Journey to the West

This classic Chinese text’s title is pretty confusing to Westerners – the tale tells of a journey from China to India, both countries very far to the east of us. Calling India ‘the west’ just feels wrong, but of course to the Chinese it is quite simple fact.

Personally, I blame Diocletian’s division of the Roman Empire into “East” and “West” in AD285. To us Europeans, the East will always begin in the eastern end of the Mediterranean.
Heavens it’s been a while since I was last at the Royal Opera – to my shame, my last visit was pre-rebuild/extension, which puts it at least 8 years ago!

- But I was there last night for the London premiere of Damon Albarn’s, Jamie Hewlett’s and Chen Shi-Zheng’s opera Monkey: Journey to the West. It’s fabulous – the Floral Hall is a fantastic ‘see and be seen’ sort of space, and the terrace overlooking Covent Garden piazza and central London’s roofscape is just lovely for a snack or drink pre-performance, especially in the evening sun; the terrace catches soothing evening breezes. The Opera house was decorated monkey-style for the event, and was serving monkey cocktails. The capacity crowd was really buzzing with anticipation.

The opera itself is visually spectacular and very beautiful; brilliantly conceived by Jamie Hewlett. Chen Shi-Zheng directs the cast of thousands with amazing control – the focus on the story is sharp despite a cast of thousands doing absolutely stunning things – awesome acrobatics, aerial ballet, exciting kung-fu fights etc etc. It’s actually so complicated it’s remarkable the whole thing went off without a single apparent mistake.

Damon Albarn’s music is gorgeous; individually the numbers are very beautiful. However, as opera one can’t compare it to Verdi or Wagner – it’s fairly episodic, and there isn’t an arc of musical development over the full piece. However, I’m still looking forward to the CD being released.

I have to mention Fey Yang as the Monkey King – he was absolutely magnificent; endearingly cheeky, yet acrobatic and superb at the fighting (in character). An incredible performance, giving out 100% energy from beginning to end.

The three co-creators came on stage at the end of a well-deserved standing ovation.

Pygmalion

The West End Whingers were slightly premature in their praise for the apparently newly-oiled seats at the Old Vic. My seat last night was as squeaky as an annoyed bat – however, Peter Hall’s production of Pygmalion was so good this minor irritation evaporated. And the seat itself was in the distinctly posh part of the auditorium – the poshest I’ve ever been at the Old Vic (6th row central, stalls, no less).

I’m glad I shelled out, because the production and performances were so beautifully detailed it was wonderful to be able to appreciate them all close-up, as it were. The “Not bloody likely” scene was side-splittingly funny: Eliza’s (Michelle Dockery) partially-transformed accent got spontaneous applause mid-way through.

This was a belt-and-braces properly traditional production – down to real rain and a real taxi on stage. However, so intelligently done it was a tremendous pleasure. My doubts about Shaw were quite quelled.

oily adventures

Tate Modern opened its oil tanks to Tate members this weekend – yippee! Power Stations are a bit of a thing with me, ever since my work placement as a student at the HQ of a power company in South Africa. Bless her, my boss didn’t have a clue what to do with an art history student, so she sent me out on field visits to the power stations, leaving me with very fond memories of the “dark Satanic mills” kind. Actually, they are very exciting, even sublime places – the furnaces, the turbines, the cooling towers, etc etc etc.

My field of expertise is coal-fired stations, so seeing the remaining innards of an oil-fired station intrigued me. Also, I missed the tours of Bankside before the deplanting, which I have always regretted.

Anyway, I have to say the oil tanks were a slight disappointment. I’m not a driver, so I don’t really have a feel for how fast oil is burnt in a combustion engine. I was anticipating the tanks for a power station to be absolutely vast (at least 5 stories high) – so although these are big, they definitely are smaller than I was thinking.

The Tate was planning to convert the spaces into auditoria, but artists who saw them persuaded the authorities to leave them as ‘found spaces’ for artists to play in. So think circular versions of the turbine hall, not as high.

All very exciting, and the Tate is apparently going to announce Herzog and de Meuron’s developed plans for the new Tate Modern extension this week. It is planned for completion in time for the 2012 London Olympics. Yay!

P.S – I know I’m being retrogressive in insisting on ‘The’ Tate, but I really hate the branding company’s arrogance in attempting to annihilate the definite article. It’s an act of foreclosure on the English Language, no less, and imperial overstretch by ‘Tate’. Nicholas Serota will have to threaten to discontinue my membership before I submit to the ugliness of the naked Tate.

Major Barbara

No doubt about it, there’s a George Bernard Shaw boom on at the moment. The NT’s Saint Joan last year was pretty awesome; I’m a little bit more quizzical about its production (just ending) of Major Babara.

Undoubtedly, this play raises interesting and still very relevant questions. I thought the second act in the Salvation Army shelter was as great as theatre can get – it’s just the last act, despite the spectacular setting in an armaments factory (brilliantly realized in this production) displays some of Shaw’s most wordy faults. It does drag – worse, the characters Undershaft and Cusins debate loftily at length while the rest of the cast sit around like Madame Tussaud’s waxworks. Occasionally Lady Britomart Undershaft or Charles Lomax pop up with a comedy turn to jolly things along. The only dramatic tension is the choice facing Adolphus Cusins, and how he will square this with Barbara. The contrast with the morally fluid and dramatically explosive second act is pretty extreme.

