Picture post

Some recent pictures of the London skyline...I was lucky enough to have been given access to the building site that is London Bridge station, so was able to take advantage of the views

And a few (I managed to take 1200 in three days, so whittling them down has been quite a challenge!) from the bobsleigh track at Igls

Christmas

Tonight for a brief few days, we will be reunited as a family.  The Boy lands at Heathrow at 8.15, and The Cat arrives at Paddington fifteen minutes before.

The Cat's Mother and I are like two six years old the night before Christmas.

Fame and misfortune

For me, there is little confusion about Putin's objectives.  Not so many years ago he proposed the Eurasian Economic Union...a sort of EU for former Soviet bloc territories.  In truth it's not been greeted with wild enthusiasm...after all each of these territories has their own oligarchs and dictators, so why would they want to hand over protection money to Moscow?  But it sets the scene, and shows in a very public way that Putin would like to return to the days of the Soviet Union.  And if he can't do it through negotiated agreements, he'll do it by hook or by crook.  You may have forgotten Georgia, half of which was re-absorbed into Russia.  They are now just waiting for the Russian tanks to come rolling through and reclaim the rest.  Crimea is one small step...the deniability of having used Russian troops is pretty weak, but not quite as weak as any poll that gets a 97+% vote in favour of moving away from the Ukraine.  In the short term Russian troops are unlikely to go beyond the Crimean and Russian borders, but you can bet your bottom dollar that plenty of Russian money and effort will go into destabilising regions - and not just in the Ukraine - where there is a sizeable Russian population.  At some stage, the possibility of using Russian troops (not necessarily in uniform) to protect Russians becomes an inevitability.  That should be quite a frightening prospect.  In recent years the West has taken an enormous gamble...by integrating Russia into the international community and economy, it was hoped it would become so entwined that it wouldn't rock the boat.  Clearly that strategy hasn't worked.  And not surprisingly really...have you ever seen how the Russians do business?  Just look at the BP experience...effectively bullied out of Russia once it had given its expertise to exploit valuable oil reserves.  But thinking beyond the old Soviet frontiers, think of other flashpoints:  Iran could be given a free hand to do whatever they want with their nuclear enrichment because it could come ever closer to Russia. War in the Middle-East?  Quite a possibility, and imagine how the West would be without oil from the region.  Russia also supports the existing regime in Syria.  Phew, I'm even scaring myself.

The Boy is continuing to enjoy his time in Austria, and I'm glad.  But at the same time I'm afeared it is becoming increasingly difficult to tempt him back to the delights of academia in Edinburgh in September.  I do hope I don't have to talk to him severely.  I remember when I was his age, and had taken a year out in the Bavarian Alps.  The return was a painful one, and even more difficult was the first term at Uni, when I struggled to return to study....on many an occasion I was tempted to chuck it in and head back up the mountains.  Fortunately there was a degree of common sense in me that made me realise that I would only enjoy myself doing hotel work for a limited time...I assume The Boy has the same realisation.

Without a hint of bias, The Boy has always been a good-looking fella.  I'm not saying where he got it from. In Kitzbuhel, the regional tourist board has been looking for a new poster boy for next year's advertising campaign, and the Ski School suggested The Boy.  The photo-shoot was last week, and sometime the campaign will begin.  Yep, a boy from North London will be the face of the Austrian Alps in 2015.  And that says a lot for the Austrians...I can't think that would ever happen in France.

Here's a couple of pictures of the lad himself which I've pinched off his friends' Facebook pages

Crunch time

Give or take an artillery round or two, it's a century since the outbreak of the First World War.  Whilst most of Europe has debated how to acknowledge that conflict, the Russians seem to have taken it upon themselves to celebrate by partying hard in the Crimea.  Whilst I'm hopelessly confident that we're not going to collapse into the conflagration that would be World War 3, there are some uncanny parallels between the start of WW1, and indeed WW2 (in the latter case, substitute Putin for Hitler and his desire for a greater Russia, and it all falls into place).  Anyway, kudos to Vlad the Impaler for using democracy as a novel weapon of war...normally democracies find it difficult to start and engage in military conflict...well if you exclude all the ones that Mr Blair got us involved in.  So on the one hand, I'm quite pleased to have predicted the fall of Crimea to the Russians, but on the other, I'm a little sad, because I can see eastern Ukraine and Georgia heading that way.  I'm so hoping Dave the Rave pops over to Moscow and comes back waving a piece of paper declaring peace in our time.

