You silly cow

This unusual (to me anyway) looking cow (there were lots in the field, so I assume that despite the horns it wasn't a bull) was munching in a field near us...in fact near Rod Stewart's house (which I hear is for sale).  Back in the good old days, I very nearly bought a car owned by Rod Stewart.  It was a baby-blue Lamborghini, just eighteen months old with 1500 miles on the clock.  It had lost two-thirds of its value in that time.  I'm glad I didn't...I couldn't really afford it, I had no where to park it, and I'd have looked like a silly moo when I did the weekly shopping at Sainsbury's.  Anyway, I like the cow

Do you come here often?

Sometimes life can be a little bit surreal.  I cannot deny that we live a very lucky, privileged existence.  I can't think that I deserve it in anyway, we're just lucky.  So any time I moan about how things are bad, just ignore me...we have only First World Problems.

We were invited to the opening of the new Sam Wannamaker Theatre today (Tuesday).  This is the small Jacobean theatre that sits alongside the very well known and loved Globe Theatre.  It's an authentic reproduction (even down to being lit by candles) of how a theatre would have looked in the good very old days.  It sits three hundred on wooden benches and the stage is disproportionately large.  I realise that the only people who are likely to attend are the better off, and a few curious tourists.  It would be nice if people who don't normally get to experience the theatre could be attracted.  The theatre was opened by HRH Prince Philip, who frankly is much more spritely and lively than anyone should reasonably be in the 90's.  He has a wicked glint in his eye, and it was no wonder he felt able to quip to Zoe Wannamaker, "Do you come here often?"  I'm not now, and never have been a fan of royalty, but I do think 'The Firm' has worked hard in recent years to find a new place in British society.  It may be that the Royal family will be the only pillar of society that commands any level of respect whilst all the others continue to drag themselves into disrepute. Certainly at 90+ I hope I don't have to work for my living....

We were sat next to the Chief Executive of Southwark Council, and I was rather charmed by her retelling the story that Southwark Cathedral's Dean had said to her that The Shard is the Spire that Southwark Cathedral never had.  I shall look at it in a new light from now on.

Just to bring me down to earth, somewhere I managed to lose a pair of headphones.  The type that fit in your ear.  They were a treat not so long ago, and quite (read very) expensive as these things go, so I was quite glum about it. That was until I realised that really it's a First World Problem and one that's easily solved.

Beastly

The Cat's Mother abandoned me and The Boy this weekend for her annual girls spa trip.  Sadly for us, she completely failed to fill the fridge up with ready meals labelled with the day and meal time.  Fortunately, I was able to rekindle some of the expertise that had kept The Boy and I going when, for several years, it was just the two of us.  We headed to Marks and Spencer.  We can both highly recommend the lamb shanks.  Tasty. The Boy also demonstrated his culinary flair by turning the mundane ingredients of bread, cheese, tomatoes and ham hock into something quite extraordinarily delicious.  I hope he doesn't waste that talent.

We managed to find the time to see Don Hemingway at the cinema.  It's a film that's had quite mixed reviews.  Indeed there's a lot of shouting, and the character's behaviour is quite repetitive...and sometimes his language is quite grandiose, and at other times just ridiculous.  But, but, but Jude Law plays the part with aplomb, the film has a cracking turn of pace, and in most places doesn't take itself too seriously...witness the Rolls Royce accident.  I've never got Richard E Grant, and I don't suppose I ever will, but he plays his part well enough.  We enjoyed it.  In a rough, unpolished sort of way I'd say it's one of the better films we've seen this year.  Just not everyone's cup of tea.



So we had some great highlights this weekend, it's but The Boy has come back wishing he's still on the slopes, and he's taking that out on the rest of us.  Ouch.

The Cat's Mother returned after a fabulous time, and declared that the two of us had turned feral...a little unfair given that her evidence was that we had cooked pasta for Sunday evening supper, and I washed the shirts on Sunday as opposed to Wednesday which is the designated day. Ho Hum.

