Relatively Speaking

I'm very fond of amateur drama, so was well pleased when R happened to see the notice for this amateur production at one of his bridge sessions. We had the pleasure of seeing two Aykbourn plays in one week, this time in the elegant, vaguely tea-dance setting of the Beckenham Public Hall, with chandeliers overhead and Impressionist prints gracing the walls. There was a warmth and friendliness of reception which you just don't get in the West End.

In 1970 I trod the boards here myself, playing Miss Phoebe in 'Quality Street' in an under-rehearsed production best forgotten. I belonged to a group based in neighbouring Penge, with Anerley Town Hall as our usual stage venue.

Beckenham Amateur Dramatic Society made an excellent choice of Alan Aykbourn's fool-proof four-hander, 'Relatively Speaking' for their entry in the Bromley Theatre Guild's Full Length Play Festival. It was a great opportunity to show-case acting and directing talents.

This play is one of Ayckbourn's frothiest, albeit with familiar dark undertones of middle-class marital angst. Like 'Woman in Mind' now playing in the West End, most of the action takes place in a quintessential English garden, but instead of losing her marbles middle-aged Sheila, played with superb amused tolerance by Diane Hollidge, puts up with her erring husband's 'business' trips but hints at indiscretions of her own.

The comic plot involves a visiting twenty-something couple. Ginny travels into the Kent countryside to tell her boss Philip, who happens to be Sheila's husband, to stop pestering her. She's decided to settle for nerdy but nice Greg, played by a thoroughly likeable James Mercer. Having told Greg she's going to see her parents, she leaves him behind. The puzzled Greg follows her and the resulting dialogue is a feast of dramatic irony as each one of the quartet speaks what seems to be nonsense to the others as misunderstandings proliferate.

Catalyst-for-trouble Ginney, in a sparkling performance from Sarah Mann, is well balanced by an exasperated David Whiting as Philip, who paces the stage shouting 'Where's the hoe?' or wriggles on tenterhooks at the dinner table where one false word could be his undoing. Here too, as with 'Woman in Mind' the garden is a metaphor for troubled marriage.

Apart from the initial scene in a London bedsit where the space seemed too shallow for even two occupants, the direction, the lighting and the pace of the garden encounters, with characters coming and going gave the sense of a world offstage that's always a prominent feature of an Aykbourn play.

Although I haven't seen any of the other entries for the Bromley Theatre Guild Festival (so far) I would say there's a good chance this will carry off a prize.

About the author and the play:

http://relativelyspeaking.alanayckbourn.net/RelativelySpeakingQuotes.htm

Bromley Theatre Guild Festival:

http://www.bromleytheatreguild.org.uk/festival.html

Beckenham Amateur Dramatic Society:

http://www.beckenhamads.org.uk/

La Bohème at the London Coliseum

My first experience of live opera was directing Gilbert and Sullivan for secondary school productions, which hardly counts as they're 'operettas'. My colleague and musical director assured me, though, that they contained all the musical elements of serious opera. Since then, apart from some amateur productions, I've mainly listened to arias on CD or watched operas taped from TV.

Recently I saw a film of 'La Bohème' with Pavarotti as a most unconvincing poet, despite his long scarf and Dylan-style hat. So I was really looking forward to this live professional performance, lured into parting with £19 by a tax rebate and the name of the director, Jonathan Miller. I'd seen his startling 'Mikado' on film.

Last night's exerience was quite different. For a start, the Coliseum's lift, complete with liveried attendant, whisked me back in memory to the old P&O hotel in Penang. At least she just had to press a button, not crank a handle.

There was a lot of excitement in the crowd and the auditorium was as kitsch as you could wish for, with the name Coliseum emblazoned in gold on dark velvet swags flanked by gilded fairground steeds galloping straight for the dress circle. The balcony seats were just about do-able for a couple of hours with an interval, only about twice as wide as those upholstered banquettes you get to lean against on commuter trains, but the rake is steep so there's a good view. The acoustics were fine and I thought that I heard as much as anyone in the stalls.