I'm a little bit stretched (read, completely under the cosh) at the moment, so I'm not managing to read people's blogs as I like....I think it will stay like this until mid-May...so that gives me something to focus on; a bit like a promised holiday.

We overdid ourselves this weekend with a trip to the Sam Wannamaker theatre at The Globe to see Knights of the Burning Pestle.  The key device in this love story was that a grocer, his wife and their apprentice are sitting in the audience, and just as the play begins they jump up and insist the apprentice has a part.  As the play progresses - two steps forwards, eight steps sideways - the grocer (played by the irascible Phil Daniels) and his wife keep interrupting and demanding their apprentice be given more time on the stage.  If I didn't know it had been written in 1609, I'd never have guessed it...it's as contemporary as anything on the stage at the moment.  It was uproariously funny, brilliantly played by all the actors, and a real joy to be a part of.  For me the tragedy is, that if you could take it out into the wider world and persuade people to come and see it, almost everyone would enjoy it.  As it is, it is restricted to a small and somewhat elite audience.  That's a shame.

We were fortunate enough to get some returned tickets for Oh What A Lovely War, which has been put on in Stratford (the London one) where it was originally performed nearly half a century ago.  If you've seen the film, you'll know what it's about.  It changed our attitudes to the First World War.  But this revival didn't quite cut it.  The format of the play just doesn't really resonate with an audience not used to a music hall experience, and in truth the performances were tellingly week.  I enjoyed it more than the Cat's Mother, but it will be remembered as one that had to be seen, rather than  one we enjoyed seeing.

I've not been out on my cycle this year...a combination of laziness and rain has allowed my belly to enormous proportions....I can practically balance a tray of champagne glasses on it at the moment.  So with the sun shining, I decided that I'd ride into work today, and quite pleased I was as it didn't seem too tricky...until I got to a short, sharp cobbled hill at Three Mills.  About three-quarters of the way up I heard and felt a crunch from my lower spine.  On the upside I still seem able to cycle.  On the down side I don't seem able to walk....

Bob?

I wouldn't wish death on anyone, but there is a lot of b*ll*cks being talked about Mr Crowe. Why is he being praised by all and sundry for his union activities?  He may have kept his (few) union members in high-paid employment, but at what cost to millions of others? For years he has put commuters through hell by bringing the Underground to a shuddering halt at every opportunity, and holding it back from the modernisation it so desperately needs...two of the lines could operate without drivers already if the union was not preventing it.  It would be quicker, safer, more efficient and cheaper if Mr Crowe and his fellow luddites hadn't been keeping us in the dark ages.

Enough.

Here are some pictures taken by the professional photographer Bonnie Lane (www.bonnielane.com) as we hurtled down the track at 130kmh.  There may be more to be written...why should you avoid being bored by my enthusiasm when all around me have had to suffer?  By the way I'm the one in the luminous green jacket, third from the front.  No my eyes aren't shut; I was just blinking

Flat as a pancake

When The Cat's Mother got a new car last year, the old one was donated to the two teenagers who generally were very good at sharing it.  They were just as good at getting dents and bumps and flat tyres too. But it was very useful to give them their freedom, and give us a rest from taxiing people around..  Now, however, The Boy is up a mountain, and The Cat is down in Exeter.  The car sits forlornly in the drive.  We did vow to drive it once a week just to keep it charged and running, but the habit was soon broken, so when we do get round to trying to drive it, it won't start.  It needs jump-starting every time.  This time, the battery was so flat, I couldn't get into the boot (electronic lock) to get out the jump leads, so I had to use a broken pair in the garage, and avoid electrocuting myself at the same time...It would go, but we know it will be 'needed' in the summer months...

In the absence of The Boy, who is the only person in our household who can mix a decent batter, pour it into a frying pan, and flip it, The Cats Mother and I had to resort to buying ready made pancakes from Waitrose. As we're out tonight, we decided to invent Shrove Monday.  Delicious.

Thank you Mr Putin

It's been a busy weekend.  Although not on Saturday, when the only two things that occupied me were staying bed for as long as possible and a trip to Sainsbury's to get supper.