I loved the cast and production – this was just a Shaw thing with me, I think. I’m seeing Pygmalion this week, so we’ll see.

Pope's Villa at Twickenham

Context really does affect how one experiences art. I always find looking at things in Sotheby’s or Christie’s quite exciting – everything’s for sale!! – but if it is an important piece, the time one spends looking at it is somehow more heightened and valuable than if it was, say, in the National Gallery where it will still be next week, if one fancies coming back.

I popped into Sotheby’s last week to have a look at the ‘Sudeley Turner’ – Sudeley no more as it has now been sold for almost £5.5 million. I’ve never seen it before, and can’t really say it featured heavily in my Turner studies at Uni. Its official title is Pope’s Villa at Twickenham.

It’s pretty gorgeous: Joseph Mallord William Turner in the full flow of his attempt to out-do the miraculous evening glow of the celebrated French master Claude Lorrain. Indeed, one critic immediately after viewing this picture called Turner “indisputably the first landscape painter in Europe”.

Turner was motivated by the vandalism of Baroness Howe (known as “Queen of the Goths”), who so hated the literary tourists drawn by the poet Alexander Pope’s villa that she decided to tear the villa down. Turner portrays the already roofless villa catching the raking last rays of the sun (very restrained and subtle, the melodrama of the Fighting Temeraire is absent here). The sun-washed villa is reflected in the limpid Thames. In the foreground, a group of workmen are negotiating the sale of architectural salvage from the house.

It is fascinating that a lively debate about national heritage was thriving that far back in history, and it is equally ironic that the painting itself enacts its own circumstances, as another great piece of national heritage is lost, perhaps to leave the country forever.

Burial at Thebes

The Rose is Kingston’s new theatre (opened 2008). I’ve been wanting to check it out, and Nottingham Playhouse Theatre Company’s production of Seamus Heaney’s new translation of Sophocles’ Antigone seemed a good opportunity to do so.

While Kingston is quite a comfortable area of south west London, I feel the town centre is also quite a bit chavvy, so I was very worried The Rose would struggle to find an audience. I was totally relieved therefore to see it had quite a respectable turn-out: the theatre seemed about two-thirds full when I went.

The translation was pretty magnificent: simple and clear, but powerfully poetic when it needs to be. Greek tragedy is pretty wonderful stuff – it draws you in to the moral issues at stake quickly, presents all the arguments for and against without redundancy or over-analysis, gets on with the story, and wham bang all over in about 75 minutes. Brilliant.

Great ensemble work from the company. Their use of the set was good – I don’t know whether it was their own or they were just using what is there already. Apparently, The Rose is unfinished and it’s the backstage area which is still incomplete. The set certainly looked very rawly concrete.

three years on

a tea discovery

The Taste of London festival also featured loads of food and drinks suppliers and manufacturers. In the Taste of China section I came across Chinalife’s stand and they were giving out tastes of their various teas.

I absolutely love everything about tea, it’s history, folklore, manufacture, its rituals – making it and drinking it. Although all tea is good, I generally prefer Chinese teas. The black teas from Yunnan are my current favourites.

I was completely bowled over by Chinalife’s white tea “Amber Mountain”. Apparently, this variety was reserved for the exclusive use of the Emeror. It’s pretty gorgeous. From their blurb:

”Highest grade rare tea produced in very small amounts. It creates a beautiful, glowing infusion that tastes like pure dew from an early Spring morning, with a subtle complexity of flavour that is intense and mesmerising.

[cut]

White tea is made from new growth buds and young leaves and derives its name from the tiny, silver white hairs on the dried tea. White tea is a specialty of the Chinese province of Fujian. It can only be picked for a short time each year, making it rare and more expensive than other teas but connoisseurs love the pale colour, delicate, sweet flavour and silky finish. White tea is the closest to the natural state of the tea leaf and contains high amounts of anti-ageing antioxidants.”

The tea leaves are pretty amazing - unfurled in boiling water, they look like they've just been picked from the camellia sinensis bush.

So now I’m happy drinking like a Chinese Emperor! :-)

Unknown Knowns

“We pride ourselves for living in a society in which we freely decide about things that matter. However, we are constantly in the position of having to decide about matters that will fundamentally affect our lives, but without a proper foundation in knowledge. This is frustrating: although we know that it all depends on us, we cannot predict the consequences of our acts. We are not impotent but – quite the contrary – omnipotent, without being able to determine the scope of our powers. While we cannot gain full mastery over our biosphere, it is in our power to derail it, to disturb its balance so that it will run amok, swiping us away in the process.”

