque. A double bill of contrasting musical foundations Salve Regina by Esteban Salas an 18th century Cuban composer in the first half called Pearls and in the second Chacona based on Bach’s Partita No 2 in D minor. The elegant strains of Baroque music might seem alien to the fast-moving energy of modern dance but it worked extremely well here in the bodies of a lithe and fluid group of dancers. The stamina and interpretive movements were mesmerising and contrasting colours for the wardrobe in each work were effective, Breathtaking stuff! Carlos Acosta may not thrill us with his dancing but his company does.

Acosta Danza *Pearls*
Credit: Johan Persson

Nine: Once again the closure of Charing Cross Station for the weekend make my Sunday trip to the royal Opera House a three-bus outing. Lee to Lewisham, the Bakerloop B1 to Waterloo and a bus across the bridge to the Strand. The hassle was worth it for the sublime music of Wagner’s last opera Parsifal. Our friend Susie Stranders had worked to prepare the cast and I had a catch up with her in the second interval which was an added bonus to a brilliant afternoon. Under the baton of RBO Music Director Jakub Hrůša, the orchestra and soloists were in fine form. This expansive, brooding, elemental and ecstatic music swirled through the house with all the force Wagner intended. I found the concept by debutant ROH director Evgeny Titov hard to take. Set in gloomy and miserable basement rooms with odd stone block towers moving at random moments I found it at serious odds with the storyline. Parsifal gathers the spear that will end the agony of the ailing Amfortas at the end in Wagner’s own libretto, but Titov has him kill the elder with spurts of blood from the wound the spear should cure and then hides himself under a gurney. It was great to witness this magnificent work again but I’m glad I also saw the Glyndebourne version last year so as not to sully my memory.

Jakub Hrůša salutes the orchestra who were on magnificent form in *Parsifal*

So on Monday and Tuesday I was at home and had almost forgotten what it meant to go into the kitchen and prepare and cook a meal but I did and it was tasty – teryaki chicken with miso aubergine and sesame seed broccoli – appropriate preparation on Tuesday for Wednesday’s outing.

I’ve been reading a lot of Japanese fiction lately – not just Murakami – and came across the work of Akane Araki. Rather like Mieko Kawakami earleier in the year, the chance to hear a writer talk about her work was not to be missed. The Japan Foundation brought Akane to the UK for a promotional tour of the publication in English of Murder at the End of the World. In London this took place at Foyles. It’s a very accomplished murder mystery with many MacGuffins, red herrings and plot twists that keep you on edge throughout. Hearing her talk about her upbringing in Fukushima areas of Kyushu and its influence on her work was interesting. It did prompt me to ask why the cover had a representation of Fuji-san that can’t be seen that far west. Marketing and sterotypes I suspect. The Japanese edition had a cover that properly evoked the spirit of the book. Charmingly chaired by Bidisha and with simultaneous interpretation from the always excellent Bethan Jones it was an insightful evening.

I ventured into the Surrey Hills on Thursday for lunch at the Ragged Robin (close!) in Godalming with Peter Breen one of the few school mates I’m still in touch with. A ritual exchange of preserves – Peter has beehives – his honey and pickled jalapeños, my apricot and chilli jam – catch up with family and friends and exchange of recipes for quinces of which we both have many this year. A very pleasant trip out of the city. Home for the evening but no need to cook after a substantial and excellent lunch.

As part of my ongoing research into Tomorrow’s Warriors I had arrnaged to interview pianist Sultan Stevenson at King’s Place on Friday evening before I went to a concert there. He is a charming man full of praise for Tomorrow’s Warriors and how it had helped his career. He told me at length about the “Each one teach one” whereby all alumni pass on their knowledge to the next generation. As he said “Where else can you get world class tutoring for free?

The concert was by London Brass celebrating their 40th anniversary and they had asked Dani Howard to contribute a new work for the occasion. Deciding against a 40 minute piece she compsed a lively four-minute “Fast Forward” that gave each section opportunities to shine and formed a coherent progression through tones and emotions.

Saturday saw my first trip to football at Watford for some weeks – international break, away and midweek fixtures got in the way. We won, most unexpectedly, 2-0 against Charlton after two recent thrashings by clubs below us in the table. There seemed to be some team spirit, some more joined-up play and ability to keep the ball for a while and to actually put it in the back of the net. Frances, Graham and I then caught the train back into Euston for a pint in the Lord Salisbury on St Martin’s Lane and then the to the Blue Note for the early show by Nubya Garcia. As one of the more prominent Tororrow’s Warriors I was keen to secure an interview by chatting to her manager Barb Sealy. Success! We have a zoom date in the diary. We also met up with Gary Crosby and his partner and co-founder of Warriors Janine Irons and with Nubya’s mother, all of which brought a fabulous end to a brilliant concert which I have reviewed for All About Jazz and which you can read here and see some photographs from the gig. Gary was happy to discuss his nephew Ashley Young with Frances and Graham. Janine said they knew Watford had won by the demeanour of the fans on the train into town. We failed to repeat Shoko and my post jazz trip to Barrafina but had satisfactory bowls at Marugame Udon opposite Charing Cross Station. A very good Saturday.

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Full on culture – no time to blog!

Since my little break in Girona, I have been out so much and writing so much other stuff I’ve had no time to blog. For anyone interested the other stuff includes three short stories, an album review and an article about the opening of the new Blue Note London jazz club for All About Jazz the international portal for all things jazz. If you want some fun reads they are here. https://www.allaboutjazz.com/articles-by-mike-raggett.

The day I got back from Spain on an on-time flight and a Stansted Express that worked well, I was able to pop home, shower and get back to Stratford East to see Bloodsport the new play by Ava Pickett whose 1536 Frances and I had enjoyed so much at The Almeida and which rightfully later had a West End run. Subtitled “After Helen of Troy” she seems to have tapped into a zeitgeisty appetite for reworked classics from Greece and Rome. Pickett is herself an Essex girl and the set was straight out of TOWIE as were some of the characters.