Of course, the weekend starts on a Thursday these days, so Thursday evening we went to the cinema to see The Book Thief.  Neither of us realised it had only just opened, but that would explain why we hadn't read any reviews.  It was probably a good thing we hadn't.  The reviews range from awful to very awful.  Not that it mattered to us...we both rather liked it.  We hadn't read the book either so had no expectations on that level either.  Anyway, it is (roughly) about a girl adopted by a Bavarian family.  Her brother was also supposed to have been adopted but he dies before they arrive.  The mother is gruff, the father a sweetie. They hide a young jewish lad in their cellar...and no more before it all becomes a spoiler.  For us, the beautiful setting (there's no getting away from the fact that Bavaria is a beautiful part of the world) made the tragedy of war, and the Jews in particular all the greater....the parts were generally well played all round, and there's nothing wrong with some obvious emotional string pulling is there?  If you want to see a weepy, this is the one.

Friday night and we headed off to see A Taste of Honey by Shelagh Delaney which is on at the National at the moment.  At the time this was a quite shocking play, particularly as it was written by a nineteen year-old. Many of the issues that it deals with - unplanned pregnancy, mixed race-relationships, homosexuality, bad parenting and impoverishment, are commonplace in the media now...but it wasn't hard to imagine the impact fifty years ago....to such an extent that if you closed your eyes during the performance, it was easy to imagine the whole thing in black and white.  Apart from some overacting in some places, and one or two odd directorial issues, the whole thing was superb.  It's unusual for me not to fall asleep in the first half of a play these days when the performance has been preceded by a glass or two of red wine, but I stayed awake, alert and totally engrossed.  The play makes the point that despite the awfulness of some people's lives, life just goes on and on and on in an endless cycle which just repeats itself time after time...and it made it very well indeed.  In itself it's a perfect period piece, and does make you reflect on modern day issues...

In a much more elegant way, we had a great evening at the Sam Wannamaker theatre...an evening of Mozart and storytelling.  Not much to say other than it was a gorgeous candle-lit evening, and it's always a joy to hear Mozart played on original instruments, especially when there's some good commentary to go with it.

So, back to my header.

This is the passport photo that made the border guards smile when we went to Moscow a couple of years ago...there is a passing resemblance to Mr Putin, pre-plastic surgery (his not mine).  One of subjects I studied at Uni was Soviet politics, and I was always quite resentful of the fact that the USSR collapsed not long after I finished my studies...it seemed three years of my life had been wasted.  But what has been clear over the last several years is that Vladimir is on Old Soviet Leader, and he would like to return to the good old days.  I remember well that when we were in Moscow, there was a tremendous feeling amongst the Muscovites we met that it was better in Soviet times, so it's no wonder that the leadership is heading in that direction.  It isn't surprising in anyway that Russian troops are all over Crimea, and I wouldn't be surprised if they headed into East Ukraine as well...there will be blood.  But Russia has always had a high level of paranoia about The West and the countries surrounding it, and to see the heart of the nation (in may ways Ukraine is more Russia than Russia) turn to the EU, was never going to be something that was allowed. We're not quite in Budapest 1956, but we're not far off...and at best if there is a Ukraine that leans to The West, it will be half the size of Ukraine as it's drawn on the map at the moment.  So I'm glued to all the commentary, absolutely fascinated by what's going on and to see whether my opinions, analysis and predictions are in anyway accurate.  But don't think I don't recognise that this is a tragedy in the making, and there will; be an enormous sadness for any lives lost....

Oh I forgot...

...I knew there was a good reason for writing everything down....if I don't I forget them.

So last week we went to see the sexiest cartoon ever created.  She's not bad, she's just drawn that way...what a riot!!  The Muffins came too...

Nothing doing

According to my diary, we haven't done anything this week.  That's unfortunate.  Not that we haven't done anything, but that my diary is misleading...we've done plenty.

What I can remember is that last night we went to see The Book Thief...another good little film (whatever the reviews might say) that we enjoyed, even though there were some terrible clunkers in it...evidently it was the Americans who occupied Germany at the end of WW2, and when one boy dies, he throws his head back in the finest amateur tradition.  Apart from that...not bad at all.

Wednesday, The Cat's Mother braved the floods and headed down to Exeter for the day...a dress for a friends wedding was purchased, and she returned home safely.  The Cat is buckling down to hard work I'm told.  Surely there's some wool pulling over eyes?  Does any student work hard?

I had to arrange for The Boy's guitar to be taken to him by someone who was heading out to Kitzbuhel. Have a had a word of thanks.  Fat chance.

Ah yes, and this year we're getting a new kitchen...and a whole new room to put it in....I feel the stress already.