- Slavoj Zizek, The Observer 29th June

Taste of London 2008

My flatmate asked if this entailed kebabs and dirty pavements, and my brother thought jellied eels would be a sure bet. However, Taste of London is a food festival in Regent’s Park showcasing the cream of London’s restaurants, each giving ‘tastes’ of three of their signature dishes to hoards of hungry punters. Well, not exactly giving – you have to pay to get in, and pay for the food too, with vouchers called crowns which you have to buy from the organizers as well.

Our tickets got lost in the post, so they had to provide replacements on the day. I had ordered an extra book of the vouchers, only to discover this had not been included after I had entered the fair. So back out again, fighting security all the way, fighting with the ticket office, blah blah blah. Eventually, fully ticketed up we entered into the fray inside.

The fun is diving from one restaurant to the next, snacking. I very much enjoyed a Parmesan custard with anchovy toasts from Le Café Anglais (I got a recipe card!) and an extraordinarily rich, flavoursome and foamy white tomato soup from Rhodes Twenty Four (Gary Rhodes himself was present on his stand to charm the public). My top tastes however were from Le Gavroche (Smoked chicken and foie gras terrine with lentils and truffle vinaigrette) and this extraordinarily pretty tiger prawns with wasabi mayonnaise alongside little cubes of mango and Thai Basil seed from Kai Mayfair:


As you can see from the above, you can easily ingest a huge variety of types and styles of foods very quickly. Luckily my stomach was able to take the pace.

Some restaurant staff appeared to get a bit competitive, shouting orders (over) loudly back and forth, especially if their neighbours were a bit slow. It was all quite fun and silly.

There was a separate section devoted to Chinese cuisine and food products. Harbin Beer had hired an ice sculptor to carve their logo lion, in really sparkly, glittery clear ice:

summer sounds

I’ve been tagged by Boz! Thank you Boz for the shout and the challenge, which I hurry to complete.

The task:

"List seven songs you are into right now. No matter what the genre, whether they have words, or even if they’re not any good, but they must be songs you’re really enjoying now, shaping your spring. Post these instructions in your blog along with your seven songs."

I feel slightly hesitant, largely because I’ve just fallen in love with the new Coldplay album, and in my world there is not a single person who admits to liking them. I get an awful lot of stick about it. Someone surely must buy their records; apparently they are the biggest band in the known universe or something. Anyway, even I thought X&Y was dire, and they were on probation with me. Luckily, Vida la Vida is a vast improvement. I’m choosing the title track as my first song.

Radiohead’s In Rainbows precipitated a reassessment of their post-2000 oeuvre. Can’t live without it; am choosing Jigsaw Falling into Place as my second song.





I don’t get the Arctic Monkeys at all but Alex Turner’s side project The Age of the Understatement (by The Last Shadow Puppets) is a really refreshing listen; a retro sound created anew for today. I love the wistful last song The Time has Come Again.



Fourth up is Alison Moyet’s A Guy Like You from her excellent The Turn. Her voice is so amazing, and I’m loving the Yazoo revival this year. Pity I don’t have tickets.






Her Royal Madge-sty is next with Devil Wouldn’t Recognize You from Hard Candy. It’s one of the quieter songs from the (super) album, and somehow very cinematic in feeling.






Bleak, monumental, sublime – Portishead’s Third is really good when you need to turn the volume up loud and wallow in the misery. I choose The Rip.







And to end on a lighter note, I Hear a Symphony by The Supremes. I’ve just bought their complete hits album at the V&A. It’s accompanying the exhibition of their stage clothes and an excited shop assistant told me the CD is exclusive to the V&A. Well, as exclusive as a Supremes greatest hits album can be, anyway. Uplifting.




Well, that’s me done. I’m amazed I left out Arcade Fire, easily my best discovery of the last year.

I’m throwing this open to everyone now – what are your seven favourite songs of the moment?

V&A update

Yesterday I popped into the V&A’s Blood on Paper exhibition again – it ends this weekend. It’s quite terrific, on a subject I would have thought potentially could be quite dull:

“This exhibition examines what happens when major artists of today and the recent past consider the meaning of books.

Books do more than transmit texts and images. They proclaim authority, permanence or ‘culture’. They give out messages as we approach them, and as we open or hold them. Their physical presence alone has the power to stimulate memories, to reveal a particular universe of thought or to provoke a dialogue.”

The exhibition is a work of art in itself – lighting, projection, space and wall colour are used to amazing effect but never overwhelming the artworks on display, which are clearly and informatively laid out. Most are traditional artist’s limited edition books, but the likes of Anselm Kiefer, Anish Kapoor and Damien Hirst have created quite monumental, sculptural presences, and the Estate of Francis Bacon has produced a limited-edition facsimile of a suitcase containing items from the deceased artist’s studio. It’s a completely absorbing, fascinating show and well worth catching.


Also beautifully designed and mounted, China Design Now gives a handy introduction to the design work emanating from the rapidly developing new China. The confidence and aesthetic daring of China’s patrons are well attested by the spectacular architectural commissions in Beijing for the up-coming Olympics; however a quiet little building “Father’s House” by Ma Quinyun was quite outstanding in its happy assimilation of traditional and international modernist styles and its use of local river-washed pebbles.