It was an absolutely brilliant dissection of human relationships introduced by a tracksuited chorus man who gives us the context that Helen had started an English civil war by going off with an “outsider”. There’s misogyny, racism and violence – horribly relevant at a time when balaclaved men were marauding in the streets of Britain. But the dystopian message is shot through with wit, humour and satire of lifestyles and life choices and concludes with an astonishing piece of theatre.

No spoilers as I hope this brilliant play will get a transfer. I see that one of my other favourites of the year The Guilty is to have a deserved West End run – go see it!

The next evening saw me join Frances at the Kiln Theatre for Table 17, a rather different examination of human relationships. Set in a booth in a swanky American bar Jamael Westman as Dallas and Marisha Wallace as Jada are exes having a reunion for what purpose we are not quite sure. They time slip (and execute rapid wardrobe changes) to show us their past and make us wonder if they are going to get together again. They are observed and interrupted by Michael Rishawn’s camp bar host (and several other roles) who just about steals the show with his deep yearning for a relationship and snippy comments on what he sees and hears. But whereas Bloodsport was harrowing in places, Table 17 is light and fluffy and you leave the theatre with a smile on your face.

On Friday we convened in the RHS Linley Hall for Drink Japan. Shoko had provided us with free tickets and the evening provided us with free sake and the opportunity to learn more about the subtle differences in flavour and mouthfeel of different brews. We met Shoko as well and some of her friends and had a totally mad couple of hours. We were able to walk back to Victoria Station afterwards, you’ll be pleased to hear.

I hadn’t ventured as far west as The Lyric Hammersmith for some years but Lucy Kirkwood’s The Children sounded interesting. I had not seen the original production ten years ago and despite some fine acting from Meera Syal, Declan Conlon and Kerry Fox, I found the production dull and the script a bit dated despite its chime with the apocalypic world we live in.

The premise is that a Chernobyl/Fukushimi event has taken place in England and the characters are retired nuclear engineers. A reunion in a remote cottage leads to exploration of past events, a sense of responsibility and ultimately the view that they should go back and supervise the clean up so as to let the younger employees (the children of the title) live full lives whereas they are in the final stages of theirs anyway. Again personal emotions and past relationships feature strongly. There are some elements of humour but it wasn’t my best experience of the week.

Man to Man at the Royal Court saw a bravura performance from Tilda Swinton in a play where on the death of her husband and family breadwinner, the widow takes on her husband’s identity as a crane driver and takes us through many scenes of repression, mysogyny while portraying the rise of Nazism in timely messages for today. Clad in a vest and red Y-front men’s pants, her performance is quite astonishing as she moves through story-prompting props which litter the stage. Sadly the play wasn’t quite as good as the performance but the evening will live long in the visual memory thanks to Tilda who had performed the play 39 years ago initially at Edinburgh.

I love a good newsroom story – Hecht and MacArthur’s The Front Page is of course the classic and I was looking forward to The Story at the NT. For a change Tracey Scott Wilson’s play is set in an all black newsroom but with the usual banter, jockeying for the best stories and bailiwick preservation. Cue murder of a white schoolteacher by a black person while the victim’s pregnant wife watches the deed unfold. There are some nice theatrical elements with breaking fourth wall and acting as chorus and commentators on the action.

Letitia Wright is quite brilliant as Yvonne the ambitious reporter with a white newspaper proprietor boyfriend who promises to get her out of the black enclave at the paper if she can bring home the best stories. Her traditionalist editor Pat, played by Lorraine Toussaint,wants positive black stories and bemoans the lack of opportunities. It is fast and furious with multiple scenarios on stage and screen and despite keeping its setting in pre-social media 2003, it raises serious questions of fake news, media manipluation and sterotyping.

A much more quiet and intimate evening followed at the Orange Tree where a small and quiet light by Stephanie Street [her choice of lower case] explores a little known story of second world war heroism. Meticulous research can sometimes spoil a theatrical endeavour but Street’s collaboration with lead actor Priyanga Burford delivers an enthralling tale.

It is based on the real life of Noor-un-Nisa Inayat Khan the first female radio operator parachuted into France in 1943 to assist the resistance. She is staggeringly effective in getting messages back, moving from plalce to place and finding ways to broadcast but is ultimately betrayed and captured. Indeed the play opens with her interrogation by a Nazi officer. The timeline jumps about from Noor’s childhood to her capture and the cast represent multiple characters in her all-too-short life. It was engrossing, moving and told me a story I didn’t know in an engaging manner.

Saturday saw me make a welcome return visit to the V&A Storehouse with my daughter, who had not been before, on our way to the ballet at Sadler’s Wells East. The Storehouse retains its appeal with the serendipitous juxtapositions of items from various periods and cultures. One item I hadn’t seen on my previous visit was the office for Edward J Kaufmann designed by Frank Lloyd Wright. To see such splendid work in its entirety is spectacular – desk, chairs, carpet and light fittings just as Lloyd Wright intended. We also enjoyed the David Bowie collection with suitable sound track and videos, but the thousands of personal items, song lyrics and wardrobe rails filled with exotic costumes – all of which you can pull from the racks to explore provided a fascinating insight into his genius.

We then went to East for a pleasant supper in the Park Bar and Kitchen before seeing Deepfake. This is a work by Jessica Wright and Morgann Runacre-Temple who have been choreographing works together for fifteen years as Jess & Morgs. The use of video and screens in the theatre has become a bit of bore as familiartity breeds contempt but this dance was all about the cameras and their depiction of a political scandal set against a green screen on which were projected minister’s offices, a TV studio and other locations. Characters’ projections move across rectangular blocks only to join their real selves contine the progress. It has music, speech and a cast of green clad dancers who swoop elegantly to move props and propel the action. It is a brilliant exploration of truth and reality in the era of fake news. Both Jo and I loved it and found the use of technology totally justified.

