A bit of culture

We’ve been up North this weekend, driving m-i-l Bettine to The Wedding To Which We Were Not Invited, meaning that we got to spend a fun day or two with friends who live just down the coast.

On the way, we stopped for lunch at this cathedral to shopping, recently described as a fine example of postmodernism and, for us, a glimpse into another world.  Are we really in the middle of a recession?  Not here, it would seem.

We spent Saturday in Liverpool, exploring a different part of the city from where we’d been previously.  First stop, St George’s Hall, which we’d seen on a TV programme some months ago and had remembered as a fine example of civic architecture without knowing much about it.

 

I didn’t know that a prison and assizes had been built underneath the hall – planning gain Victorian-style – and the first part of our visit was filled with dreadful stories and heartbreaking images of the poor souls who’d found themselves on the wrong side of the law.

One cell was filled with the mugshots of the day and some had left their mark in carved graffiti on the walls here and there.  The charge sheets and  personal descriptions of those appearing at the assizes revealed sorry tales of petty theft and drunken disorderliness though the list of crimes offered a slightly more sinister picture of inner city life in a Victorian port.

In stark contrast to all of this, a wedding fair (fayre?) was taking place in the main hall, but we were able to walk along the balcony to see what we could of the fine organ and stained glass windows.

Such a grand hall, built with all the exuberance of the Victorian age and not a penny spared when it came to the details.

Closer observation of the chandeliers revealed an array of ships on each one and as we stood trying to notice everything, the security chap drew our attention to the tiled floor, mostly covered with a wooden surface for the exhibition below, but visible in a couple of small places.  What a great place!

We stepped outside into rather better weather than we’d hoped – the heavens were opening from time to time and boy, did it rain!  There in front of the hall was the Liverpool Cenotaph and all four of us were really taken with the work of a sculptor we’d never heard of – George Herbert Tyson Smith – who had captured the time and mood so well in the faces of the figures he worked into the bronze relief.

I found the figure of the elderly man, standing with his hand to his mouth in grief so very moving

and the quiet dignity of this other group on the opposite side very much of their time in terms of their dress and demeanour.

There, in the background, behind all these figures, is row upon row of gravestones, a stark reminder of the huge numbers commemorated by this memorial, quietly stated.

Alongside the Cenotaph was a fine equestrian statue of a youthful Queen Victoria herself, in a rather more active pose than I’ve generally seen.

And having paid homage to her, we stepped inside the Walker Art Gallery for a bite to eat and a quick peruse of the exhibitions – we loved Like you've never been away and found Art in Revolution pretty interesting too.  Yet again, we ticked off a place which has been on our go-to list for quite some time but realised that we need to return, to spend longer and visit the permanent exhibitions too.

But our friends had tickets for the theatre. 

Now, we’ve known these particular friends a long time.  When they said they had tickets for Moliere’s Tartuffe, we feared that they had overestimated our knowledge and understanding of the theatre.  But of course, we should have known that they would choose well – we hadn’t realised that this particular version had been rewritten by Roger McGough and that it would not only be a brilliant production, superbly played but it would also be incredibly funny.

We appreciated the screen with rolling text, if only to revel in the wonderful rhyming couplets which might have otherwise flown past without time to savour them; who else would have rhymed sovereign with bovverin’ ?

Terrific!

As we drove back out of the city, we spotted a very Liverpool phenomenon; one which has so far completely passed us by.

Out along the road through Walton and Aintree, girls were out on the street with lime-green curlers in their hair and googling reveals this isn’t a recent trend but one which has been going at least a couple of years.

Who knew?  For sure, I’ve not seen anyone in Cirencester out in their curlers recently!

Thankfully, we had no plans which involved getting dolled up and looked forward to a quieter evening in Lytham.  We left the fun of the city behind and simply returned to enjoy wonderful seaside skies, fascinating conversations and simply relax in good company.  What better way to spend a happy couple of days?

We even brought home some souvenirs.

Still learning

My journal is coming along nicely and building into quite a collection now, but after a weekend away, I’d got a little behind with my pages.

A couple of hours were needed to sit and sort through the ephemera collected on the way and to print out a few labels and journal cards.

Thankfully, that gave me the prompt for what I learned yesterday!