'This is the life that I treasure,

Writing poems for pleasure ...'

is a sentiment that must make this a writers' favourite opera,with its theme of destitute young artists, troubled romance and tragic death.

There were lots of times when the English lines seemed awkwardly stretched to fit the allocated notes, distorting the intonation. Given the excellent surtitles -none of those nonsensical side-titles you sometimes get with Chinese opera- it seems a shame not to have the original language.

Alfie Boe as Rodolfo sounded a bit weak to me and reminded me of Joseph Locke , but the other principals were fine, with piercing high notes from Mimi and Musetta that easily soared above the full-on conducting of Martin Fitzpatrick. Mimi was sung by substitute Michelle Walton instead of Melody Moore, and received well-deserved strong applause for her performance. Roland Wood's Marcello, the painter in love with skittish Musetta, was solidly dependable. I suspect this role is as important as Mercutio's in 'Romeo and Juliet'.

I loved Jonathan Miller's recreation of a film-inspired 1930s Paris resembling Cartier-Bresson photos, and the set designed by Isabella Bywater. This allowed for a garret, the Momus cafe and even sidestreets with easy adjustment of walls on turntables. The snowy street scene in the sombre second half came off particularly well. I haven't seen enough of other versions to miss the colourful cafe gaiety that some critics say the production lacks. Besides, the music supplies all the emotion.

R thought I was optimistic to set out with only £5 to cover the cost of a programme, but at £4.50 it was not only under budget but full of excellent articles. As well as the expected synopsis and cast biographies I found out the opera originated as set of magazine short stories in 1845, 'Scènes de la vie de boheme' by Henri Murger. It also featured Puccini's struggles to bring the work to fruition, histories of 'bohemian' lifestyles and some great black and white photos of Parisians in the 1930s.

How odd to watch scenes of destitution in such opulent surroundings. But I guess that happens a lot with live opera.

La Bohème:

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/La_bohème

The Coliseum:

http://www.eno.org/

Woman in Mind by Alan Aykbourn

Shakespeare's excellent for lines and plots, but for comedy, women's roles and sheer theatricality I think you can't beat Alan Aykbourn.

'The trivial round, the common task,

Should furnish all we ought to ask'

So middle-aged Susan's vicar husband reminds her, in their suburban garden. So why does Susan hallucinate about an ideal family whose members drop by to console, advise and protect her? Is it caused by a blow to the head after stepping on the garden rake? Is she suffering from a combination of empty-nest syndrome and sexual deprivation? Can her husband really have been working on a history of the parish since 1387?

Her sister-in-law's disastrous cooking doesn't help, of course.

Janie Dee is superb and the support acting is good in this darkly funny play by Alan Aykbourn, directed by the playwright himself.

A Guardian Review:

http://www.guardian.co.uk/stage/2009/feb/09/review-woman-mind-ayckbourn-vaudeville

Rodchenko & Popova : Defining Constructivism at Tate Modern

'In the room, the women come and go,

Talking of Michelangelo'

(T.S. Eliot, The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock 1915)

So different from Tate Modern on a Sunday afternoon.

I don't know what the the artists whose work is on display would make of the post-industrial chic of the 'Turbine Hall' , or the escalators reminiscent of the the 1920s film 'Metropolis'

Art, gallery art in particular, is generally produced for the rich and powerful, and often presents a narrow, individualistic perspective that's hard to relate to. What's rare is to see artists inspired by social ideals . That's what so exhilarating about this big exhibition at the Tate Modern. It's a glimpse of how artists might have been involved in building a more equal society.

It takes up twelve rooms of great paintings, posters, films and even a complete room installation, based on Rodchenko's design for the 1925 International Exhibition of Decorative Arts and Modern Industry in Paris. Called a 'Workers' Club', it's : 'a collective space in which bourgeois comfort was replaced by geometric functionalism'

I tried sitting in one of the so-called 'geometric chairs' . Come back DFS, all is forgiven.