Graphically, I enjoyed Lam Hung’s “Peace of Mind” poster which portrayed the Chinese ‘xin’ character in pop-art dots which only coalesced at a certain viewing distance from the poster. I would have loved to buy a copy in the shop; however they didn’t have any.

They did have t-shirts marked down to £10 – however, at the till I was told the shirt I had chosen wasn’t marked down, even though the sign was on top of it. Very naughty of the V&A to pull this hoariest of old retail tricks.

three cheers for Democracy

I followed my own advice and wrote to my MP, Kate Hoey, about the Government's dastardly attack on civil rights. Quite excited to get a reply!I've only recently become exercised about this, so I didn't know she has been very consistent in her approach to this issue. Nice to know. Great work Kate!

frankly evil

I'm as puzzled as everyone as to why David Davis has seen fit to resign and refight his seat, but putting his political career at stake surely shows he means this on principle.

Very much unlike our own dear Prime Minister who should know better and all the Labour hacks who voted for this appalling measure against their consciences. It's a sad day when a Prime Minister wrecks our constitutional safeguards for the sake of a few points temporary advantage in the polls.

Bravo and Good Luck to Mr Davis and all the brave Labour rebels, including Clapham's MP, Kate Hoey. Let us hope this issue returns to shame the government.

Afterlife

What do The Sound of Music and Michael Frayn’s new play, Afterlife, have in common? – They both are set in Leopoldskron, a prince-archbishop’s Baroque palace in Salzburg. Also, both stories feature 1930s Austrian theatrical luminaries fleeing Nazi oppression. Alas, Afterlife doesn’t have Julie Andrews, cute singing kiddies togged up in curtains, or even a lonely goatherd.

Leopoldskron was owned by the legendary theatrical impresario and founder of the Salzburg Festival, Max Reinhardt. His signature production was a revival of the Medieval morality play Everyman. Frayn cleverly conjoins the play with the life, creating a sort of grown-up metaphysical version of Noises Off. The best bits are when the 1930s characters suddenly start speaking in a pastiche of morality verse, or when Max (Roger Allam, excellent) addresses the audience directly or directs the ‘real’ action. I wish this had been explored more, because the notorious weaknesses of the two genres, their relentless predictablity – the biographical and the morality – just build on each other and overwhelm Frayn’s wit.

The relentless rhyming rhythm of the morality verse becomes tiresome quickly, and the biography loops from A, and then to B, and then years pass, and then to C, and then years pass and pass. Unfortunately, the character most responsible for explaining years passing, Gusti Adler, is played by Selina Griffiths in a strident one-note sort of way, which certainly gives the impression of years passing. Otherwise, one can’t fault the acting. David Burke as the Archbishop is especially enjoyable. One suspects that this was Frayn’s favourite character to write.

I wonder to what extent the set lets down Frayn’s play. Wonderfully, we can compare and contrast with Andrew Lloyd-Webber’s current London production of The Sound of Music, whose set also references Leopoldskron. I’ve never seen the actual building, but based on these two sets it must have a trio (at least) of very large arched French windows opening onto a terrace. Lloyd Webber’s version, as I recall, is a pastelly rococo dream, set on a revolving stage so the audience gets varying views of it. The National Theatre’s is monolithically hard-core h e a v y Baroque – relentlessly frontal, symmetrical and drearily putty coloured. Flatly lit, mostly. It has very few tricks up its sleeve – it just trundles ponderously backwards and forwards, up and down. It emphasizes all the text’s structural weaknesses.

Max all too frequently protests his adoration of his house. To this viewer, not credibly on this set. And call me a flint-hearted cynic, but surely – on the scale of Nazi atrocities, fleeing Austria for Los Angeles and then New York with one’s family, friends, staff and luggage intact can hardly register. Even the Von Trapp family suffered more. They had to climb a mountain. Singing.

Yes, he lost his house. But he spent the whole play verging on defaulting on his mortgage through his radical financial fecklessness, so realistically, how sorry can one expect an audience to be?

But my biggest bugbear was the repetition of the first words of Everyman again and again and again, emphasized by their own theme music played on trumpets. By the end I was digging my fingernails into my seat and clenching my jaw to avoid screaming.

Thank goodness for gin and tonics in the NT bar. Thank God for gin and tonic.

Sex and the City

Two sex posts in a row – almost becoming a sex blog (!)

Finally caught the movie last night, in the company of the flower of Clapham womanhood: Clapham Picturehouse was packed with 20-30 somethings of the female persuasion, many of them clutching cosmopolitans (the cinema is offering 2 for £10!) This two weeks after the movie came out.

Apparently, Sex and the City is beating Indiana Jones at the box office, so props to Sarah Jessica Parker and her team.

I suppose it’s a cliché to say if you liked the tv series, you’ll love the film – but it’s true. They have made the step-up to the big screen in a most assured manner. Amusing to see some macho reviewers complaining of a ‘lack of plot’: obviously some knuckleheads feel only a car bowing up or someone getting shot counts as plot development.

sex exploring with Rupert

Clearly, Rupert Everett speaks his mind very fluently, if not wisely – he’s in all sorts of trouble for his off-the-cuff comments about the contemporary British army’s will to fight. Oops.