Sunday 4 October marked the 90th anniversary of the battle of Cable Street when the combined powers of London’s Eastenders confronted and drove out a proposed march by Oswald Mosley’s blackshirt fascists. The event is marked by a huge mural and the day was commemorated with marches and a poetry slam in the nearby St. George In-The-East church. The British Bilingual Poetry Collective was invited to participate and four of us followed rather shyly in the wake of the brilliant Michael Rosen and other noted poets to contribute to the themes of Cockney/East End identity and the sense of community. It was a most enjoyable way to look back on what a community can do when faced with existential threat provided that all faiths and races collaborate with each other.

On my goodness that’s 1500 words and I am just coming up to the point where I was away from home for nine evenings on the spin – better save that for the next one!

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Back to Normal?

My first visit to Tossa de Mar was preremtory and there were clouds hanging over from the previous day’s storms. So I decided to go and explore it a little further on a cloudless blue day. I drove the lovely wiggly coast road with delight except for a few ks behind a bus and parked where I had last time and set off towards the older part of town. On the way I came across the Ametllers Roman Villa where there had been a posh house, servants’ quarters, a forum and a whole area devoted to vines and presses to make them into wine. And all a century BCE! There were clear signboards in Catalan, Spanish, English and French detailing the various edifices that would have been on site. There were also some interesting mosaics. It’s not Empuries, that massive site further up the coast near L’Escala, which I’ve visited several times, but it made for an interesting half hour.

I then wandered through the very pleasant old town and approached the castle walls. The knee is doing much better with my various new remedies but I’m still not going all the way up there. Narrow streets, lots of bougainvillaea and interesting shop signage seem to be a feature of most towns with a heritage old centre. Tossa was fun and my meanderings, oddly, led me to a bar near the beach for a restorative beer and then along the beach to a restaurant that – from the language I overheard – was frequented by locals. It proved a good choice and presented me with some freshly carved ham with asparagus and seven absolutely huge and juicy prawns. Tossa in the sun is fun so I’m glad I made a second visit.

Back in Lloret I once again had no need of further food but after packing for an early start tomorrow, I went for a stroll into another part of the resort – still not endearing itself to me – and then ended up in the hotel bar where I thought as it’s my last night, I’d better have a cafe and copa. And on a shelf above the bar I spied my favourite tipple Gran Duque de Alba, a brandy of wonderful smoothness and flavour. I was joined by Isabelle and Bruno, also guests at the hotel, who I’d not seen before, but who insited on chatting to me in French for an hour and exchanging WhatsApp details. I’m sure we’ll have no further contact as we talked about trivial matters and knowledge of Spain but it certainly dredged up reasonably coherent French from somewhere – albeit interspersed with the odd Spanish phrase.

It was an early start to drive to Barcelona Airport and return the car. Google maps said it would take 1 hour 28 minutes so I allowed a little more. Thank goodness. The wonderfully clear roads predicted as I started out soon turned red around Barcelona and I began to panic a little about making the car return and the terminal in time for check in with all the warnings I’d carried from my 90 minute wait to get through passport control on the way in. It didn’t help that RecordGo have places at both terminals and I blindly followed SatNav to the wrong one. A five-minute dash got me to Terminal 2 and I was quickly inside seeking the Ryanair desk.

I did feel a bit fraudulent having asked for assistance on the way out but glad I had, as a wheelchair took me swiftly through a special passport lane and then an 8-person buggy took me straight to the gate where I was the first to board. The flight was on time and my other panic proved unnecessary as I was able to get the Stansted Express to Liverpool Street a bus to London Bridge and a train home. A quick shower and it was back to Stratford East to join Fran for Ava Pickett’s new play Bloodsports. Having not been to a show with Fran for a fortnight before I went off to Spain we now have six evenings in a row in each others’ company. More about the play in the next more leisurely post.

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What next?

After a fabulous weekend with Rosa what shall I do now? Well I have never been to Malgrat de Mar which is quite close and will give me a full house of “de Mars” added to Lloret and Tossa. A further attraction is that Malgrat has a funicular. We have ridden funiculars down from Buda to Pest, up Montjuic in Barcelona, in Bilbao to Artxanda, to Monte Igueldo in San Sebastián and that funny street lift in Lisbon so the funicular called to me. Malgrat is a pleasant sleepy town – at least at this time of year – with a nice church square and a fine beach. One small problem is the railway that you have to cross through an underpass to get to the promenade.

After a pleasant stroll along the beach coffee called so I made my way back under the tracks and into town. There was a fine modernisme town hall and cool streets with a view of the funicular at the end.

The funicular leads up to a park where a tower remains as evidence of a one-time castle. There were still quite a few steps so I was glad of the initial mechanical uplift. Fine views out over the town and the bay made the journey worthwhile.

And in the square at the foot of the funicular was Restaurant Barrica which provided a fine gazpacho and a large and tasty slice of salmon with asparagus and a good glass to accompany it.

It made for a good quiet morning outing and I got back, parked up arrived at Lloret’s cultural centre in time to watch a youth community group rehearsing on a stage across the brutalist plaza. I mooched into the centre for an evening beer but after an excellent lunch had no further need of food today.

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Good P & P &P

So Saturday was a lovely day in the city and we had a brilliant meal at a (P&P) Posh and Pricey restaurant. Sunday introduces three new Ps – Pubol, la Pera and Playa de Pals.

Salvador Dali bought and restored a castle for his wife Gala in the hamlet of Pubol. I had visited it twice many years apart and had always found it fascinating. Gala accepted it as a gift from Salvador on one condition: he only ever visited at her invitation. Their’s was a very strange relationship! This was Rosa’s first visit and she was enthralled by the place. We would both find it very easy to live there. It is not too big overall but has spacious rooms, modern facilities like phones, TV, a fabulous 50s record player and a fridge. It also has a lot of Dali features, painted or installed by him as he converted the ruin. There is a Cadillac car and a horse-drawn carriage and several photographs of Gala in various poses around the house – one of which we recreated. There was a temporary exhibition of shoots for Vogue magazine with Dali and the photographer Horst.This too was fascinating with contact sheets from the sessions and the final magazine pages. Real insights into the creative process.