A Times review:

http://entertainment.timesonline.co.uk/tol/arts_and_entertainment/visual_arts/article5695710.ece

The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock:

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/The_Love_Song_of_J._Alfred_Prufrock

Metropolis:

http://www.imdb.com/title/tt0017136/

Plague Over England

This gloomy, underlit drama, re-opened at the Duchess Theatre, is a reminder of how recently the gay community was scape-goated by society. Magistrates, policemen, politicians and doctors express opinions so outlandish it seems they must be sending themselves up. But no, they really are voicing what they think, or thought, at the time. The title is a reference to homosexuality by an eminent judge. A roll-call of bigoted establishment attitudes, from the 1950s to the 70s, surrounds the case of Sir John Gielgud, arrested for importuning in a public lavatory in 1953.

Distractingly short scenes in the first half establish a mood of prejudice and ignorance through situations and characters, from ex public school youths to 'rough trade' rent boys. To these are added eminent politicians and recognised showbiz names of the time .

This soundly researched play has two major weaknesses, - it lacks suspense, and it fails to engage sympathy for the main character, except at an intellectual level.

Since the outcome is known -Sir John's career was not ruined by this case of deliberate police 'enticement', one source of drama is arguably weakened, However, the audience could have been surprised when the identity of the decoy was revealed, instead of being told in a previous scene what was going to happen. Again, by way of park benches, a private gay club, theatre dressing rooms, and the aforementioned urinal we become familiar with the world Sir John inhabits, but not his emotions.

It seems to me this is a failure of the writing by author Nicolas de Jongh, rather than of the actors or direction, although it may relate to the 'distant' persona of the deceased actor. Michael Feast makes the best of his underwritten part as the disgraced thesp, with great support from a cast that is all male except for Celia Imrie, equally convincing as Sybil Thorndike and as a flapper-dressed bar owner worried about her licence. David Burt gives sterling and versatile performances as a urinal attendant with a side line in reminiscence, a camp waiter, a newsvendor and a stage door keeper.

The script has its lighter moments, as when a customer tells the bar owner he picked up his apparently under age escort 'in the queue for returns' and in the final scene offstage sounds of a gay parade strike a celebratory note . Sir John regains his confidence and the public applaud him in his new play. The law has been changed. Sadly, these touches of triumph are overshadowed by the appallingly sincere and profoundly ignorant opinions delivered by the great and the good of their day.

Further details:

http://www.keithprowse.com/tickets/slink.buy/e.UVZ/london/duchess-theatre/plague-over-england.html

Opera and Film

I'm going to my first professional live opera next week. So a free illustrated talk last Thursday was very timely. Good thing I'm on the mailing list for this place.

Gresham College was founded in the sixteenth century by Sir Thomas Greville, the son of a London Mayor . Barnard's Inn, was the model Inn of Chancery for Dickens when he wrote 'Great Expectations'. It's certainly a lovely space, and the right size to feel comfortable, with an unusual ceiling that reminded me of the medieval banqueting hall at Eltham Palace, although not so vast. The audience filled about 100 seats. The 'folded linen ' oak panelling I've also seen in some National Trust properties.

The talk was one of the best I've heard. Gresham topics tend to be scientific, although Divinity is included, so I don't go very often. With subjects like 'Film and Music' and 'Psychology of Theatrical performance' on this year's programme I've made a few entries in my diary. There's also a series of talks on American Presidents by a visiting American Professor.

I'm glad this talk was prompted by the fact that so many people now watch opera on DVD, but others in the series cover different kinds of film music. I'm looking forward to 'Brief Encounter'.

Professor Roger Parker really knows how to entertain a (mainly elderly) audience His illustrations of filmed opera, from early silents where the singers just acted to an accompaniment, to the latest DVD versions, were a revelation. Imagine Sophia Loren blacked up and lip-synching 'Aida', or Placido Domingo obscured by a dust cloud in Francesco Rosi's 'Der Rosenkavalier'.

The information about how film interacts with opera music performance will add to my enjoyment of the opera recordings I own - mainly taped from TV. My only concern now is that 'La Boheme' next week will be a bit of an anticlimax. The Coloseum will have to be good to beat Barnard's Inn.