Watched his Channel 4 documentary on the “Victorian sex explorer” Sir Richard Burton last night. It was actually great – very well written and presented, taking full advantage of the strange way Roops’ fruity accent rendered quite salacious material relatively ‘safe’. Me, I was gagging for more detail – filthy minds want to know – but although Sir Richard went ‘native’ he remained discreet enough not to tell all, so there is still plenty of room for conjecture. Of course, his Catholic wife destroyed lots of his papers, so we will never know. Richard’s career went ker-ash after a British Army secret mission to investigate the male brothels servicemen were patronizing in India. Apparently, Sir Richard investigated them all too enthusiastically, raising queries over his sexuality that have never gone away.

Rupert got into character, channeling Sir Richard with a studly no.1 crop and fiercely trimmed beard. He showed a lot of well-maintained torso and biceps, and the camera-man did him proud; he looked pretty gorgeous in all sorts of beautifully lit exotic locations. It was cute seeing him flirt with Hirjas (extremely radical Indian transsexuals); nuns; an Egyptian masseur who offered ‘hard’ or ‘soft’ sexual extras to his male clients; an elderly Indian lady fan at Bombay docks, etc etc etc.

a big week . . .

. . for our historic civil liberties, coming up.

Henry Porter, in The Observer:

"This is not about Gordon Brown. However, reading his article in the Times last week, I was struck by the disturbing echo of Blair's 2002 WMD dossier. He may be sincere, but his conjuring of nightmares, the many hypotheticals followed by solemn avowals of principle and statesmanship, was exactly the formula which took us into Iraq. He is still talking in the language of the war on terror, a campaign that turned out to be as much against the rule of law as terrorism and which has caused the death of hundreds of thousands of people, enabled torture in Guantanamo and, as the Guardian revealed last week, the unlawful detention of suspects in nightmarish prison ships.

The proposal to hold people for six weeks without charge, or even giving them a reason, is part of that desperate, panicky convulsion which has seen the end of so many liberties in Britain."

Labour MPs need every encouragement to vote against this draconian measure which will alter the nature of British democracy forever, very much for the worse. Write to your MP today!

the lure of the east

I was feeling a bit blah about Tate Britain’s Orientalist exhibition, but actually it’s an extremely enjoyable show on a number of levels.

I have to confess I succumbed to the very un-PC chocolate-boxy exoticism of the largely Victorian imagery on display (although the exhibition does make the point that westerners were fascinated from the 17th century on – fantastic portraits of Charles I’s ambassador to Persia and his wife in “oriental” costume kick off the show).

But in a highly imaginative stroke (or perhaps in an effort to cover their backs ideologically), the Tate has invited Islamic scholars to comment on the paintings on display and their commentary is affixed next to the paintings along with the provenance labels. This is great, because a lot of it is very contentious and partisan stuff and definitely widens the scope of the exhibition.

Designer add-ons include a magnificent Islamic patterned fretwork screen running across the gallery containing ‘harem’ pics, and a large projected animated map showing the history of the region.

I thoroughly enjoyed this show, and will hopefully go again one quiet Sunday morning to have another look.

The Lure of the East: British Orientalist Painting
4 June – 31 August 2008
Tate Britain

Hip hip hurrah!

Today is my blogiversary! This blog is two years old today. I’m amazed I’ve kept it up. Also, today is the first anniversary of my burglary. I still haven’t replaced my laptop, so for half my blog’s life it has been typed on borrowed computers.

scallops again

All that shopping made me hungry, so I headed to M&S to pick up something suitably yummy for dinner.

From their Cook! Fish range, I selected Wild Scallops with a minted pea dressing – “succulent sweet wild Alaskan scallops with fresh baby spinach and a light crème fraiche and minted pea dressing” - £6.99, 316kcal, “serves 2”.

To accompany the scallops, I bought my favourite frites (£1.19, 410kcal, “serves 1”) (so much for no more carbs!), and some cherries for dessert.

M&S portion control is all over the place – I felt the scallops would be a bit of a stretch for two, whereas the frites could quite easily be enough for two. Also beware the cooking advice – they say 8 minutes for the scallops, which by my reckoning is way too long. Overcooked scallops are not good.

Dinner was very delicious – the minted pea dressing was very subtle, but complimented the scallops perfectly. I think Kensington Place started this minted pea thing with scallops (it’s one of their signature dishes), and I would say M&S has achieved a rather good supermarket version.

an evening at Ted Baker

I detect a new training programme for Ted Baker’s sales staff. They are trained to be friendly and engage with customers and lead the customer on to more purchasing opportunities. That’s ok with me; what I really dislike is the crude high-pressure sales technique one can come across in other shops. Reiss certainly was quite unpleasant a few years ago; I don’t know what it’s like now because I haven’t gone back!

Anyway, I got an invitation to Ted Baker’s Summer Evening of Shoppping with a 20% discount. I needed some shirts, so I thought I’d better check it out.