And the densely overgrown garden has concrete elephants and a pool dedicated to Wagner (good man).

The village of Pubol has a couple of very Posh restaurants. However the whole of Spain eats lunch with extended families on Sunday so we were tolerated for a beer and a mineral water but not for lunch. So we head for La Pera the next village where the SatNav tries to take us up a no entry and then does take us into a cul-de-sac where we have to do a multipoint (I lost count) turn and then the nearest parking involved reversing close to a precipice – Rosa nobley got out to shout stop as appropriate. We then walked up the no entry and found a very unposh bar that gave us a fine lunch of croquettes, grilled artichokes and a rose wine so nice Rosa photographed the bottle for future reference. It is very rare to get really bad food and service anywhere in Spain apart from the tourist hotspots. Local, unfussy bars like this are usually reliable and friendly.

Rosa had booked us tickets for a concert in Girona at 6 pm so, with a few hours to spare,I suggested a trip to Pals beach for a brief wander along the strand. It is always good to see the sea. We both agreed that Pals village had been over-restored so as to become almost a film set. However, Rosa did not know that it had an eight kilometre beach. So we drove there a walked a bit and then made our way back to Girona for the gig.

Pals beach with the Islas Medas special marine environmental area in the distance. Great diving!

The concert was being given by the Catalan Community Gospel Choirs and we didn’t really have much idea of what to expect. I was glad to visit the Auditori de Girona, a modern edifice at the edge of the big tree lined park on the north side of the city – La Devesa – which is a real Girona landmark. We are both amazed by the number of people arriving and the distance away we had to park. Poor crowd management meant long queues and a late start! They were probably as surprised as us!

The concert itself was an evening of rollicking fun. There were eight choirs from all over Catalonia who had been part of a workshop weekend with a renowned gospel singer Colin Vassell. 250 people filed onto the stage all wearing CCGC tee shirts and filled with enthusiasm for their task. They were accompanied by a great band with keyboards, bass guitar and drums on one side of the stage and pairs of trumpets, trombones and saxophones on the other. The singing was loud and mostly in unison but it was very affecting and they managed to get the majority of the audience – and the hall holds 1200 – on their feet and dancing and certainly clapping along – us too – to many of the songs. It is a good thing when you go in with low expectations and come out with a buzz and a smile. No it wasn’t the highest quality musical experience of the year but seeing so many people having the time of their lives is infectious.

We wandered back to the distant car with broad smiles and I dropped Rosa off close to her home before making my way back to Lloret. After all Rosa is now on an employment sabbatical and two late nights would not be good before Monday morning back at work. I really enjoyed exploring places with her and introducing her to some she didn’t know. I did have a house here for seven years and came back again with Dee a few times after that had to go; so I do have some knowledge of the area. It is a truly beautiful part of the world. Super weekend! Thanks Rosa!

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Giro de Girona

Although we met for dinner on Thursday, the prime purpose of this trip for me was to spend a weekend with Rosa in her new home in Girona. The drive up on Saturday morning was easy and I had, thanks to local advice, prebooked a car park space close to Rosa’s apartment. Number plate recognition raised the barrier, shared location on Google maps allowed Rosa to come and find me. Oh the technology!

Her apartment is brilliantly situated in the old town – 5 minutes from the market, and well placed for bars and restaurants. We stopped for a coffee on the way and I learned that Girona is a training hub for serious cyclists – police impeded my progress a couple of times so that a peloton could emerge on they up from Lloret. And the cafe we stopped at was full of them.

Having dropped off my bag, we headed off to the not very visually exciting market and bought ingredients for a light lunch. Rosa’s flat is in a fabulous old building and is very comfortable and she is an excellent host. We sauntered through the old streets admiring the graphics on shopfronts and their contents!

Before eating however we had to take a typical Girona pre-lunch vermut. Not a regular drink of mine but most enjoyable with olives and crisps with a Tabasco style sauce. We later added a delicious little tin of cockles. It is a good thing to have someone with whom to explore local customs. And on the way back we booked a table in Safo restaurant for the evening.

The plan after lunch back at Rosa’s, was to visit the Girona Museum of Art which Rosa had not yet managed since moving here. The Museum is misnamed. It stands next to the cathedral and should be called the Girona Museum of Religious Art and Artefacts. There were some interesting things on display from many centuries of life in the city. It did not capture our imagination or demand a revisit any time soon. Rosa had thoughtfully found us a sloping route up since the cathedral steps well outrank the Spanish steps in Rome and are apparently often featured in Game of Thrones. It did give us an opportunity for a selfie looking across the city to the mountains in the distance.

We wandered back with a stop for a beer and a pass by a shop that used to sell a brilliant range of automata of which Jo has quite a collection. Sadly no more clockwork toys. We did venture into a few other shops and this gave us a chance to look at the buildings along the river Onyar which I remember with affection for their colourful reflections and sense of peace.

The choice of restaurant for tonight was important for Rosa who suffers a little from the conservatism of some of her new friends. With a taste for good food she would head for P&P bars and restaurants which would be spurned by her mates as too Posh and Pricey. Safo was one such although not so pricey. The food was exquisite – a pâté so runny I asked for a spoon to load it onto tacos, roasted polenta that was the best texture and taste combination ever with a salad – now here’s service! I asked if the leaves included spinach and was shortly presented with my personal salad which the chef confirmed had no spinach. Wow! Posh! Then a rarity for me and a first for Rosa – veal sweetbreads which were in a divine sauce. Big thanks to Safo for a superb dinner with an excellent organic local rosat wine to accompany it.