Gresham College: http://www.gresham.ac.uk/text.asp?PageId=3

Mingling with Flying Canapés

On London’s wettest day of the year, I stepped out of a downpour into the glamorous venue chosen for Dimsum’s Chinese New Year Party. The volunteer-run website, owned by Editor Sarah Yeh, recently won first prize at the Pearl Awards for Services to the UK Chinese Community. The event was sponsored by CMC Marketing.

Awana Malaysian Restaurant is in Sloane Avenue and the name apparently means ‘In the Clouds’. I learned this from reading a Michael Winner Sunday Times review that was framed on one of the walls inside.

I’m not very keen on ‘mingling with flying canapés’ because sometimes you need a rugby tackle to get any food. It’s called ‘networking’ and you get to meet people with similar interests and come away with a handful of follow-up business cards. When I’d shed my umbrella and coat, collected my name label and a Tiger beer I was all set.

The average age of the mainly Chinese attendees mingling in the romantic lighting of the restaurant space was about 25. I chatted to Michelle Zhang, editor of a Chinese newspaper based in Milton Keynes and agreed about that city’s lack of history. Then Directing President of a Hong Kong film group described a style of independent films called ‘mocumentaries’ as ‘like Borak’. I also talked to an Education Associate for the London-based Yellow Earth theatre group.

Early on, when trays were presented with a bow, it was easy to help oneself to delicious snacks such as peanuts and the tiny crispy fish called ikan bilis that taste like bacon, small squares of pancake with a spicy dip or tiny pastry cups with a savoury filling. Later, I could only admire the trays of satay and other delights as they flew past.

I enjoyed the musical interlude provided by Amanda Wong, who sang a couple of soulful Chinese ballads, although she struggled to be heard above the chatter.

Travelling home on the tube I heard passengers told not to alight at Victoria as the eastbound platform was flooded. They’d have to get off at St James’s Park and head back westbound. I had to leap across streams on Lewisham Hill, but was glad I’d braved the weather.

The ‘goody bag’ I’d been given on leaving had a voucher for a two-course lunch for £12.50 including a glass of wine. If it stays fine I might well take advantage.

About Dimsum:
http://www.dimsum.co.uk/features/dimsum.co.uk-wins-the-pearl-awards-2008.html

Awana:http://www.awana.co.uk/

CMC Markets: http://www.cmcmarkets.co.uk/

Yellow Earth Theatre: http://www.yellowearth.org/

How to Blog

Practice is the best way to improve my writing, I've found, but I do love 'how to write' books. I never thought there were 'how to blog' books, though, until I came across 'The Weblog Handbook' in the library. It's one I wish I'd read a couple of years back.

I already have a good book called 'Writing for the Web'. It was useful for writing general webpage copy but it doesn' specifically cover blogging. This one does and its a well set-out accessible read by an expert.

Rebecca Blood was in on the ground floor with the original bloggers who practically all knew one another.

She defines a blog as 'a coffeehouse conversation in text, with references as required'

The book goes into reasons to blog and how to choose a 'host' as well as topics like choosing a name; setting a realistic schedule; getting (and keeping) an audience; observing web etiquette; guarding privacy.

I totally agree with what she says about how blogging improves writing:

'If you have something to say, taking the time every day to write it down until it says exactly what you mean will make you a better writer.'

I don't post every day, but I think about how events can be put into words (and pictures) for my next post. Hopefully, with practice, I will improve.

Rebecca Blood's book:

http://www.rebeccablood.net/handbook/

Writing for the Web:

http://www.clarity4words.co.uk/desktop.htm

Treasures from Shanghai at the British Museum

It's not what I'd call 'treasures' - a few Neolithic jade axe-heads and some ungainly bronze cooking pots. Not that they've been used for cooking- they're connected with obscure ceremonial rites. Admittedly, they're highly decorated, too, but the carved or raised patterns are so stylised so you have to scrutinise them to make out animals and birds. Shame, because I've been to the Shanghai art gallery and museum and it really does have some 'treasures'.