My Bank Holiday foray was to check out the scene in advance. What I didn’t say then, was that an assistant helped me with jacket sizes, and when I said I wanted to look at shirts, told me to try on a few for size because “this season we are cutting our shirts slim”.

Did she just call me fat??! Cue Hedgie leaves shop fast.

However, the lure of a bargain and Mr Baker’s shirts drew me back last night.

Luckily, I still seem to fit into my old size of shirt. :-)

However, the lighting in the changing rooms is very unforgiving – it makes me look like a pregnant hippo!

Right, that’s the end. My exercise programme is going into high gear and No Carbs! None!

what I did on my bank holiday weekend.

I love the wet weather. For most of the weekend, I stayed snuggled under the duvet, making sporadic forays to the kitchen for more te and chocolate biscuits.

It’s really the most amazing feeling there is, to be in bed listening to the rain patter down outside.

Unless it’s havinf a bank holiday extension – heh heh! Everyone has gone back to work but I have two more days of weekend left! Yippee! :-)

Boz recently blogged the seductive charms of a ‘me’ day in London. Here follows mine (although without the helpful illustrations, I still haven’t replaced my camera :-( )

Bank Holiday Tuesday - Slept in late. Eventually got up. Reorganised the packing of the Christmas decorations (don’t ask). Put sofa throw in the washing machine. Made breakfast – oats porridge made with filtered water in the microwave, topped with chopped banana, honey, Greek yoghurt and semi-skimmed milk. Followed by a cup of tea. Soundtrack: Madonna: Hard Candy; The Last Shadow Puppets: The Age of the Understatement; Hot Chip: The Warning; and the best bits from Hot Chip: Made in the Dark.

Made a jug of Java in the cafetiere. Drank it. Caught up on the newspapers. Read about a scandalous sex book in Germany – apparently sprouting avocado stones can be used as masturbatory aids?? WTF???! Need to google to find out more.

Put throw in tumble dryer. Put jumper in the wash. Showered. Got dressed.

Cycled around Clapham Common for a bit. Went up Clapham High Street to have haircut, stopping on the way to look at the menu at Trinity, where I’m having lunch tomorrow. They’ve just brought in a new menu! Yum!

On the way back from the hairdresser, decided to stop by Macaron for a half-baguette and Moens for four slices of herbed Italian ham, which I had with slices of perfectly ripe, juicy and tasty tomatoes already in my fridge. Absolutely the most totally awesome ham and tomato sandwich. Bliss. :-)

Then I caught the 137 to Sloane Square and mooched pleasantly up the King’s Road. Looked in Peter Jones, Oliver Sweeney, Ted Baker and Waterstone’s before finally buying a bottle of shampoo at Kiehl’s.

Then caught the bus back home for tea and chocolate biscuits. Napped.

Dinner was lemon, chilli and crab linguini, followed by a bout of The Apprentice on the sofa with the flatmate. At last! Michael Sophocles is fired! Result!

Perfect day. I would adapt so well to not being a wage slave.

the end of green politics?

Catherine Bennett, in last Sunday's Observer:

"We are what we do. The piercing wisdom of the Anya Hindmarch bag in relation, at least, to middle-class green consumers is confirmed yet again by new figures showing a decline in sales of organic food and, outside the home, by a general apathy in the face of Heathrow's third runway and the exclusion of airline emissions from the watery I'm Not a Climate Change Bill.

Events in Crewe and Nantwich illustrate the difficulties of politicians intent on doing anything, such as carbon-taxing to avert catastrophe since a) no one really believes it's coming, b) they'll be dead anyway, c) the recession has left them much too fearful and poor to care, and d) they won't vote for anyone who tries to make them.

So Brown won't make himself more unpopular by reducing airline emissions or introducing personal carbon allowances. Neither he nor Cameron nor Clegg will, to their collective shame, unite behind an effective carbon policy which, appearing identically in every manifesto like the nasty nougat in every box of chocolates, may put the interests of future generations before contemporary self-pity. And when Cameron, versatile friend of both glacier and motorist, finally prevails, his strategy for 'green growth' has as much chance of holding back the rising seas as did the Anya Hindmarch bag.

And fair play to the bag: at least you could carry stuff in it."

Love her line about Cameron's flexibitity. So true. Sigh.

Bags Part 2

The Guardian last weekend published some photographs by James Mollison from his latest project The Disciples – photos of fans at rock gigs. Quite amusing to see Marilyn Manson and Rod Stewart fans dragged up as their favourite pop star.

Less so for me, however, was the pic of Radiohead fans.

Chuck Klosterman explains:

“What is far more fascinating is the way true fanatics can see aesthetic consistencies within the seemingly unremarkable. Until glancing at these photographs, I had never realised that the defining quality of a die-hard Radiohead fan was the wearing of a diagonal strap across one's torso. What does that even mean? What do these people hear on Bodysnatchers that makes this visual determination so self-evident? It's not like this extraneous strap is some kind of widespread youth trend that lead guitarist Johnny Greenwood is spearheading; this is not like thousands of teenagers getting Beatles haircuts because that's the style of the time. It is not a look that will spill over into conventional society.

