Advice for a wet Sunday

Don’t go to the V&A.

My hero was meeting some of his online chums at the weekend, to go to a Prom concert in the Albert Hall, so I cadged a ride and nabbed a couple of tickets for the last gasps of the Cult of Beauty exhibition about Aestheticism at the V&A.  I’d read mostly good things about it and looked forward to an afternoon of interesting and thought-provoking art in the company of a friend who knows way more about such things than I do.

I met my accomplice and following tradition, gathered the photographic evidence of possibly the one and only occasion during the whole time we were there that we were not elbow to elbow with the world, his wife and his family.  Because, of course, it was a horrid, wet, Sunday afternoon and the V&A offered a free, dry and warm place to take the family.

Normally, we’d go straight to visit the fashion and textiles, but they’re closed for renovation right now.  Following the advice of a young member of staff, we decided to head up to the Performing Arts section, intrigued by his recommendation that “there are some things worn by famous people up there”.

 

To get to that part of the museum, we took a route through the contemporary jewellery, my eye being caught by this gorgeous piece of Lalique’s work.  The further from the hub of the shop and cafe we went, the quieter it became and our tenacity was rewarded by an almost empty gallery of theatrical bits and pieces.

Empty except for a woman taking endless shots of items in glass cases using the flash on her camera.  Irritating.

But this was a fascinating collection of this and that – hard to follow in some ways, because the exhibits were displayed in themes rather than chronologically.  But having the luxury of time and space to look closely at some things and walk straight past others, we did exactly that, noting the exhibits referred to by our friend downstairs: outfits worn by Elton John, Edna Everage, Mick Jagger and Adam Ant amongst others.  We took a close look at some of the theatre costumes, weighing up the requirements for costumes to be washable, well-constructed with necessary details visible from the back of the stalls.  I loved the little notebook full of sketches for stage sets, all annotated on the opposite page.

Oh, and there was Kylie’s dressing room, complete with soft toys, half a dozen pairs of shoes and a whole raft of makeup. (Did I tell you that I sat next to her at Heathrow, once?  That she was tiny, looked utterly exhausted but smiled the whole time in spite of constant requests for autographs and photographs…I decided to leave her in peace and resisted!)

My favourite exhibit of all was this notice, pinned to the theatre door by the long-suffering manager whose patience has been tried just once too often by the unreliable Mr Berry. 

I wonder what happened to him?

By now, it was time to make our way down to the exhibition space used for temporary shows and, contrary to the hope offered when I booked the tickets (“Oh, you’ll be fine – there’s plenty of availability”) it was a sell out.  All day long, a stream of people had passed through those doors into that stuffy little exhibition space and by late afternoon, it was not exactly the most comfortable of places to be.  My patience was wearing a little thin, my intolerance of those exhibition-goers who, having acquired an audio tour gadget, clamp it to their ears and become totally unaware of the rest of the world was soaring to record levels and seeing the first few paintings reminded me that I am really not at all fond of the pre-raphaelites.  Reading some of the commentary (when I could squeeze myself into a position to be able to do so) it all seemed rather self-indulgent, I thought.  Having said that, there were some beautiful decorative pieces, the overall “look” of the show was great and the fine art v decorative art conversation both interesting and illuminating.

But oh my, the people.

Time to go!  Thankfully, not to a restaurant packed with tourists or to a place  like the V&A cafe where the number of people with trays of food was rather larger than the number of tables at which they could sit.  I was lucky to enjoy the comforts of home,  to share the Sunday roast and extravagant pudding in the most generous and charming company before making my way back to meet my hero for the ride home.

Back in the groove

The fun has lingered a little longer but finally, we’ve come back down to earth.  We spent Monday pottering around London and drove home late afternoon with a stowaway: Mary.  Well, of course, all surprises were out by then, so I didn’t need to ask her to hide in the boot or anything and simply announced that, by the way, we have a houseguest for a few days!

How lovely to have her company for a little while longer, to have the excuse to have a morning in Tetbury instead of doing washing and catching up with work.  St Mary’s Parish Church (top picture) was looking lovely in the sunshine, but by the time we came out again, the clouds had covered over the blue sky and the best part of the day had gone.

We admired the painted bunting on the shop window, thinking that it was even more effective than the real thing.  Very eye-catching!

Further down (?up) Long Street is the most amazing florist where I could spend all morning.  Magical!

Then, spending only a few minutes in the Highgrove Shop which is a shadow of its former self, sadly, and well on the way to becoming a National Trust clone, we turned the corner and spent rather longer in the bookshop and Bristows, a gem of a treasure trove which has been surprising us as long as we’ve lived here.  Full to the brim with exotic textiles, furnishings and all kinds of ephemera, it’s always been a delight to drop in – who’d have thought those magnificent wood panels were in a Cotswold garden?  Finally, gathering bread from our favourite baker and something for tomorrows lunch from our favourite butcher it was time for home.

Sadly, Mary had to head for the airport whilst we had an invitation to tea.  Though our small friends had shared in the London-based fun, they invited us to an after school treat and having said – real, this time – farewells to Mary, we enjoyed lovely sandwiches and cakes and an all-round jolly occasion which was the grand finale to the birthday surprises.

We’re now back into our groove and a few sunny days have brought out another bunch of small friends who seem to have made our garden their chosen playground.  It’s a few years since we saw a group of foxcubs like this and watching them chase around the garden in broad daylight is fascinating.  I’m not sure our neighbour’s chickens feel quite so comfortable, though.