We had eaten quite early by Spanish standards but the night was not over as friends John and Noellie had been at a friend’s gig nearby and were up for meeting for a nightcap. We tried to get onto the roof terrace of the Roca Brothers posh hotel by I suspect my shorts and polo shirt proved improper dress. However a happy hour was spent on the terrace of a Georgian restaurant Qvevri at which wine and snacks were taken by some and a huge meringue-cum-Eton mess that satisfied Rosa’s craving for something sweet which she had been denied by my aversion to puddingy things. It looked amazing and was devoured by the three sweet eaters. It was a real delight to meet John and his wife. I knew that John had worked with Rosa on some of her arts projects and we had a fine chat until well past midnight when a scowling proprietress indicated it was closing time. Having slightly failed to clock locations as we tried to find the right place, before I knew it we were back at Rosa’s setting up the sofa bed and retiring after a fabulous day in Girona.

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Nostalgia trip

I decide to visit Tossa de Mar just up the coast. But what a great coastal drive – hairpins, dips and tunnels – super stuff. And the sun was out requiring driver sunnies! Tossa is so much (sorry) classier than Lloret. I resisted the Alicante imperative to visit the castle given the streams of people zigzgging their way up. My only quibble was that the useful boardwalk was plastic! Please! Parking was easy, coffee was good and the sun was out. Fairly flat walking but one or other medication seems to be working.

Back in the car it’s off up the much improved coast road to Palamos. I remember one trip a few years back when I had to stop for my friend Ada to get out and throw up as the curves got to her. The road while still exciting is a bit smoother now! Palamos harbour is a lovely mix of working fisherfolk and trendy yacht folk. But I always enjoy a stroll around the fine waterfront. It does have a touristy bit but you can exclude that.

Then it is off to Begur on a familiar road but again much improved since I was here regularly back in the eighties and early nineties. Dual carriage makes the previous lethal overtaking – especially in a UK drive car – less common and I arrive to see that our nearest Ceramica is now closed and is now a repository for rusting mechanical diggers etc. Shame – we bought a few things there. Worse, the restaurant next to the Spar is no more. How many meals have we taken there after the drive through France? No menu just what was good that day. So down through Sa Fontansa to drive by our house. We sold it to a Dutch couple and they must have led a veritable invasion. There are more yellow NL plates than Spanish on the roads around here. Since we sold up they have added a pool and an extension so it is quite a place now. And as so often there were men working in the garage – come back Paco Heredia!

Begur still holds its charm with the castle and historic centre and its lovely bays surrounding it. I head off to one of these Sa Tuna for lunch on the promenade. Clams with bacon and garlic go down well with some fresh bread and a cool glass of local Catalan rosat wine – again just the one. Just after Dee’s father died we brought her mother with us on a trip to France and Spain and rented the little blue shuttered cottage on the left for a blissful week’s holiday.

Then back to Begur for a post-lunch coffee. I was really, stupidly, pleased to find the shop where I used to buy our daily bread, the Fleca La Palma, still in operation. The church and the main square are still as I remember them – a few new names on bars and restaurants but many that provided good times in the past are still in business.

We always had a soft spot for Torroella de Montgri – Dee and I once climbed to the top of the castle on the mont. Today it was just a wander through the streets and a glass of zero beer (ugh! Too sweet) in the square before returning to the car to find a ticket as I didn’t check that parking was no longer free between 2 and 6 as it used to be. Times change after 20 odd years.

The drive back to Lloret through a surprisingly still fairly green Ampurdan plain was pleasant. The rice fields at Pals had all been harvested perhaps a little earlier than usual. Rosa later explained that after the hot summer there had been quite a lot of rain, as I saw on Wednesday, so things had greened up a bit. The journey was easy except for a slow re-entry to Lloret with evening traffic, giving me time to admire the Queen Vic and the Monster Disco – no I won’t – have a quick shower and head for a nearby bar for a light supper of anchovies and aubergine with honey and a little wine with alcohol.

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A better day two

I started out with a few aims: 1: call Rosa to arrange the weekend; 2: find stronger painkillers than paracetamol; 3 buy a USB C double to connect phone to car; 4: sun.

A call to Rosa proves better than expected – she is happy to meet for dinner tonight. I research a few places half way between Lloret and Girona and am delighted when Rosa selects Ca la Manela in Caldes de Malavella. Spain must have a farmacia for every ten people and the first one I encounter is organic/non chemical so I have some potion specially for joints. It has my knee on the packet so I buy it. I do however get plan B at a normal chemist later. Both come in a form I have not encountered before – they are sachets that you tear the top off and suck the contents into your mouth. The cable too is acquired from one of the multitude of phone shops and I have SatNav on the big screen. And there is a hint of sun on the beach at Lloret. So far so good.

Close-up of a person's knee with visible skin texture, next to a box of Regenidol Forte, which highlights joint health.

Box of Enandol 25 mg oral solution containing dexketoprofen, indicated for short-term treatment of acute pain in adults, with 16 sachets of 10 ml each.

Lloret is not for me. The Benidorm of the Costa Brava without the extent and height of the tower blocks. I did find a quite nice church but no casc antic that makes so many towns interesting. I walked the streets filled with gift shops, ceramics and how ever many watch shops. How are the Spanish renowned for a mañana attitude with so many options to keep them to time? And it dawned on me that Lamine Yamal is the new Messi given the almost total absence of other players’ strips parading the promenade and tourist traps. I found a square away from the front for a coffee and another local place for some tapas and then headed out of town for my planned dinner with Rosa.

I had stayed at the Vichy Catalan spa in Caldes de Malavella on my 2017 newly widowed sort-myself-out trip and, while small, it has some fine buildings and a good restaurant. As I was there well before our booking time at 20:30, I was able to explore further and discovered that the mineral water it is famed for was originally discovered by the Romans in 300 BCE. The Roman Baths are free to enter and proved an interesting wander for half a hour with some good multilingual explanatory display boards, charting is uses and misuses through the centuries/until the nineteenth century vogue for “taking the waters” gave the town a whole new commercial life. I think there are half a dozen companies the most famous of which is Vichy Catalan. And despite some very threatening clouds over the mountains I did get some sun with a green tea in the square watching much coming and going of the local populace.