I might attend one or two of the talks to improve my appreciation level.

The exhibition's free, and all in one room, at the end of the 'Grenville Shop'. Now that has some real treasures: 'exhibition watches' at £85, a 'Gilgamesh resin relief' at £150 and 'cuneiform scarves' at £60 each. As Arthur Dailey would say, it's a right little goldmine.

Details of the Exhibition

http://www.britishmuseum.org/whats_on/future_exhibitions/treasures_from_shanghai.aspx

Chinese New Year Lunch

Singapore food was the best I'd ever tasted and the chance to work there changed my life. With a mix of Chinese, Malay, Indian and British cultures, there seemed to be a festival every other week. When not shopping or eating, Singaporeans spent their spare time at the cinema.

In 1989, with Thatcherism raging, R had taken early retirement. I stuck a pin in the foreign jobs pages of the Times Ed and in 1990 signed a three year contract to teach for the Singapore government.

I was posted to Maris Stella, a Chinese High School for boys. My students' grandparents came from South China and spoke a variety of dialects but Prime Minister Lee Kwan Yew declared English and Mandarin as the official languages

For me the biggest surprise was the school ethos. All the fighting and swearing in London classrooms hadn't prepared me for a culture where homework was done on time and the worst form of misbehaviour was falling asleep in the back row. Singapore is 60 miles from the equator so it's not surprising they succumbed to the heat. Unlike banks and businesses, there was no air-conditioning in government schools, only overhead fans. Lucky I was standing up, otherwise I'd have been asleep myself.

Back in London, I was keen to learn more about a culture that had such respect for learning. I signed up for evening classes in Mandarin. at my old alma mater, Goldsmiths College. My first teacher was an infinitely patient and encouraging Taiwanese lady.

Over the next 15 years I wrestled with this fiendishly difficult language at Morley College, Westminster University and SOAS. Currently I attend a twice weekly class at a community college in Soho.

In 2003, with Blairism raging, I even took a job in northern China for a year to try to speed up the learning process. This time I was an editor with an educational publisher and was even more impressed with the dedication of the Chinese teachers I met. R joined me aftr six months and enjoyed it more than Singapore, despite the -20 degrees centigrade of Winter months.

I've met a lot of fascinating characters and marvellous teachers over the years, and I'm as enthusiatic about Chinese culture as ever.

I miss the excellence of Singapore food, but I can recommend the 'Top of the Town', where my classmates and I enjoyed a Chinese New Year lunch .

Top of the Town: http://www.viewlondon.co.uk/restaurants/top-of-the-town-info-8789.html

A Pleasure Deferred

It's all very well the radio saying don't go out unless your journey is really necessary, but I'd been looking forward to 'La Boheme' for weeks. I've only been to about three live operas before, all amateur productions, so this will be a treat. I loved the film of 'La Boheme' with Pavarotti, but you couldn't take him seriously as an artist starving in an attic.

I could take the DLR from Lewisham, change at Canary Wharf onto the Jubilee Line, then walk from Waterloo.

Besides, if not so many people can make it to the Coliseum I can probably turn it to my advantage and change to a better seat in the interval. 'It's bound to be cancelled', says R, who knows his bridge game won't happen, but what about 'the show must go on' and all that, I'm thinking.

He tells me it's going to be broadcast live on Sky Arts but I know the the dish can can play up when it snows, so I'll need reassuring. We watch a very interesting programme about Gaudi in Barcelona, but sure enough, as the flakes fall faster outside, so the picture begins to crackle and freeze, just like the weather. So I can't rely on it for this evening. It'll be a pity to get there and find it's cancelled, but even worse to miss it.

Suddenly, the problem's solved- an email from ENO tells me the show is cancelled, and I can swap my ticket for a another date later in the week. Most civilised. So I'm set for a double helping of Coronation Street and the opera still to look forward to. All being well.