More Snow

I went to dinner with Polly Toynbee and Dan Snow last week.  And very nice they were too.  I wasn't quite their personal dinner guest...I was at the annual dinner (indeed the inaugural annual dinner) for the Electoral Reform Society. I'm not much involved, but the thought of a dinner with people who are passionate about democracy quite appealed.  I'm more of a social media warrior than a get your boots dirty trooper.  Anyway, it was quite interesting, on one side of me was a Conservative Councilor from south London, and opposite was a Labour man who was claiming the record for coming second the most amount of times in successive General Elections.  Dan Snow was very passionate about the need for electoral reform...I am too, although I some of my thoughts don't really accord with the established view.  Yes reform of the House of Commons and Lords, but no I don't think we need to have an elected upper chamber (hands thrown up in horror), yes lets look at the relationship between the constituent parts of the UK...independence for Scotland? Madness, but perhaps a federal system would work better for everyone more hands thrown up), etc, etc.  There was an auction which raised plenty of money: I decided I couldn't afford to spend £600 to have Dan Snow guide The Boy and me round the Imperial War Museum, but someone felt they got value.  Anyway, I walked out at the end with a long-legged blonde Texan.  At one time I would have had scurrilous thoughts on my mind; this time it was just coincidence, and I was left puzzling why a Texan was educated at Essex University, and was on secondment to Plaid Cymru.

Everyone is either loving or being sick to the John Lewis Christmas TV ad.  We think it's quite splendid, capturing the essence of what Christmas should be about. Mushy or not, it suits the season.  In the meantime, I was quite entranced by these Christmas sculptures in the John Lewis Oxford Street store.  You could say they've cleaned up

Many years ago the lady in the downstairs flat gave me a plant.  She was planning to throw it out because it had grown tall, but all the leaves except those on top had dropped off.  I kept it upstairs and it flourished under a skylight, growing to a height of about 18' (it was on the stairwell).  But despite there being a few shoots on the stalk/trunk it only ever had the umbrella of leaves at the top.  When I decided to redo the flat, I took the decision to become a lumberjack.  Down it came.  But at the last moment I decided to see if I could save it.  I hacked the top off, dipped it in rooting hormone and left it in a pot of water.  For about 18 months. Roots did grow behind what looked like a slimy sludge.  But not to be disheartened, I potted it, and then put it on the landing in Loughton.  It loved it.  Leaves grew everywhere.  Beautiful.  We all thought it was lovely.  But The Cat's Mother, who has the least green fingers of anyone I know insisted that it was too big and had to move.  Reluctantly The Boy and I moved it.  Disaster.  Absolute disaster.  I still blame the cleaner who for some reason insists on trying to look after the plants.  One day in the summer she so overwatered it that we had to leave the french windows open for a week to try and dry out the carpet.  The leaves started dropping off.  We were left with a plant that looked as though it had been through a Philippine hurricane.  Worse still it turned black at the top..  But I refused to throw it out.  Just a couple of days ago, suddenly there is new growth...at the top.  The Cat's Mother still wants it to go.  I won't let it.  But I am wondering whether come the spring I should chop it down and put the crown in rooting hormone...or can you play that trick just once?

It's snowing!

Happy birthday Prince Charles...we're going to meet your Dad next week, so I'll check that he gave you a nice pressie.

Commiserations to JFK who fifty years ago had his brains blown out.  I'd like to say I know where I was when the deed happened, but truth be told, my memory as a two year old is not what it should have been.

A decade or so, someone I knew from a few skiing holidays asked if I would look after a grandfather clock she and her husband had inherited.  They didn't have ceilings high enough in their home.  It has stood stopped in the 'library' ever since gathering dust.  In the intervening period, we have lost touch and with me changing mobile phones so often I lost anyway of contacting them.  Until a month ago, there was a message left on my phone saying 'hi', how was I, and how was the clock.  She wanted to talk about the clock so would call me back.  I rang her back, but it went to voicemail.  Nothing since.  Except, The Cat's Mother now thinks we're being taken advantage of, and wants to chuck the damn thing out.  She may have a point. But I quite like it.

The Boy returned from his skiing adventure yesterday.  Ski Instructing Certificate clasped firmly in hand.  It was just fabulous to have him back, even though he was talking ten to the dozen, and obviously he entire contents of his kit bag are spread all over the kitchen floor.  From what we can gather, he had the most fantastic adventure, met some love, lovely people, improved his skiing, improved his German, and most importantly improved his confidence.  It's a shame he will be heading away again, but that's what happens when they grow up isn't it?  Who would be a parent?


