Rajiv Joseph

Blazing through July

My June ended with a BBPC Bimonthly Meetup and an hour of poetry performance at the Bangla Book Fair at the Brady Arts Centre in Hanbury Street on Sunday 28th. Our theme was Anti-War Poems and seven poets recited in Bengali, Spanish and English. It was a lively session and we received some positive feedback.

So while there’s some football happening in North and Central America which I am boycotting because I loathe Infantino and FIFA – don’t think I’ll be missing much – I have a feast of cricket to enjoy. And more specifically Womens’ Cricket. I’ve been a big fan of this aspect of cricket fuelled perhaps by the success of my home county Hampshire in various guises as Southern Vipers, Southern Brave and just Hampshire. I was lucky enough to be gifted a signed England Womens team shirt for my 80th birthday which hangs proudly on my office wall, thanks to a request from my son-in-law Chris to Charles Dagnall of the Sky and TMS teams.

So when England made it to the semi final of the ICC Womens’ T20 World Cup 2026, it was off to the Oval on 2 July to see England battle it out with South Africa for a place in Sunday’s Final. I was able to meet up with Chris and a producer friend of his Toby Welch who is exec producing on David Mitchell’s Ludwig. After a fine game of cricket we repaired to the Fentiman Arms to discuss cricket, TV and the world was a better place for our deliberations. England made it to the final and Jo had already booked final tickets many months ago so the whole Addison family set off for Lord’s where England were duly demolished by Australia who are still in a different league despite the odd blip, Sadly no blip today.

Then on Monday it was off to the Royal Court Theatre for The Archduke. Yes that one – “the shot that rang out around the world”. The assassination in Sarajevo that is reputed to have started World War I. Except this fascinating take on the story had a chilling resonance with the exploitation of the young and poor that drives the county lines today. Having previously seen Rajiv Joseph’s Bengal Tiger at the Baghdad Zoo, I wasn’t expecting straight history. With many moments of hilarity it also posed serious questions about recruiting vulnerable people to carry out heinous tasks on your behalf – kamikaze pilots, jihadi martyrs spring to mind – history repeats itself with no regard for morality. The acting was superb through comedy and tragedy but Es Devlin’s set was the theatrical coup of the evening.

More politics on Tuesday with Springwood at Hampstead. This featured the 1939 meeting between King George VI and President Roosevelt to attempt to get the USA to support Britain in the looming Second World War. Robert Lindsay and Gemma Redgrave were POTUS and First Lady with Andrew Havill and Rebecca Knight as Bertie and Elizabeth.

Photograph: Tristram Kenton/The Guardian

It was again very resonant with modern times with Charles III having had to deal with tyrant Trump in the country’s interests. It was Richard Nelson’s third outing with the same material following a 2009 BBC radio play, the 2012 film Hyde Park on Hudson and now Springwood. It’s pretty static in action terms but very lively in mental gymnastics as the two country representatives try to exert pressure – Roosevelt with all the strength, George VI in a weak position of still owing the USA millions from the previous conflict. Robert Lindsay was excellent and Gemma Redgrave matched him but was perhaps a little underwritten.

A gap on Wednesday when a pub lunch trip to the Surrey Hills was cancelled when my oldest schoolfriend called to say he’d tripped awkwardly, broken his ankle and didn’t feel like socialising in a massive ankle boot.

Thursday saw me join Frances at the Donmar Warehouse for certainly the play of the week if not the play of the year. The Guilty by Chloë Moss is based on a Danish film from 2018. It’s getting to be a signature of the Donmar with recent productions Mass, Force Majeure and The Fear of 13 all stage adaptations of films. The Guilty stars Russell Tovey as Joe, a nightime police despatcher, suspended from active duties for reasons that are unclear at the outset. Tovey’s perfomance is outstanding as he struggles to cope with frequent ’emergency’ nuisance callers, real emergencies and his unravelling domestic life. It’s incredibly intense with some relief with humorous moments but the pace of the multiple calls and the several different storylines revealed in just over an hour is astonishing. There’s also a further staggering piece of theatre that I can’t reveal as the show is still running and we were handed a card on exit from the auditorium. It’s sold out but if you can beg or steal a ticket do so. It’s a masterpiece!

After that thrilling night of theatre it’s off to Lord’s again for a unique experience. The first womens’ Test Match is being held at the ground between England and India. Jo and Chris and I were soon joined by BBC Test Match Special statistician Andy Salzman who was enjoying a day off – just watching cricket for his own enjoyment. We saw a good day of proper white-clad cricket with India all out for 285 and England 21 for 1 at the close of play.

*50 England women cricketers gather at Lord’s for the first ever womens test match here*.

The day started with a historic parade of some 50 former England women cricketers among them the 85 year-old Enid Bakewell who, with help, rang the five-minute bell to get this long-overdue moment underway.