As for me, it’s back to work, with three full days in a row.  I’ll squeeze in a little culture this weekend, though.

The surprises kept on coming

It’s been one remarkable weekend.  One to treasure for all kinds of reasons.

The most wonderful bunch of people began to appear on Sunday afternoon and as I looked down into the atrium I was thrilled to see all the plans coming together.  So many secrets were being revealed as one by one, dear friends arrive from here, there and everywhere.

I could see the look on my Hero’s face as the room filled and the small gasps when yet another surprise was revealed.  It was lovely to observe our small and cherished network of friends get together in such happy circumstances as the various circles blended. 

Edward’s voice held out – he’d sung at a wedding the previous afternoon and was feeling a bit croaky.  His singing took everyone’s breath away however, and his performance was yet another memorable moment in the series of events, but particularly so for his very proud father.

Tra’s beautiful playing followed and watching the rapt attention on the faces around the room was terrific.  Wonderful music played with such skill in beautiful surroundings, in the company of our dearest friends and family – how could it not stir every emotion? 

Time for afternoon tea, then, and elegant cake stands laden with sandwiches, scones with clotted cream and jam and the most deliciously tiny cakes and pastries.  Our small friends’ eyes lit up at the sight of pink, sparkly macaroons and older, wiser guests set down their glasses in favour of cups and saucers. Birthday cake celebrations followed and after some persuasion, the candle brought from Portland performed – the lotus flower opened with a candle on each petal, a flame shot from the centre as it began to spin and play “Happy Birthday”.  Fortunately, we had rather more talented piano accompaniment!

By now, everyone had settled into easy conversation and the atmosphere was warm and relaxed.  The mezzanine lounge area filled and it was great to see connections made as each got to know another.  I sat back with one of our oldest friends and observed the conversation taking place around us.  Four young people with incredible talent and ability; one a high level IT professional who sings with an internationally-renowned orchestra chorus; another a Cambridge graduate working on graphical user interfaces, also a singer; the charming partner of our Godson, with a doctorate in neuroscience and our own sweet Cambridge graduate, political communicator, singer and apple of his mother’s eye.  A quiet moment to feel thankful and truly blessed.

Earlier in the afternoon, someone had mentioned the Temple.  A room built for a Masonic chapter in the early 1900s, it had been concealed but rediscovered when the hotel had undergone renovation and was now a hidden gem.  The delightfully accommodating staff took us on a tour and one by one we oooohed, aaaaahed, danced barefoot on the cool, £2m floor, had photographs taken (a la here) or simply marvelled at this stunning (or spooky, depending on the point of view) space.

Going back up into the light was a reminder that all good things come to an end.  As people drifted off to make their way back home, the balloons were gathered up and the room became quiet again.  After a quick freshen up, we signed off the day with dinner in a favourite restaurant.

What a day.

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Of course, the raised levels of excitement mean that I totally forgot to take a picture to go with this post, but use your imagination and find plenty here.

We are Les Mis fans, I have to admit.  We first saw the show performed by the original cast fairly early on in its 25 year history and it made a deep and lasting impression on us both.  Though we’d seen it again a couple of times, the most recent performance in February left us feeling a little downbeat and disappointed.  It was all smaller, less dramatic and the performance more workaday than the slick, breathtaking one we’d remembered.

But then, we saw the 25th Anniversary DVD and read of cast changes, updates and reorchestrations.  Maybe we needed to see it again.  Looking for something to do on the evening before the party, we eventually managed to get four tickets – not easy because interest had been generated by the new cast members (and here).

Oh my goodness.  The show we saw last evening was as good, if not better than, the original!  The audience were receptive and very responsive – the woots and cheers reflected the genuine reaction to the stunning performances on stage.  Alfie Boe was every bit as good as promised, Matt Lucas the most terrific, instinctive Tenardier and the other major roles were played by equally talented performers.  We all felt blown away by the experience and walked away from the theatre buzzing with excitement.  This morning, the reaction is still ongoing, we woke up high with those marvellous songs going round and round in our heads and of course, Mark is still reeling from seeing his special “mate”.

Definitely one to remember.

The first secret is revealed

Well, it was no secret that we had tickets for Les Miserables last night.  However, we had four tickets and we were only three – the fourth was for a mystery guest who was planning to meet us in the foyer before the show.

We drove up to London earlier in the day with Bettine (the birthday boy’s Mum) and spent a lovely afternoon pottering about Selfridges, mostly, where we had a great lunch in Hix.  We went over to the hotel mid afternoon, where the cake received as warm a welcome as we did ourselves, and settled ourselves into our very comfy and stylish room.

So, what of the mystery guest?

We stood outside the theatre, scanning faces for a familiar one and remarking that it was a bit like a live “Where’s Wally?” search!  But our mystery guest wasn’t going to be wearing a red and white striped T shirt, and gender unknown to all but me, the challenge was considerable.  As 7pm approached, I began to feel nervous, because our guest had travelled some considerable distance and who knew, arrangements made by email some months ago might have gone awry.

Thankfully not.  I spotted the guest’s unmistakeable presence on the other side of the road and alerted by my unintentional sigh of relief, Mark followed my gaze.

“Oh, wow….can it be….no…oh my goodness…”

By that time we were half way over the road and doing our best to make our way through the crowds, we burst into the foyer to see someone trying (unsuccessfully) to hide behind two members of staff.

“G’day Cobber!”

Our dear friend John, having come all the way from Melbourne, Australia for the occasion, was waiting to give Mark a hug.

the story continues….