This personal choice has something to do with proving that you are not like a normal person, and it suggests you understand something about Radiohead that the average citizen cannot see or hear or feel. It goes to the nucleus of why pop music matters - at its highest levels of achievement, rock'n'roll is supposed to serve as "lifestyle music". It should have the potential to inform every single decision about being alive. And for these photogenic goofballs, it obviously does.”

By "diagonal strap" Mr Klosterman (American?) is referring to the visible part of an over-shoulder messenger bag. Of course, these are far more prevalent here than in the USA. However, from the photo it is very clear that the vast majority of Radiohead fans wear these bags. Pretty alarming, for me – I love wearing using messenger bags too (great ones at Mulberry and Ted Baker)! – moreover, like the other Radiohead fans in the photo, I wear jeans with jackets, jumpers, and dark denim. Also waistcoats (or cardigans). Argh! I am clearly part of a social sub-group!

As I have said before, I absolutely love In Rainbows, Radiohead’s latest album. I kind of lost the plot with Kid A. My boss bought me Thom Yorke’s semi-solo effort The Eraser, which I also loved. Encouraged, I went back to the dreaded Kid A. I last played it (or, as I remember, the first 3 songs) 8 years ago as soon as it came out. Unfortunately for me and many other fans, this album was the anti-OK Computer: Radiohead did it deliberately to piss us off! I was absolutely amazed trying it again – it’s gorgeous, in every respect the equal creatively of OK Computer. It just took me 8 years to catch up with it!

So I bought the other intervening albums – Amnesiac (which I think is their weakest) and the much better Hail to the Thief. But In Rainbows is definitely another career peak for them. Absolutely magical.

Greener than Thou

Carrier bags are potent symbols of status and taste. Gay Banker recently posted his boyfriend’s bag hierarchy theory; we’re absolutely on the same wavelength because I do the same! – But now, the age of the shop logo’d carrier may be coming to an end. The supermarkets especially are promoting the idea of ‘bags for life’ in order to save the planet.

I’m really good at home – I use my woven recycled plastic (good!) fairtrade (excellent!) carrier bags flown in from South Africa (Oops!). However, I’m struggling to train myself at work. Usually I run out at lunch and buy myself a sandwich and a few bits of fruit to last the afternoon. Working in Kingston, I am blessed with the choice of M&S, Waitrose, Sainsbury’s and Asda all within easy reach. In my desk drawer I have ‘bags for life’ from all of them. Somehow, and I stress not by design, I always tend to end up at Sainsbury’s and Asda with bags from M&S or Waitrose. It bothers me slightly – will people think I’m some sort of Hyacinth Bucket character? Even worse – am I??! So, picture my relief the other day when I finally found myself at M&S with an Asda bag. The glow of righteousness was truly blinding.

Quote London

"Living in London is a wonderful thing, but it's dangerous in a credit crunch. However gloomy the predictions on house prices, food prices and share prices, as a Londoner, it can't escape your notice that a swathe of the population appears to be completely unaffected. We are sharing our city with Russian oligarchs, City whizzes, steel magnates and retail billionaires, not to mention the landed gentry, a handful of Hollywood actors and Madonna. Granted, these super-rich citizens might comprise a tiny percentage of the population, but their near-constant presence in the papers creates a false - and persuasive - impression that their rarefied lifestyles are the norm.

"Why shouldn't I have that?" we think, as our Visa bills ratchet up to the sky. "Because I'm worth it" might be the best advertising slogan ever penned, but as a credo for living, it's a bloody disaster."

- Laura Craik, Evening Standard

Good Lord!

Rush along now to The Guardian site; this blew me right off my chair.

Germaine Greer singing the praises of Victoria Beckham:

"Real elegance requires not only a great dress, but a discriminating and disciplined wearer. Suddenly I was reckoning Victoria Beckham among the all-time greats, alongside Wallis Simpson and Coco Chanel."

Actually, Germaine makes a very strong point. It’s also nice that someone serious is saying nice things about Victoria – it’s really not fair and too easy and cheap to take pot shots.

And it’s wonderful that the founding spirit of modern feminism can write such penetrating fashion analysis!

Cans Festival

Well, if even the mighty TimeOut has only just got round to posting Cans Festival pics, I as a humble blogger am not too bad.The festival was amazing, and spectacularly popular: would you believe a one hour + queue on a gloriously sunny Bank Holiday Monday to get into a mangy old tunnel underneath Waterloo Station?Banksy curated a crew of graffiti artists from around the world, and enthusiastic young spray can fans had the chance to add their own work too. Huge fun, and some amazing work as well. Banksy’s hoodie was very strong.

I might upload it later when Blogger's image uploader is cooperating!

One Nation Under Guard

I went to the Cans Festival in Leake Street under Waterloo Station this weekend, and felt I had to post the following from the catalogue (badly credited but I thin it's by Henry Porter):

In 2008 Britain is enjoying the most serious attack on personal freedom and privacy ever mounted during peacetime. Technological advances and changes to common law are threatening liberties we have held sacred for centuries, all of which is being met with barely a murmur of disapproval. Apparently if you've done nothing wrong then you've got nothing to hide, but if you've got nothing to hide then surely there's something wrong with you?