Going to the Pictures

I remember when cinemas had signs outside saying 'No Babes in Arms'. I'm sure my parents ignored them because it seems I saw every war film, every western, weepy and musical in the late forties and fifties. No wonder I took to Film Studies so readily, when it was invented.

In those days, cinemas had only one auditorium but the programmes changed twice a week. There were two neighbourhood picture palaces and my parents took me on Tuesdays and Fridays. I went again on Saturdays with my sisters for the childrens' matinee. This was in pre-TV days.

R's father was actually in the film industry - in the distribution arm. That's to say he put together the elaborate cardboard foyer displays, and changed the 'stills in the glass cabinets outside. The mention of his father's name at the Camberwell Odeon was an open sesame for R to get in free.

Some of my friends will pay to watch the odd costume drama or literary adaptation, if there's not too much sex or violence. R, like me, just likes sitting in the warm darkess for a couple of hours. It's a kind of addiction, or folie a deux, without too many dangerous side-effects. Even the financial burden is softened by our Unlimited Cineworld tickets.

In my case, it's the mix as before, because we take it in turns to pick the films and our tastes are very different. With ten-screen venues, there's a lot of room for horse-trading and a lot of hammering out the merits, or even the meanings, afterwards.

Just recently the films have been top-notch. I've had a surfeit of Kate Winslet, though, and I couldn't understand most of 'Valkyrie'. What can you do when all the characters are in the same uniform with identical haircuts and set-in-cement expressions, so their superiors won't guess they're out to blow up Hitler ? Still, it was good to learn that there was a lot of opposition in the ranks, which I hadn't known about before.

The film I enjoyed most was 'Slumdog Millionaire' because everything about it was excellent. 'The Reader' was the most controversial and I think Kate Winslet deserves an Oscar for that one, not 'Revolutionary Road'. I thought Sean Penn as Harvey Milk was wonderful, but then so was Mickey Rourke in 'The Wrestler'.

Sometimes, when we've been several days on the trot, I say something like 'Mmm, maybe we need time to process these films, you know. Like sleep helps you process what you've been through during the day.'

He looks at me as if I'm crazy, and I know he's right. We're hopelessly addicted.

Gin and Vice in Georgian London

Who'd a thunk it? Benjamin Franklin lived within spitting distance of Charing Cross Station back in Georgian times. Not that there was a station there when Benjamin Franklin inhabited 36 Craven Street, in 1757-1775.

Not that I'm that well up on American Presidents, either. For me, they generally come heavily mediated by Hollywood films, and if Frank Langella's current portrayal of Richard Nixon is anything to go by there's probably little connection with reality.

'Benjamin Franklin' was the answer to one of the 'Slumdog Millionaire' quiz questions, so I was better prepared, I thought, for a visit to his house in Craven Street.

It was a U3A notice of a talk on 'Vice and Debauchery in Georgian England' that drew me in, interest provoked by the Hogarth exhibition at the Tate Britain last year . It wasn't a surprise to find a scene from his cartoon series called 'The Harlot's Progress' attached to the door, and I passed some time talking to two 'interns' (ie unpaid employees) in the entrance hall before being joined by another U3A member to whom I chatted before the lecture.

The room was full by the time we sat down. It was strange being addressed by a young fresh-face American about such a sleazyy topic, especially as his research was so thorough. One cringed to think of the sordid details he'd have had to wade through. He knew all the gradations of prostitutes from Duke's mistress down to streetwalker as well as the ins and outs of gin production and drinking customs as well. His talk was well-laced with anecdotes.

The talk was an excellent £3.50's worth. Incredibly as it seemed, by the time we'd heard that one in four houses in Westminster was a gin shop, some residents stayed clear of vice. It was also known as 'The Age of Englightenment'. On my next visit maybe I'll find out how Benjamin Franklin kept to the straight and narrow whilst living in the midst of temptation. I suspect that he didn't.