I've become an artist.  Well not really.  I've taken the work of two artists and combined them.  One is delighted, the other is OK with it.  Last year I get a small sculpture by a street artist called Issac Cordal.  It was a little man with briefcase looking wistfully at a landscape painting...the idea of the piece was the concept of loss.  We decided to replace the picture with the painting we had commissioned from Jon Everitt.  Anyway, it looks fabulous to us...and works alongside Jon's other pieces

Bob, bob, bobbing along

So farewell then to the last of the singing Von Trapps.  I'm actually quite sad about that.  The Sound of Music is one of the things that brings back very happy childhood memories, and I'd say I watch it at least once a year even now.  For Christmas this year, we had bought a Sing Along version, and we had a brilliant time joining in...even though the Lonely Goatherd is a little trickier to get you vocal chords around than you might expect.  Of course, there were all sorts of liberties taken to turn the real story into the musical, but that's showbiz.



Also farewell to the winter Olympics..they may not command quite the interest that the summer Olympics do, but they were brilliant to watch.  And didn't we do well? Especially considering our lack of snow-sports heritage.  One of my friends from the 2012 Olympics was a choreographer for the Opening and Closing ceremonies which added a special poignancy to the whole thing.  Now if only that Mr Putin could sort himself out and stop wanting to harass and harangue anyone who doesn't conform to his view of sexuality.  Anyway, it was nice to see his mistress in the opening ceremony.

So Sochi has gone, but thanks to a very, very dear friend, in two weeks time this will be me:

Yes, a flying visit to Iglis in Austria will see him and me in the four man bobsleigh piloted by a couple of guys from the Team GB Sochi bobsleigh team.  I know I will never have been so terrified in my life, but what an opportunity!

End of the week

It's been a long old week this one.

All a bit stressful.

Which is bad for me and worse for The Cat's Mother. I've become a rotten sleeper as I've got older, and never was particularly good.  Grandma in Cyprus will happily recount tales of my childhood nightmares...and even now I can wake up in the middle of the night sweat dripping from me after a particularly tortuous dream.Wednesday night saw me downstairs at 4.00 am drinking tea whilst trying to settle my nerves.  This morning I woke up thinking I'd had a terrific deep sleep, but vaguely remembered The Cat's Mother hadn't, I also remembered her throwing my arm away from her at some stage.  Still I knew she'd been a little bit tense before we went to sleep, so assumed it all tied together.

Ah no. It wasn't quite like that evidently.  At some stage she says I'd screamed out in pain because of cramp, and then spent the rest of the night tossing, turning, shouting and mumbling.  Of that I have no memory whatsoever.  But it does explain why I'm falling asleep at my desk today.  I'm hoping she may be a bit more friendly, in the form of a Ukrainian truce when I get home this evening.

Aide memoir

I'd forgotten just how much I loathe working with New Yorkers.  It's been a few years since I've had to, it was an unpleasant experience then, and a bunch that I've been working with makes me remember just how insecure and back stabbing they can be.  Anyway, I managed to get a fabulous article published for them and the glory lasted for at least five minutes before they started demanding I contact the magazine and get the article changed.  When I explained my hesitancy they demanded I set up a conference call where they would ride in like the US cavalry and put things right.  Nightmare.  Complete nightmare.  I put my foot down, and didn't let them, but did manage to get the piece changed.  They'll never get coverage in the magazine again, I'll spend months rebuilding my relationship there and grrrrrrrrrr.  Thank heavens I don't have to devote too much of my time to them.

That little fracas caused us to delay a trip to Brighton, but we got there in the end and were pleased to see there wasn't too much devastation.  Our place there is an old regency flat which meant that it was almost impossible to warm up as the wind was blowing through the gaps in the window frames and under the door to such an extent the central heating struggled.  That's the trouble with a listed building...the option of installing heat saving windows and doors is just not there.

We headed off to see an NTLive broadcast of Coriolanus, which I thought was an interesting counterpoint to Ralph Fiennes film.  The Odeon in Brighton is an interesting experience...it reflects the faded glory that is Brighton itself.  Entry was by emergency exit because the main doors were locked.  The booking office was closed.  The person working in the Costa Coffee was also running the Ben and Jerrys.  We followed people into the screen at five to seven for a performance due to start at 7.00, only to be chased by the usher who proclaimed that if the cinema wasn't ready we'd have to leave.  There were all of half a dozen of us to start with, and a dozen by the time the whole thing got going.  Once, they'd finished photocopying, the ushers came round climbing through the rows of seats saying "You don't want one of these programmes do you?".  Yes we did.  Anyway, thank heavens the performance was fabulous.