I have a small collection of snow globes.  I like to think of them as works of art (indeed one of them did come from Tate Modern and another from the Whitechapel Gallery) and none of them are of the jolly, chintzy variety that adorn souvenir shops and christmas departments.  We also have some christmas snow globes, and they will no doubt be making an appearance soon. I like the idea of a little world encapsulated in a bubble of glass, and find them quite intriguing. So much so that I decided I would like to make my own.  My own little snowy world created just by me, for me.  You can buy kits...in fact I found one eventually in the USA.  Now putting aside the fact that ParcelForce received it from our American cousins some fortnight ago, and then didn't bother to deliver it, my one issue is the cost.  The kit itself was not too expensive really...well $50, so a small indulgence.  But then the postage was double that.  And then I had to pay £16.22 customs duty.  This is already the most precious snow globe in the world, and I've not even started to create it yet.

Summons

It's funny the things people discuss in public.

Yesterday whilst squeezed on a tube train in the rush hour, I couldn't help but overhear the conversation between the couple who were squashed either side of me.  "I think we should get separate beds" she said.  He said "OK".  I turned the volume up on my music because I thought I shouldn't hear any more.

In the evening I was reading The Standard and was drawn to an article.  A judge was expressing his surprise that a convicted rapist was entitled to compensation because he had been detained for too long whilst the Home Office decided whether to deport him back to his own  country or not.  The Judge had believed that we had opted out of some of the European Human Rights legislation as Tony Blair had declared in 2007, but he now recognised he was wrong.  The article annoyed me at so many, many levels.

Last Friday was the annual Old Boys Dinner.  From our year there were the usual folk...it's always good to catch up with most of them.  But the lad who was a buffoon at school continues to be a buffoon and still irritates.  Though you can't deny he's done well for himself as a complete banker.  It's either age or drink, but I managed to forget my front door key, meaning that I was left to plead with The Cat's Mother to let me in like a naughty school boy.

The following night we were at Sadlers Wells for a bit of dance.  Tango to be exact.  The speed and intricacy of their movements was something to behold.

Other than that it's been quite a peaceful few days.  If you exclude me issuing county court proceedings for non-payment.I'd rather not have done it, but I did.  As soon as I'd filed the claim, they paid, but if I drop it I'll be several hundred pounds out of pocket for the court fees.  And they do owe me interest.  if it was down to The Cat's Mother I would withdraw, but really I don't see why they should get away with it....

Picture postcard

I was once lucky enough to sit next to Thomas Hetherwick at a dinner.  He, if you've forgotten, is the man that designed the Cauldron at the London Olympics last year.  He's a very clever yet understated man...immensely likeable.  I mentioned to him that I was a south coast resident and he whipped out a scrap of paper, and began drawing on it.  This was the sketch for a new beach cafe in Littlehampton.  In some ways it felt like a minor reflection of the legend that Sir Alec Issgnosis drew the original design for the Mini on a cigarette packet.

Littlehampton is typical of many an English seaside resort.  A bit down at heel and with many residents stuck in a 1950s time warp.  So it came as a bit of a surprise that Thomas Hetherwick's design for the cafe was accepted....even now there is much opposition in the town, but with inevitability of biological laws, I guess that will eventually die out.

I happened to be there earlier this week, so took some pictures of the cafe, and also the nearby bench sculpture.

Concerned

I hope that anyone wanting to comment is now finding it a little easier...I altered some of the coding so that it should be better (my word that sounds impressive, but in truth I was just following an idiot's guide telling me what to do).  I will be reassured one way or the other when I either do or do not get a very long, punchy comment from Hippo unless of course he's had various bits amputated after his snake bite incident....

I'm concerned about Rol.  He claims to have become a father, and in celebration has posted up various Top Tens about fatherhood, being born, etc. They've made great listening. But I'm not convinced.  As everyone knows, the ONLY thing a new parent can talk about is poo and napppies, and neither have featured even in passing.