View of a weathered stone ceiling with a small rectangular opening and patches of greenery. — The original source

Ruins of an ancient stone structure featuring an archway and a staircase, with weathered stones and brick elements. — The original source

There was a convenient free parking space two minutes from the restaurant in which I think I had a quick lunch ten years ago. It seemed much expanded and had an attractive menu from which we were encouraged to order far too much food. On enquiring what the portion sizes were the patron’s hands indicate a cazuela or saucer size. When they game they were charger sized and I am afraid there was some waste of very tasty seafood and grilled vegetables. I think the meal was unique in my history in that we each consumed one glass of verdejo as we both had to drive back.

Front view of a restaurant named 'Ca la Manela,' featuring a yellow facade and large glass doors, with menus displayed on the windows.

Interior view of a cozy restaurant featuring wooden beams, stone walls, and tables set with glasses and flowers.

It was a lovely evening catching up and making plans for the weekend in Girona. As a conceptual artist, often waiting for the next commission, Rosa is taking a sabbatical into the world of work with a 10 till 2 and 4 till 8 Spanish hours job which she finds wonderfully liberating being allocated tasks and timescales to achieve. Fortunately I did have a glass of last night’s Ramon Bilbao to render the evening a bit more normal.

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On the move on a day of three halves

Some time ago my friend Rosa, now located in Girona, and I agreed it would be nice to meet up and that the next weekend when we were both available was 19/20 September. Shortly after fixing this, the Guardian Escapes promo offered me seven nights with flights and a hire car for £900 in Lloret de Mar which is less than an hour from Girona.

Just before my departure it transpired that the only day I could meet Daisy and Jerry visiting London from Boston was Tuesday 15. We had a lovely catch up over lunch at the Union Club which Jerry was amazed to find not filled with ancient men with monocles and moustaches – what a disservice films have done to us! We then strolled through Covent Garden to the Sir John Soane Museum to see an exhibition by a Dutch artist I didn’t know. I still don’t as it was closed. However the Hunterian Museum on the opposite side of Lincoln’s Inn Fields was open and proved fascinating and among the many amazing specimens the Hunter brothers collected, it had a modern day area with a film about knee replacement surgery, highly recommended by a former train driver who had had both hips and knees replaced – one down three to go for me! We then went the the Bridge Theatre to see The Orestaia Simon Stone’s riff on Aeschylus. What a piece of theatre! The obligatory glass box set here worked well to contain the pent-up familial emotions on display. Much of the script is produced during rehearsals which the actors interviewed on the Bridge website found equally confusing, stimulating and liberating. How quickly can three and a half hours pass? Very, when the acting, staging and concepts are this good. Brilliant theatre.

Now to the next day. Up early, walk to Lee Station with carry on suitcase and rucksack, bus from London Bridge to Liverpool Street, Stansted Express to the airport all went swimmingly. Except that the toll on my arthritic knee with added burden was considerable, such that I asked Ryanair staff if they could arrange for assistance for me at Barcelona and on my return. A wheelchair, while denting my pride, might get me through the labyrinth more quickly. Part one of day highly satisfactory.

The flight arrived slightly early but no assistance was waiting at the airport. Kind passengers helped my with my cases up the ladder at Stansted and on the ramp at Barcelona. We enter passport control where the content of about a dozen simultaneous flights must have been congregated I use the word carefully – literally thousands of passengers. I accosted an agent, showed him my assistance confirmation email and he jumped me up the queue with a few askance glances but because I was accompanied by a hi-viz jacket wearer it was generally accepted. So my expedited passage through the passport control hall only took ONE HOUR AND THIRTY minutes. Chaos doesn’t describe it. Then the instructions for getting my hire car were incorrect but the dispatchers were immensely sympathetic and helpful. RecordGo rental strong recommend. Sadly I need a double USB C cable to use my phone through the car display, but I set off along the Ronda Littoral through seafront Barcelona with fond memories of many past visits and the happy prospect of some restorative sun on my knee. Part two mostly bad with an uptick at the end.

Short lived. As I reach Barcelonetta the heavens open and the remainder of my ninety minute journey are with wipers at full blast and there is flooding in the many tunnels along the route north to Lloret. We got lucky up here as this morning’s TV images from Valencia demonstrated. I found the hotel first go and luckily it is right opposite a Parking so no more stress there. As it is a hotel largely used by package tours like mine despite its misleading name of The Fifteenth Boutique Hotel it is not what I would normally have chosen. It has a lift, and complete miracle 358 is the first on the right out of the lift. Dee and I used to joke that receptionists had been persuaded always to situate us in the room furthest from the lift. Room 358 is spacious and comfortable with a balcony looking over the pool. After a fairly onerous day, I decide to eat at the hotel rather than exploring in the dark with a few spots of rain still falling. Dinner is a buffet with cuisine from all over the world – none of it done with any finesse. The upside was that they had a bottle of Ramon Bilbao Rioja with which I am perhaps too familiar, but it rounded the day off well. Hasta mañana!

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August unfolds

August started well with an invitation to my granddaughter’s18th birthday party. Daisy could at last legally buy a pint and I enjoyed a few with her and many other family members and friends in the Shortlands Tavern. It has recently implemented an “No under 21s after 8pm” rule after recent troubles with young people. My daughter thinks these were largely self-inflicted by putting televisions everywhere and staying open late during the World Cup and encouraging a younger clientele. We were not ushered off the premises but chose to leave around nine after a good evening of catching up. Daisy and the family had just returned from a fabulous trip to Vietnam and Cambodia about which I heard lots of good things.

The next Sunday saw another trip to the Royal Albert Hall to a concert by the Orchestra of the Age of Enlightenment. I had arranged to dine with Frances in the Queen’s Arms the lovely nearby pub where we had missed Dani Howard on the previous Sunday’s Prom trip. There are still no trains into Charing Cross from Lee so I thought a bus from Victoria to the RAH would be easy. Not so. The National March for Palestine had caused a massive gridlock around Hyde Park Corner – no problem with that a worthy cause – but a TFL guy advised that he couldn’t say when the next 52 bus would make it down to Victoria. There were two other concert goers who were anxious about making the trip as they wanted to catch the Hockney at Serpentine North before the concert – I just wanted to get to the pub to meet Frances. So I suggested a taxi. They were worried about cost but finally we agreed and were joined by a fourth passenger so all costs were shared.