We then had to dash back to the Blackheath Halls where as last year’s winners, Soulstice, the band my grandaughter plays in, had to play a set while the judges deliberated on this year’s contestants. It was a rather sad occasion, possibly their last gig as they are all leaving school and going to different places for uni. They were still brilliant – even better actually – and I said I was going to book the O2 for their 20th reunion in 2046 – I might not be there to supervise. You can hear them on SoundCloud here.

On the Saturday, I’m due to pick up Jadwiga in Putney and take us to Garsington Opera to see Gerald Barry’s The Importance of Being Earnest. But in my new car-free state, I first have to go and pick up a hire car. Fortunately there’s a branch of Switch Car Hire in Mottingham – one train stop down the line and a five minute walk from the station. It’s all very efficient and I set off in a manual (how long has that been!) Citroen Captur. with a little time to spare I did a shop for heavy items before returning home getting into my dinner trousers and shirt – too hot for jackets and set off for Stokenchurch via the south circular and Putney. The car went well the trip out of London was dire but the M40 pretty clear and we arrived in good time to catch the vintage Aldershot and District coach (the compoany that used to take me to school all those years ago) down to the walled garden where in a delightful bonus, our friend Susie Stranders was the accompanist for a recital by two of Garsington’s emerging artists. Miro Treharne is a fine mezzo and Matthew Sotillo-Cooke a lyrical tenor. They encompassed classical repertoire and concluded with a dramatised ‘On the street where you live’. The half hour in the garden was a delightful curtain raiser and we had a chance to spend time with Susie which we all enjoyed.

*Miro Treharne, Susie Stranders and Matthew Sotillo-Cooke on the Garsington garden stage.*

Then back up to the opera pavilion for the main event. An opera I didn’t know at all but based on a play I knew very well. Would it desecrate Oscar’s work or celebrate it? Well the core was there – false identity, harridan Lady Bracknell (played by a baritone to good effect!), deception and delusion but not necessarily in the same order as in the Wilde play. There was some fine singing of very demanding parts, some stunning visual effects and a set that was out of its mind. I found the score a little disjointed in the first part but grew into something much more engaging in the second with some fabulous moment of drama, humour and joy. And hats off to conductor Douglas Boyd being mugged across the stage to get to the podium. Really entering into the production! Both Jadwiga and I really enjoyed it with a caveat on her part that it shouldn’t be called ‘opera’ there ought to be another category for this kind of event. I disagreed and told her that she was too much of a traditionalist, despite agreeing to come and see it and having a good time.

*Earnest stage at Garsington Photo: Richard Hubert Smith Garsington Opera*

Music of a very different kind on my actual birthday. With no knowledge of the coming event. I joined Shamim at the Brady Arts Centre for a performance of Nakshi Kanthar Math a dance drama which translates as The Field of the Embroidered Quilt. With projected video, dramatic acting and fine traditional dancing it told the story of a couple separated by a family feud. He, Rupai, travels widely for work, she Saju embroiders the quilt Nakshi Kantha until he returns. Except she dies before he returns and all he finds is the quilt covering her burial site. Echoes of Penelope and Odysseus, Romeo and Juliet were there showing that some stories are universal whatever the language. Shamim and I then went for a lovely birthday dinner, during which admittedly a little work was done preparing for a BBPC project funding bid to the British Council. It entailed quite a few Zoom meetings during the next week. We’ll know in October but it might entail a trip to Dhaka.

Despite the busy week I did find time for a very pleasant lunch at the Union Club with Mike and Joan Addison, Chris’s parents. We hadn’t caught up for a while so grandchildren, opera and cricket were discussed along with worries about us sometimes feeling young amongst audiences at musical events. Where will the future audiences come from?

Well there was no chance of feeling young at my last cultural trip of July. Another of Garsington’s emerging artists this summer was my friend Kristina Ammattil. She was appearing at the Arcola Theatre in Dalston in a double bill called Murder Games. The first half was Cupboard Love a 1950s comic opera by British composer Madeleine Dring with a libretto by D.F. Aitken – well a farce really involving some superb ‘dead body’ acting from Ellie Westbrook. After the interval we were treated to Three Sisters who are not Sisters another short comic opera by American composer Ned Roram with a text by Gertrude Stein. Lots of dashing about and lying dead surrounded by chalk body outlines. Both were written for chamber performance with piano accompaniment which was provided by the music director of the producers Opera Makers Panaretos Kyriatzidis. I found the music in Ned Roram’s piece more interesting and the performances of all the singers was remarkable. Annoyingly they didn’t do a curtain call bow towards my seat so Kristina is distant second from left in red stripey stockings. However the programme had a fine photo of the three sisters Salome Siu, Kristina and Ellie. And we did a selfie to send to my friend and her boyfriend Luka.

We were able to share a drink in the bar – with the benefit of performers’ discount coupons! As well as the cast I was able to talk to Tricia Ninian who I met at St Paul’s Opera gala back in March and engage in a – probably boring for him – lengthy discussion about directing for stage and screen and the differences between them, with the director of this show Jonny Danciger. It was another outing where I didn’t really know what to expect when I set off but ended up having a great night out and meeting some talented and lovely people.

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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.