The Boy has been offered (yet) another ski job.  So far he's had two instructor offers, but this one is a little different it is for Children's Club Assistant for a very, very posh ski company.  He attended a group interview and was up against some very impressive competition...people with years of experience.  He won't be taking it, but in terms of boosting his confidence and making him feel comfortable that he has something to offer the world.

I was surprised to discover that Daniel Radcliffe (AKA Harry potter) appears in one of my favourite films...The Tailor of Panama.  I've watched it dozens of times and never noticed him...he doesn't add much, but then he's just the son of the tailor.  If you get the chance download the film of buy the DVD



One of my other favourite films is Dirty Rotten Scoundrels with Steve Martin and Michael Caine.  Neither are my favourite performers, although I have enjoyed many a Michael Caine film.  One of the things that always crosses my mind when I watch it was that it was the perfect vehicle for David Niven...if only he had been alive.  For the American part I would probably have chosen Tony Curtis.  That would have been perfect.  It came as quite a surprise then that earlier this week I discovered that Dirty Rotten Scoundrels is in fact a remake...and the original did indeed star David Niven, although alongside Marlon Brando.  It may not be a classic, but I decided to buy it just to satisfy my curiosity.

We've had a quiet week in this week, despite the lack of offspring.  That may, in part have been due to one of those stupid arguments that have left us skulking around the house....

Worryingly The Cat's Mother who is well versed in the theatrical arts has decided she enjoys the pretty awful Atlantis which the BBC is showing.  It feels American (and not in a good way) and has mangled every Greek legend possible.  I can't understand what she sees in it at all...normally if I don't like something I can at least understand the appeal, but with this one I've drawn a blank..although I have a sneaking suspicion Grandma in Cyprus might like it



In the meantime, The Boy has made us all jealous by posting this picture from his 'classroom' this morning

He says he's busy.  Right.

50 and still going strong

Halloween night saw The Muffins and us at the ever-popular musical Wicked.  We met before hand at a local restaurant.  Naturally enough the small girls were in witch outfits, and equally, not surprisingly Mrs Muffin had painted her face a deep green.  In normal circumstances, the little Muffins should have been embarrassed, but they're used to eccentric behaviour.  The only person who was embarrassed was The Cat's Mother.  She had spotted a witch with straggly hair crossing the street towards the restaurant, pointed it out excitedly to the Muffins before realising the witch was coming into the restaurant.  It was me.

Arriving at the show, we were grabbed by a film crew, so no doubt our bumbling efforts have been sprayed all over the interweb somewhere.

It is a great show...I've seen it three times now...full of great tunes, and the story is a brilliant twist on the Wizard of Oz.

Friday night was a very special night indeed.  Some people may have been glued to the TV on Saturday to see the 50th Anniversary show from the National Theatre.  We were luckier, we saw it live.  Technically it was a rehearsal, in reality it was a first class performance by the biggest and best stars of the most notable productions in the National's half century of existence.  Never again, certainly within my lifetime will so many of the theatre greats be gathered in one place....who can I name drop?  Judy Dench, Maggie Smith, Ralph Fiennes, Alan Bennet, Adrian Lester, Rory Kinnear, Benedict Cumberbatch, Helen Mirren, Michael Gambon, Derek Jacobi, Sion Russell Beale, and on it goes.  Unbelievable really.  Each, short performance perfect to make a perfect show.

We'll meet again

Well of course I blubbed.  Seven o'clock on Saturday morning outside Heathrow terminal one I sat in the car and watched as my 'baby' walked into the airport, skis over one shoulder pulling along a bag full of clothing.  He was making a journey that, whilst in Europe, was not the easiest.  Two aeroplanes (with a 30 minute connection between them), then a bus, then a train, then another train and finally another bus.  Daunting even for experienced travellers.  It was pointed out by a friend that he is the most capable person she knows, more than able to lead a group of people through the wilderness if he so desires...but, but, but....

He's away for ten days up a glacier getting (I hope) his Austrian ski instructing qualification. He is sharing a room with a guy from Hamburg and they're in the curious position that The Boy is only speaking German and the German is only speaking English as they each try and improve their language skills for the season ahead.  I've had a surprising number of texts and e-mails.  He seems to be loving it...if not the cost of a coffee - €5 which has come as a shock to him: now he knows why I wince everytime we go skiing!