By a brilliantly circuitous route the driver contrived in good time to drop three of us at the hall and took the fourth woman on to her home on Kensington High Street – raised eyebrows were met with “I downsized a big house into a tiny postage stamp flat!” Good food, wine and conversation ensued and we made our way to the hall.

The OAE development team had suggested we might like to join them for a pre-concert or interval drink at their box. We headed there to find that only white wine was on offer. In a piece of noble generosity my friend Luka whizzed off to source some red as Fran and I had not wished to switch from our dinner tipple. Thanks Luka – much appreciated! Some very interesting conversations with other guests included music, lack of arts funding and cricket. The concert itself was excellent. I had never heard of, let alone heard music by, Zelenka. He was admired by Bach and Telemann and I enjoyed his Misere for its brooding intensity and varied choral writing but especially for the soprano lines for Erin Morley who was in brilliant form in this piece and in two Mozart concert arias. In between Peter Whelan directed the OAE in a performance of Mozart’s Masonic Funeral Music a rather strange requiem for a fellow mason as indeed was Zelenka’s piece. It was a very engaging first half with the band on great form under a conductor they love working with. The second half was devoted to Hadyn’s Nelson Mass where Erin Morley was joined by Helen Charlston, Guy Cutting and William Thomas. Both Helen and Guy are graduates of the Rising Stars programme through which the OAE helps so many young singers progress their careers. While Erin Morley has the lion’s (esses’?) share of the arias, the other voices worked well to provide us with a thoughtful version of this complex work with its low strings and drums contrasting with steely blasts from the trumpets and lush orchestral ensemble passages. Another great evening at the Proms.

*Erin Morley, Helen Charlston, Peter Whelan, Guy Cutting and William Thomas receive applaus*e

The next trip was to catch up with Adrian Lester and Susannah Fielding in Cyrano which has transferred from Stratford to the Noel Coward Theatre in St Martin’s Lane. I met Fran again for a pre-theatre snack in the excellent Barrafina in Adelaide Place – wonderfully convenient for Charing Cross station which is today again receiving trains from Lee for the first time in a month. Barrafina staff are chatty, the food superb and the wine slipped down nicely. As did the play. I’ve always known Adrian Lester was a great actor but this performance was outstanding and backed up by a superb cast of actors and musicians who roamed around the theatre throughout a really funny and emotional evening. As someone who likes playing with words, I loved this adaptation by Debris Stevenson and director Simon Evans which absolutely crackled with one-liners, classy put downs and truly duff verse as well as some emotional interplay in the love triangle. Brilliant!

You know you are getting old when the NHS offers you a vaccination against a virus you’ve never heard of. I looked up RSV and found that it was respiratory syncytial virus and the vaccination is intended for “older adults and newborn babies”. So I’m now worried that I’m entering Shakespeare’s seventh age and will finish up “sans teeth, sans eyes, sans taste, sans everything”. As an asthmatic anyway I thought I’d better do it and discover that the nearest pharmacy I can attend is in Downham Way which “sans car” is an exciting two-bus ride away.

It all worked out fine and to date, the possible flu-like symptoms I was warned of haven’t materialised and my weak lungs have some extra protection. And I had a trip as a passenger through some of the less familiar parts of southeast London.

BBPC is working with New Cockney Poets towards an event on 4 October to commemorate the 90th anniversary of the Battle of Cable Street when the East End rose to repel Owald Mosley’s fascists from marching through the area. So we set our participants the theme of East End Identity for this session’s poems. Some wrote on the day, some had prepared poems ahead of the meeting and others who couldn’t attend sent in their poems. Inspiration came from a film of the action back in 1936 with first hand commentary from a particpant and from the Cable Street mural.

My friend Jadwiga and I celebrate each others’ birthdays with a lunch. We share a date 19 but are two months apart. Because of lots of other commitments we celebrated mine in August at Ognisko, Jadwiga’s favouriite Polish restauarant in Exhibition Road. After a surprisingly hot beetroot soup – we both expected it to be cold – I then had a rabbit leg in mixed vegetables and Jadwiga who doesn’t eat meat had smoked salmon blinis.

Our tradiiton is then to walk up and view the current year’s Serpentine Pavilion. Unfortunately it was closed for a private event so we could only admire the fine red brickwork of its construction. Designed by LANZA atelier from Mexico City the design is known amusingly as a crinkle-crankle wall. The serpentine nature of the wall apparently gives it more stability and uses fewer brisks. It is certainly very curvy and has some bricks with inttricate patterns baked in. We weren’t able to experience its translucent canopy roof so had to make do with the website images for the effect.

What we did discover was a new artist in the Gallery. We had to admit that neither of us knew anything about Cecily Brown a Btritish born painter who trained at the Slade and moved to the USA in 1994. They are mostly very large colourful canvases close to abstraction. However as you look closer there are humans, animals and especially fallen logs over streams in a reccurring series of “Nature Walks”. She applies paint in very thick broad strokes in the majority of works here but we both really liked some of her smaller works, These are mainly monotypes, that is one-off prints, not editions, to which she adds pen and ink drawing, crayon and pastels to great effect. I found these really interesting in subject matter and technique. An unexpected pleasure that rounded out the birthday treat very nicely.

Another cross south London multi-bus trip found me at the gate of the Dulwich Picture Gallery. A couple of weeks ago Lucy Nicholson, herself a renowned photographer, recommended the exhibition Portrait of a City which showcases over 100 images of urban life in the USA from 1907 to 2012. Many are by well-known photographers like Diane Arbus, Saul Leiter, Alfred Stieglitz, Helen Levitt and Bruce Anderson and many by others I hadn’t heard of. The photographs themselves were all worthy of a long look just as images but build a dramatic impression of urban life in America over the century. There were some interesting film clips too.Thanks for the tip Lucy.