And today?  Well, today I learned a new word, thanks to the crossword and my hero, who tells me that his own hero, the composer Joachim Raff, includes “Dans la Nacelle” in his repertoire of piano music.   Now, before you think that Raff was finding poetry and music in the aerodynamics of aircraft engine housings, be reassured that the French word nacelle can also refer to a small boat, but I find that use is now described as obsolete.

I shall just have to engineer a conversation about aerodynamics to drop it into then, won’t I?

Another handover

Thankfully, Marjorie and Connie have done me the honour again this year and we continued the tradition of a long gossipy lunch before bringing the sloes home ready to make this year’s batch of sloe gin.

Buying three large bottles of gin at our local supermarket does nothing for my reputation and having sampled the new Penhaligon’s Juniper Sling whilst in London at the weekend, it’s as well I wasn’t wearing that particular perfume!  Do I really want to smell like an old soak?

In no time at all, Bourton on the Water’s finest little sloes were thawing out and releasing their ruby coloured juices into the clear alcoholic liquid.  In a few short months it will be transformed into a gloriously rich and comforting elixir.

It really is hard to imagine that those tough little bitter berries contain the magical ingredient that creates such a distinctive liqueur.

I labelled the bottle and gave it one last swirl and shake and set it aside so that it can receive daily attention for one week.

By then, all the sugar will have dissolved and it will take up residence in the storeroom alongside its older siblings until we’re ready to drink.

Mmmmmm.

Thank you for another year’s harvest, Marjorie and Connie!

What a fun weekend!

We have packed so much fun into the last couple of days, it’s hard to know where to begin.

We set off first thing Friday morning to drive up the M4, because we had plans to meet Mary for dinner that evening and we thought we’d take the opportunity to explore somewhere on our list.  We read online that parking was difficult, so armed with maps and a sense of adventure, we left the car by the river and walked up this little snicket, hoping we were on the right track.

Sure enough, the path opened up and there was the entrance to a place we’d read so much about but actually, knew nothing. 

The bursts of colour were exactly as I’d expected and the whole place was a feast for the eyes.

I’m not sure I’d describe it as a Nursery with a restaurant attached, or vice versa – the dining room extended throughout the whole place and in every corner, we came across small tables and chairs tucked in under a plant or two.

We enjoyed our coffee and cake, had a short mooch around admiring the sumptuous arrangements of flowers and fruit before thinking we’d better get ourselves back to the car and head on into the city.  It was starting to rain.

We hurried along, passing wise advice posted to the fence by the meadows, thinking this was a surprisingly bucolic scene for somewhere so close to suburbia.

Looking across the meadow, we spotted a large building on the brow of the hill, so I zoomed in using my new camera in the hope of identifying features.

I paid little attention to the photograph I took until I arrived home this afternoon and noticed the small group of people on the grass there in front of the trees.

Time to zoom in again!

Well, would you look at that!  A photo shoot in progress and a rather Victorian look to the little vignette of the photographer and his assistant, don’t you think?

I’m afraid I still couldn’t identify the large building!  (I can now: it’s the Royal Star and Garter Home and I’ve just spent an interesting ten minutes reading all about a charity of which I knew nothing until now!)

Another photo shoot was taking place on Oxford Street, the following day.  Perhaps this was more of a TV shoot though – Indian we thought.  They were doing well to keep the area clear of passers by, because as usual, the street was awash with people.  We hurried along back to the hotel though, because it was starting to rain.

It was fun seeing Mary on Friday night and a last minute stretch of the table to accommodate Edward was a bonus too.  Great food, wonderful service and the most amazing views at Galvin at Windows.  It was a short and sweet catch up with them both however, because after a brief scurry and a couple of errands on Saturday morning, we were off into Hertfordshire, where my hero had a concert to sing in.

Sitting outside in the humid early evening air, we spotted the most enormous fungi growing under a tree in the churchyard.  Going over to take a photograph, I was delighted to be rewarded by the most beautiful patterns on the cap of each mushroom.

Each one slightly different, they were growing in such a quiet and undisturbed corner I felt very lucky to have seen them!

The concert was good and the audience appreciative, though I spent my time trying to identify the reason why one particular lady looked so very familiar.  From the minute she arrived, I felt I recognised her and having checked that she wasn’t a “friend” of the choir, I had narrowed it down to the WI.  More than likely, she was someone I’d come across at a meeting or at our college and that was that.