The Cat has also departed back to Exeter after a few days home.  Later this week she will put on a play that she wrote as part of a '24 hour' drama exercise...write, rehearse and performed all within that 24 hours.  A lot of fun, and the performances this week will give more people the chance to see it.  Here's the YouTube trailer she's created

Returning home

Yet another round of apologies to people who want to comment but can't...always seems odd to me that Disqus and Blogger are as incompatible as they seem to be, but it's certainly the case...these technologists should learn that 2+2 = 4 before they start trying to do the more complicated sums.

We're back to blissful normality at home for a few short days.  The Cat returned last night and is staying until Sunday.  Naturally enough, as with all good students, in the time between her arrival at 10.30 and going to bed a couple of hours later she ate us out of house and home.  No doubt she will stay in bed until the middle of the afternoon, and then stay in pyjamas for the rest of the day.  It's is delightful to have her back of course, hear how things have been going (very well) and to just have her around.  I'm not going to even try and understand why it is that Uni students want to come home during term time...I never did, nor do I remember any of my contemporaries...but they all seem to to their parents delight.  Anyway, it's good to have her for a few days.  Hopefully I will find out more about what she's been up to..The Cat and The Cat's Mother talk every day, but it can then be a challenge worthy of Hercule Poirot to get that information relayed onto me. The Cat's Mother doesn't tend to pass things on assuming that through a process of osmosis we will all get it. If I'm foolish enough to ask a generalised question like "How's The Cat getting on?", I'll get an answer back "Very well." So I'm none the wiser.  I have to learn to ask some very, very specific questions which generally require me to have some prior knowledge to ask them.  Anyway, outside of her course work I gather she's involved in two drama projects...one called August, the other of which I know nothing.

The house will begin to empty out early on Saturday when The Boy goes off on a ten day ski instructors course in Austria, and then The Cat heads back down south-west on Sunday which will leave us in a very empty house next week.  I suspect The Cat's Mother and I should sit down and talk about this in a sensible, grown up way rather than just stumble into it feeling a little bit glum.

If you haven't yet seen it, I would highly recommend you hot foot it down to your local cinema to see Captain Phillips.  It's a supreme film which racks up the tension from the start so that by the end you've chewed your nails all the way up to your knuckles.  It's a simple story, well told with the highest quality acting from the entire cast.  Well drawn characters with some terrific camera work, especially in the lifeboat helps make this one of the best films of the year.  That's praise indeed from someone who generally can't stand Tom Hanks' acting.

Not hurting

It was probably a little ambitious to think that we would make The Hurts gig on Saturday night.

There were no tube trains over the weekend from our neck of the woods, so the only real option was to drive, and then park in some of the dodgiest streets of East London.

Obviously another contributing factor was that I'd arrived home at 7.00am after my nightride.  Again, I'd probably been a little ambitious - I hadn't been on the bike since my accident and to pile on the misery I'd had a nasty cold and cough that I'd struggled to shake off.  So I was really quite unfit.  But with another 400 people all dressed in halloween outfits of one sort or another - mine was a glow in the dark skeleton - I was sort of carried along with the enthusiasm of the mob.  During the course of the ride I discovered that there is a mountain in North London (well it felt like it) and that even puncture-proof tyres do get punctures.  I discovered that curry is brilliant at two in the morning, and that it's easy to get lost when that puncture separates you from the rest of the crowd - if you look at the picture you'll see towards the left a spur where I crossed the Hammersmith Bridge and then had to retrace my steps.  But what struck me most was how time stands still at a certain moment...I know pretty much what time it was and where I was until 2.30, but then until six thirty and my return to base I had no feeling for time ticking by at all.  I was revived by a pretty excellent bacon and egg sandwich and glass of champagne, and decided to cycle an extra 25km home. (Un)Fortunately the rain came down as I approached Stratford, so I was able to find a kindly taxi driver who took me and my bike the rest of the way home.  Phew

I don't think I've ever been so exhausted...but a long snooze until lunchtime revived my spirits....if not my enthusiasm for going out again

Who says advertising doesn't work?  Many years ago, I saw this advert:



And then rushed out and bought a Velvet Underground album...and today seems a good day to remind myself of both the ad and the song

Hurting

I do miss some great photo opportunities.