More bus journeys took me from Dulwich to the Southbank Centre for a talk by a favourite Japanese writer Mieko Kawakami. I debated taking a photo of her book titles in my Kindle to sign but decided that would not be cool. Her talk was fascinating covering her own rather deprived background, her writing style and choice of themes – all quite different so far in the five books I’ve read. Then a large chunk of the evening was devoted to talking about Murakami and translation. The description of the collaboration with translators and the degree of trust involved was very insightful. At one point she said that Jay Rubin, who has translated a lot of Murakami, was of the opinion that Murakami’s translation into Japanese of Catcher in the Rye was better as a read than Salinger’s original – quite a claim. Mieko also talked with admiration of Murakami’s beautiful Japanese. She was funny – you knew when a joke was coming because the Japanese in the room laughed before the superb interpreter, whose name I didn’t catch, – could deliver the English equivalent. A fascinating evening and some re-reading to be done withn new perspectives on the books.

The arrival of a new Almodovar film is a real incentive to venture into Picturehouse Central for a treat. His latest is Amarga Navidad – Bitter Christmas in English. A recurring theme in his later work has been the blurring of fiction and reality. How ethical is it to steal someone else’s life story for your script? As always, the sets and wardrobe are strikingly colourful and chic. The acting is emotionally powerful and the split era timescale works well with tragic events of 2004 being purloined for eminent director Raul’s (Leonardo Sbaraglia) 2025 script.

Relationships across genders are vivdly drawn and the close friendships of the female characters contrast with the more withdrawn males. The execption here is the brilliant Patrick Criado a firefighter who moonlights as a stripper in brilliant glitzy underpants who is supportive of the panic attack prone commercials director Elsa, played by Barbara Lennie. In a gender swap Elsa is Raul’s alter ego in the modern day script. The parallel stories intertwine in an intriguing way and as so often music plays an important part – Alberto Iglesias’ score won the Soundtrack Award at the Cannes Film Festival and a haunting Mexican song from Chavela Vargas makes an impact. This is not Almodovar’s best work but I found it riveting throughout and with Madrid at Christmas and the black sand of Lanzarote as locations and his brillinat designers’ sets, props and costumes it are always visually as well as intellectually and morally interesting.

After the film, I popped into Yoshino to pick up my supply of gyokuro and apart from the usual delightful catch up with Lisa, I had the bonus of seeing Shoko who had come to the Prom a couple of weeks ago that featured Dani Howard’s concerto for brass Signal. Shoko had been away in Poland for a week and is now back in London where she works at a Japanese bank. Both these women are delightful company and a longer session at Yoshino where food as well as beer will be taken is planned. Shoko approved of my current reading – a hilarious, scary, futuristic satire called Tokyo-to Dojo-to or The Sympathy Tower Tokyo. She doesn’t completely share my love of Murakami finding his “beautiful Japanese” (Meiko Kawakami) prose quite hard going sometimes.

A Month in the Country is Ivan Turgenev’s most famous (only performed) stage work although there have been adaptations for the stage of several of his novels including Fathers and Sons also by Brian Friel whose version I just saw at the Donmar. I have seen the play before but it was difficult to tell whether what the audience shared was more Turgenev or Friel. OK, the plot was Turgenev with the pampered, moody Natalya longing for a true connection, preferably with a younger beau, from her loveless marriage – very Nordic, with echoes of Strindberg, Ibsen and of course Chekhov. However the latter comparison is retrospective as this play predates his better known compatriot’s theatre debut by 25 years. As we enter we find a leafy glass box through which said Natalya peers out from her symbolic prison – a little heavy perhaps. No complaints with the rest of the production though. It moves swiftly through the scenes with the box descending as a marker. The sets are sparse with lots of very wafty grasses and minimal furniture. Natalya’s gowns are exquisite – hats off to the design team – and the other cast wardrobe well chosen for their characters. But that’s all surface, what about the play?

Sophie Okonedo can seemingly do no wrong. She gives a faultless performance as the sneering and demanding diva Natalya and as the pleading and needy would-be mistress. Just brilliant! Alastair Petrie was also outstanding as the spurned but devoted lover-in-waiting, Patrick Gibson was a revelation as the young tutor Alexey by turns falling in and out of love with both Natalya and her ward Vera in a nuanced performance. I couldn’t fault any of the supporting cast who are too many to list – it’s a big cast for a small space – but they all do justice to Friel’s witty adaption. Oh did I mention that it is sidesplittingly funny? I was sitting behind critic Mark Lawson whose frequent guffaws should guarantee a good review. It’s an evening about love and marriage – the first both requited and not and the latter a prison and a promise. I think I wrote that the Donmar’s The Guilty was my play of the year. This runs it close.

This blog started and ends with my granddaughter. For some time Dani Howard and her partner Sion Jones had said they could arrange for Daisy to sit in the pit beside their friend flautist Holly during a performance of Oliver! at the Gielgud Theatre. A great opportunity for work-experience for one about to study music and drama at the Guildford School of Acting. After an early supper in Pasta Evangelsists in Wardour Street, the Addisons and I arranged to meet and make introductions in the Blue Posts pub and then walk to the theatre. Why are there two Blue Posts pubs within about 300 yards of each other? I knew the one in Berwick Street very well from days past when recording voice overs with Chris Timpson at his studio in Duck Lane round the corner. However Dani and Sion were in the one in Rupert Street – even closer to the theatre. Oops! We did meet, chat and become firm friends all round and then Jo, Chris and I went in the front door to take our seats in the stalls while Daisy went in through the stage door. She found it loud – it is remarkable how much noise a 12 piece band can produce – interesting and useful. After the show we then all (minus Jo who had a bit of a headache) gathered at the other Blue Posts for a debrief, some networking and a few drinks before heading off home after a thoroughly entertaining evening.