Sunday afternoon was spent at King Lear at the National with Simon Russell Beale.  It's had marvelous reviews, but I was less than impressed.  It isn't a Shakespeare that I've seen before, and the first half was a staggering two hours long.  Anyway, there was a lot of shouting, lots of blood and death and I didn't nod off much.  Perhaps the sight of a once proud man descend into senility was a little too close to home for comfort.

Just a word of warning, I've signed up for another night ride...London to Brighton.  This time for charity, so at some stage I might well post a link to my justgiving page....

August: Osage County

When I was a lad I was known as a bit of a gadget boy...in truth my quest for the best sounding music on whatever I was listening to did mean I spent an undue amount of time and money on bits of kit.  The need for kit is something that The Boy is replicating...I hope he learns quicker than me, that it's not the kit that makes for a rewarding experience.  However, sometimes it does make a worthwhile difference.  With the advent of iPod players, mobile phones, it's been easy to carry around vast quantities of music.  In theory that's a good. But I've found that the impact has been to lessen my interest.  Too often, train or tube journeys that should have been filled with my favourite tunes are occupied by the sound purely of the rattling carriage.   But a couple of weeks ago, I bought a gadget that has transformed things.:

This is a digital-analogue converter and headphone amplifier...about the same size as a mobile phone.  When I plug it in, the music is transformed. I hear instruments that I've never heard before, the music has a clarity that is mind-blowing, the positioning of instruments is phenomenal.  Headphones that I thought were poor are suddenly reproducing music with an excellence and musicality that is a revelation.  I have rediscovered music that has long since been forgotten.  Once again I am genuinely excited about listening to music.  Yes, I am genuinely excited.

This weekend we headed to Exeter...perhaps a little rashly given the flood waters that are rising across the south and west.  As it was a long journey we decided to let the train take the strain rather than forage on with the Jeep.  Foolish mistake.  As we headed further west, we could see more and more flood water.  In many places it was impossible to know where rivers ended and 'land' started...boats appeared to be moored in the middle of lakes.  Horses, cattle and sheep were in places wading knee deep in floodwaters, telegraph poles and electricity pylons rose out of great seas of browny sludgy waters.

Eventually we ground to a halt outside Yeovil.To their credit, Network Rail organised coaches within an hour or so and we were able to reach Exeter in time to see The Cat in August: Osage County.

This is a very powerful and troubling play about a dysfunctional family...and a broader comment on the state of American society.  It is a play that in the wrong hands would be tedious and expose all the flaws of any amateur drama group.  But, and given the standing ovation, I'm not biased when I say it was truly outstanding.  Superb, heartfelt and pacey performances complemented by a fabulous set kept us on the edge of our seats throughout.  No wonder there were oohs and aaahs as each new piece of dysfunctionality was revealed...the characters were completely believable.  I was indeed very, very proud indeed of The Cat and totally in awe of her fellow cast members...I am sure that some if not all have very successful futures ahead of them on the stage if that is the route they decide to follow.  I'm sorry you can't go to see it as the short run has finished, but I gather there is a pale imitation doing the rounds of the cinemas as a plan B.

Awesome...automatically

It's catch up time again...yes, we've been away for a few days so I'll have to set aside some time to plough through my favourite reads...

We were back in Austria, just checking that The Boy was eating his greens and washing his underpants.  We suspect he was doing neither, but seems very happy indeed.  He took two of us out on the slopes mixing some guiding with some skiing instruction...and I have to say on both counts he was very good indeed.  We introduced our two friends to the delights of the Hotel Erica where we have affectionate names for most of the staff.  In charge is Frau Frau, her husband is Herr Frau Frau, their daughter who will soon be taking over is Mini Frau and her husband Herr Mini Frau.  Imaginative aren't we?  The lady who cooks the eggs in the morning is Frau Fried Egg.  May be we should have a re-think.

This was the view across the slopes...the falling snow has been added by Google 'because they can'.  At some stage they'll probably make another one of their videos as they did with our last trip...it's a thing called 'Auto-awesome'.

Another technology company that's been messing around is Facebook.  In our absence, Facebook seems to have marking its tenth anniversary, and they celebrated by creating a film of highlights from all our posts. What it proves is that over the last decade my life has revolved entirely around The Boy...that is the sum total of it.  With one exception...it features a picture of Auntie Gwen, but not one of The Cat's Mother.  I feel I may be in trouble for that one.