Yesterday morning stopped outside our local pub was the biggest articulated truck I have ever seen.  It wasn't stopped in a straight line, it looked jack-knifed with its cab folded back almost onto the trailer.  Also parked was a police car.  Inside one police woman was writing notes.  The other policeman was wandering around outside.  There was no sign of the lorry driver.

One thing I know for certain was that the truck had not been speeding and had not had to brake sharply to end up in this position.  The reason I know this is that the only way to get to the pub is up a long, very narrow lane.  You have to drive very slowly even in a small car to navigate your way.  At best there is room for traffic in one direction as there are cars parked all along one side, and you take your life in your hands if you drive anything much bigger than a Ford Cortina.  My suspicion is that the driver had blindly followed his sat nav and taken a wrong turn.  There is nowhere to turn.  It will have to reverse down.  That may take all day, or perhaps longer as the lane is quite winding.  And steep (I know. - it nearly kills me when I cycle up it).

In truth he had done every well to get it up there at all.  But I do feel sorry for the owner of the Mini Convertible which was parked down the lane.  One side had been removed, leaving a jagged wreck and two wheels were spread liberally across the road.

It's always hard to engage brain when following a sat nav.

Last night I briefly attended the World Architecture House of the Year Awards.  Not surprisingly, it was won by a Swedish house which looked as though it had a concrete pyramid for a roof.  The room was full of achingly beautiful young things all claiming to be architects.  Some of them may even have been.  After a quick couple of glasses of champagne I hot-footed it back to our neck of the woods to see the second half of the amateur production of 'Playboy of the western world'.  It's certainly a good deal better now than when I studied it for 'O' level...I wonder how I would have felt then if I'd actually seen it performed.

Tonight I'll be dining at the National Theatre.  The Cat's Mother, sister and brother, and bessie will be there listening to an interview with the loveable Simon Russell-Beale, but I'll be missing that and arriving just in time for the food.  Once we've dined, The Cat's Mother will return home.  I will return to my office, climb into my halloween glow-in-the-dark skeleton outfit and then set off for a 100km fright night ride round the streets of London, hopefully returning by dawn.  I hope it isn't raining.  As I haven't cycled since I was knocked off, it may prove to be more than quite a challenge.

When I do get home, I hope I can have a sleep, as Saturday evening we're off to see The Hurts...it's a Wonderful Life

Taking a bite

The Boy may be contemplating whether his trip to Brecon Beacon was a wise decision.  I received a text this morning which said "Sideways rain, gale force winds, endless foggy skies and a landslide blocking the main road.  We left at 6.30 to go 5 miles by 7.00.  Had to spend an hour and a half going round."

I say it's all character building.  but I'm glad it's him, not me.

Some people think The Cat's Mother and I go to theatre, cinema and events too much.  "It can't be very special can it?" They say.  It's a fair point really.  But we like doing it...it's a hobby in just the same way writing a blog is.  We are quite picky about what we see, but that doesn't mean we don't get it wrong sometimes.  There have been some real clunkers this year, and an awful lot of mediocrity.  But in the same way you have to kiss a lot of frogs before you find your Prince (or Princess), it all seems worthwhile when you finally get to see something that's really worth it.  And last night was absolutely worth it.

We went to see Dracula, a dance production at the Wiltons Music Hall.  It's an old building (of course) and pretty tumble down, even with some restoration work having been done, and some more to come next year.  In a sense the building was ideal for a dark, fore boding horror story. The creator, Mark Bruce, had excelled in every respect.  It was dark with mist enveloping stage and audience, the staging was creepy and the music was perfect...spooky and scary and it filled the auditorium.  Some of the costumes were remarkable...the devil hounds and the horses pulling the carriage up to Dracula's castle were beautifully conceived.  All the dancers were phenomenal, with Jonathan Goddard as Dracula the stand out performer. If you live Oxford it will be there for a couple of nights in November and in the south-west, you can still catch it in Frome I think...highly, highly recommended