Or?  It’s funny how my brain works.  Suddenly it came to me…a clear picture of the lady in question standing in a queue to board a plane in Dubai, another of her sitting in a Trivia team each afternoon and yet another sitting on the row in front of us dressed in tiara and pearls watching the Royal Wedding!  For sure, I believed that we had travelled together on our cruise this Easter…I had to go and chat to her, to check and satisfy my mind.

Bingo!  Spot on!

It took her a while to work out how she knew me, but I knew as soon as I said “Hello” that she did.  What fun to go through the “small world” conversation and to realise that though we live a hundred miles apart, we move in similar circles when all is said and done.

(Alan and Jane, you’d have spotted her right away, too!)

This morning, we were up earlier than we needed, but took advantage of the bright and sunny morning and left straight after breakfast to visit Bicester Village. The bear above is called Porridge, by the way.

Hmm.  It was interesting, for sure.  We bought some teacups and saucers and some soap – but really, we felt like fish out of water!  Not being designer label types, we enjoyed watching the people rather more than visiting the shops and with a table waiting for us at The Trout, we left three or four cars to fight over our parking space and headed down the road towards home.  As we left, the heavens opened and people were running for cover.

The Trout is a great place to eat and our Sunday lunch was super.  My roast beef came with all the trimmings, including a Yorkshire Pudding so good that even my Mum would have been impressed!  As we sat looking through the window, the heavens opened and the poor souls who’d chanced it and found no table indoors were left to shelter under the umbrellas.

With full tummies we headed home, thinking how remarkable it was that we’d managed to stay dry the whole weekend, even though it’s poured down at times.  As we negotiated the tourists in Bibury, we voiced our usual reminiscence of changing our small baby’s nappy on the wall there by the river, some 26 years ago.  One day, we’ll petition for a blue plaque on that spot!

Now, we’re home and though we’re pleased to be here, we both agree that it’s been a terrific weekend.

Today I learned

all sorts of things.  Keeping my notebook close to hand and jotting down this and that throughout the day is a great exercise and though I’ve usually got a small book to hand with a pencil tucked inside, Shimelle’s class prompts me to pay a little more attention and take a few more notes.

For example, a conversation with a WI friend this morning gave me cause to investigate the Order of St Lazarus and St John and the Queenhithe Ward Club.  I was writing a report for our monthly newsletter about the lovely people we’ve entertained to lunch during the past month and of course, instantly learned a great deal from five minutes googling.

Would I feature this on my daily page?  Possibly.

But a little later on, I was in the kitchen listening to Radio 3 and heard Sarah Walker play Rameau’s La Poule.  She introduced it by stating it was her favourite piece of music featuring chickens.

Huh?

My hero and I mulled over this and considered alternatives, if indeed there were any?  The first one he came up with was the Funky Chicken or the Birdie Song and reacting quickly before this could be taken any further (please, use your imagination!) I was humming the tune I associated with chickens.

“You know, da da da-da da, da da da-da da, doo-doo-doo-doo-doo-doo-doo-doo..” (as so on).

Well, I was up to my elbows in flour and sugar at the time, baking a birthday cake for a colleague to take to my meeting yesterday afternoon.

My hero sighed and realised I wasn’t going to leave it there.  He got out his iphone and looked for “chicken” on Spotify.  There appeared a long list of weird and totally offbeat answers, none of which bore any resemblance to the music I was thinking of.

“It’s by Debussy or Mussorgsky,” I said.  “Might be Pictures at an Exhibition.  you know…da da da-da da, da da da-da da, doo-doo-doo-doo-doo-doo-doo-doo..”

One click and it was playing.  Baba Yaga’s Hut on Chicken Legs.

So, my page for today’s LSNED class features the story presented in the same format as I’m working in for this book.  The page is an envelope made from a magazine page (I think this was a photo of a staircase in a grand house), the brief journalling is printed onto a shipping label (happily acccepted by my HP printer if I whisper “epson” very quietly in its ear as I press the “print” button) and the full story on a card inside the envelope, together with any other ephemera from the day.  The picture is from a favourite film, Howls Moving Castle, which was loosely based on the Baba Yaga story.

What on earth will I learn today?!