More information about the house, talk and events:

http://www.benjaminfranklinhouse.org/site/sections/default.htm

About Frost/Nixon :

http://www.imdb.com/title/tt0870111/

About Slumdog Milllionaire:

http://www.imdb.com/title/tt1010048/

Predatory Squirrels

It's good to have this glass door beside my bed. Most mornings I wake to the sound of the birdfeeder banging against the balcony bars. I let the blind up slowly so as not to frighten off the pair of blue tits who build their nest underneath, or the fat robin that's been hopping around lately, hoping to catch the bits of peanuts that fall down.

Most of the time, though, it's these squirrels, one gnawing at the plastic base of the feeder until there's a hole big enough for a nut to be extracted, one waiting his turn in the branches. They're only stopped from getting the whole cache at one go by the metal mesh I've had to put inside. They take very little notice of me, even when I rap on the door.

My dilemma is how to feed the small and needy while deterring the big, fat and more agile greedy. I wouldn't begrudge them, but I suspect they've got a heap of nuts hidden away somewhere.

Chinese Paper Cut


Whoa! At the mere hint of a tax rebate I've become an art collector. Normally, I walk round London with eyes down (metaphorically speaking) and desires reined in when it comes to buying.

It's the Age of Restraint since R and I sat down and made a budget last September. It took several days of sitting down and a lot of shouting, as I recall.

Apparently (well, it's a fact) when you get to 65 your tax code goes up. If I'd sent back the form asking 'Have your circumstances changed?' and tracked down my NI number before Christmas I'd have found out earlier. I wouldn't have accumulated enough to make me throw caution to the winds, though. Well, I wouldn't have bought this picture.

I'd had to miss the January 17th launch of this very small exhibition of Chinese Paper-cuts, at Charing Cross Road Library, which was annoying because I'd met the artist at the Probsthain's woodcut exhibition and said I'd write about it for the Dimsum website. I was reminded it was there when I called in at the library last week, looking for a copy of 'Revolutionary Road''.

I was amazed by this transformation of paper-cut art, which I'd previously seen only as one-dimensional representations of symbolic animals and plants. These were abstract, and made from layered papers in different colours to resemble paintings . The one I chose was a 'Double Happiness ' symbol, harbinger of married bliss. You never know.

Later in the day I met up with the artist, who'd been summoned by the libararian, and had a mini guided tour with explanations. 'Double Happiness', for instance, can symbolise other unions, such as a priest and religion, or an artist and his muse. He was as entertaining as I remembered and told me he'd reduced the prices considerably for Chinese New Year. I felt a bit guilty, but after all, if the piece hadn't cost only £45, I couldn't have afforded it.

Anyway, my picture is on display until February 2nd, when the artist says he'll have it all packed and ready for collection. I expect he'll put another in its place, because the exhibition lasts until February 7th.

No 'Revolutionary Road' to be had, but a minor revolution for me, debut art collector.

Here's more about it:

http://westminsternewsletters.info/libraries/newsletter_02.html#OneBook

Beside the Seaside

My friend, who teaches in Bahrain, arrived looking shattered after a seven hour flight and three hours in the rush hour. She was fit for only local sight-seeing.

The National Maritime Museum promotes our 'Glorious Naval Heritage' and 'Britannia Rules the Waves' , etc, but for me and my companion 'sea' means 'seaside'. The 'Beside the Sea' exhibition of photos, posters and a video of film clips was a trip down memory lane, although we remembered different towns. As my friend's a native of Hull, in her case it was Scarborough, home of Alan Aykbourn plays in the Keith Joseph Theatre

Preston is only fourteen miles cycling miles from the doyenne of resorts: Blackpool. Luckily, the Fylde is flat there, particularly if you take the coast road, instead of the shorter route via Kirkham and the High Gate Hotel. I did this sometimes, glad to see the pub sign at the top of the long haul with its message:

'The gate hangs high,

And hinders none.

Refresh yourself,

Then travel on.'

It's an Italian Restaurant now.

Sometimes, in the two-week factory break called 'Preston Holidays', my mother bought a 'Family Runabout' a green card with a map of Fylde rail routes printed on the back. Rail stations from Southport to Windermere were marked with dots. For a whole week we travelled every day , with Blackpool the favourite. For a change we'd go to Lytham and St Annes for sand-dunes, or Fleetwood to pluck winkles from the rocks. Southport we shunned because the sea never came in.

I think 'Golden Mile' is excellent to describe the flat, biscuit-textured sand that was perfect for sand-castles, the sea close by for carrying water to moats; no shelves, or shingles; no breakwaters. For a child Blackpool on a sunny day was perfect. There were places along the 'prom' where my mother paid for tea and we sat on benches at board tables to eat 'butties' from home.

I like other seaside places - I lived in Southsea for three happy years when I was first married. Now Whitstable's a favourite, and I go back to Southport a lot, where the sea still stays out but Lord Street was Napolean's model for the Parisian Boulevards.

The museum display isn't all about sandy beaches; there are photos of old-fashioned bathing machines and piers, even fishermen posed self-consciously holding nets by boats in Cornwall.

It was a good to be reminded of happy holidays on a wet afternoon in Greenwich. My friend said she felt quite revived; ready to travel on and spend the weekend with another friend, who lives in Eastbourne.

Here's a site that lets you click and revive your own particular memories:

http://www.nmm.ac.uk/visit/exhibitions/on-display/beside-the-seaside/home/

Rainy Thursday

I felt sorry for the hot chestnut man opposite Charing Cross Station when I saw the his umbrella lifting in the wind. As for poor Oscar's coffin, where I usually rest my bag to replace my freedom pass - no chance, because it had a large puddle on it.

Oscar Wilde: http://www.online-literature.com/wilde/

Spanish Interlude

On a murky London evening, I was happy to recall the unusual week I spent last September in Spain. I went with Vaughan Town, a company which introduces Spanish business people to mother-tongue English speakers on an ‘immersion’ week. Regular 'Sangria evenings' take place in Dirty Dick's, opposite Liverpool station. Vaughan Town veterans renew friendships and answer 'newbies' questions.

I’d been studying Spanish for a while, as a kind of antidote to Chinese. Spain's a lot more accessible than China, too. We’d had a few home-swaps and a few cheap package holidays. It’s not easy, though, to plumb the Spanish psyche, when all the people you meet are waiters, couriers or shop assistants. I craved more in-depth conversation, even in English.

Last year, a classmate told me about Vaughan Town. A week of speaking English to Spanish business people, on a one-to-one basis, sounded like hard work. Still, all I had to pay was the air-fare to Madrid and two over-night stays there at either end of the week. Easyjet and a hostel made it affordable.

In fact, I loved it. We were driven to a 4-star hotel at Monfrague in the Extramadura region, all stone walls, rows of dusty olive trees, and distant mountains, about three hours from Madrid. The hotel had the biggest bedroom I’ve ever stayed in, plus excellent meals with wine.

For five days, the rule of speaking only English was observed even at meal-times. Almost all the Spaniards worked for international companies in Madrid, but one ran hot-air balloon flights near Valencia. We talked as we strolled down to the village or near the pool or on the hotel terraces.

I learned a lot, and enjoyed working with the 14 or so friendly ‘Anglos’. Activities and entertainments in the programme were all designed to help the Spaniards achieve fluency. Many of the Anglos, including Americans, Australians and even an English couple living in Spain, had done the programme before, some several times. It seems to be addictive.

Venues are now Gredos, for those who like a rural locations, and the medieval city of Salamanca.

I’d never been to Madrid before, except to change planes. I loved the Tapas events at either end of my stay. On the way back, I had time to wander around before my flight back to London. Madrid reminded me of London, with its tree-shaded squares and back-streets. My companion was a Texan lady I’d bonded with over Spanish-size gins and tonics in the hotel bar every night. So I learned nice things about Texans, too.

Dirty Dick’s http://www.dirtydicks.co.uk/

Vaughan Town http://www.vaughantown.com/EnglishNew/indexenglish.asp

Raise the Red Lanterns

Gerrard Street's all set for the Year of the Ox!