There are over 4.2 million CCTV cameras in the UK, more than one for every 14 people.

Over 600 agencies are now authorised to access personal records such as details of phone calls, emails and websites visited. These agencies include groups such as Local Authorities, the Charity Commission and the Marine and Coastguard Agency.

In the year 2006/07 there were over 32,000 such interceptions. Less than 20,000 of these were by law enforcement agencies.

All journeys undertaken on motorways and through town centres in the UK are recorded by the network of automatic number-plate recognition cameras with information retained for two years.

The National DNA Database permanently holds the DNA details of nearly 4 million individuals - proportionally the largest in the world.

40% of black men in the UK have their DNA recorded on the database, compared to 13% of Asian men, and 9% of white men.

You do not need to be charged with a crime to have your DNA recorded and it is an offence to refuse to do so.

The National Identity Register is being formed as part of the ID card scheme and will form an audit trail every time you interact with the state, such as apply for benefits, use NHS services or enrol in education.

The register will eventually contain information such as your medical records, school reports, and employment history. Information that the government has already announced it will sell to commercial companies.

Laws introduced because of terrorism mean you can currently be detained without charge for 28 days. The Government wants to increase this to 42 days. Essentially abolishing the right to trial by jury (habeous corpus) has been the foundation of British law since l215AD.

Under section 44 of the Terrorism Act over 75,000 people were subjected to a "stop and search" last year in London alone. Less than 1% were arrested, the majority of these were for crimes unrelated to terrorism.

'It is poor civic hygiene to install technologies that could some day facilitate a police state'

One sees strange sights on the tube these days . . .

. . . Boris Johnson, 11am on the east-bound circle line at Victoria Station. Surrounded by a gang of suited acolytes, but no obvious tv cameras to be seen.

And in other Boris news, a sad reflection on the state of Google these days:

(click on pic to make bigger)
'yippee Boris wins' arrives at THIS blog?? WTF??!!!

Ok. I promise. This is the very last post I make bemoaning the unfairness that is Boris winning the mayoral elections. Moving on now.

Please not Boris

Please not Boris, originally uploaded by Lerotic.

a desperate plea

. . . and so it came to pass

Ouch!

Poor old Ken. He didn't deserve to go this way.

Three cheers for the weekend . . . hic

Settling down behind my desk and hoping for a nice, quiet, chilled Friday afternoon . . . went out last night with the office to say goodbye to a colleague and can report several bottles of pinot grigio mixed with spicy, greasy “Thai” food scrambles your liver, despite gallons of water and vitamin C before bedtime.

My boss and I shared a ‘vegetarian feast’ – one of the dishes was fiendishly hot. Unfortunately, we were both too smashed to work out which one it was so we ended up being annihilated by the chilies.

so how was it for you?

Just as well I voted before work yesterday – afterwards would have been impossible.

I’ve always thought of myself as a decisive voter: not so much this time. At various stages of the campaign all three leading candidates appealed - in the latter stages I hovered between Ken and Brian as my No.1.

Wanted to vote for Ken as frankly he was the best candidate but simultaneously send him a message about Arrogance, al-Qaradawi, Dubious Funding Strategies, 2ce is enough etc etc etc. Didn’t want to be so shallow as to vote for Handsome Gay Hunk Mr Paddick but I think that’s how it turned out in the end:-(

Floods in Kingston

Last year we had spectacular flooding. The last several months have seen Thames Water digging vast holes in the roads and putting absolutely massive pipes down, all in an affort to protect us from more flooding. But this morning there was still an expansive lake under the railway bridge - great fun watching motorists splasing through it.

Anniversary

My Dad died one year ago today. Quite a thought; the time has gone by so swiftly. My mum is being very stoic, but she is currently suffering from a bad bout of 'flu which is no doubt related.

The Election Looms

Last Friday a brochure dropped through the letterbox outlining all the candidates in the forthcoming election.

Yikes. I didn’t realise so many of them are so retrogressive – and I don’t mean Boris Johnson! Really, everyone should vote for someone vaguely respectable, if only to keep some of the dire types out of City Hall.

I’ve watched several of the tv debates and Boris has been quite effective, if not quite his usual charming witty self. He seems to have spent some time in a Cameroonian re-education centre.

Brian Paddick has tried hard but his lack of political expertise has damaged him: I feel he was too eager in debates, and often sank to quite coarse personal attacks, which is an off-putting characteristic.

Which leaves Ken. I feel that he won all the debates I watched – he came across well (relaxed, in command, never defensive) and seemed more on top of detail than the others. Boris’s bendy-bus gimmick was a terrible fiasco.

I’m an extremely counter-cultural voter; I always vote for parties when they are about to lose. Now everyone has gone off Labour I will probably vote for them. I can’t say however that I will cry terribly if Boris wins: it will at the very least be interesting to see what he does. Also, it is true that three terms may well be too much for any individual.

Yum!

So glad Itsu on Piccadilly survived the polonium scandal! Had lunch there today – definitely the best chain-type sushi available in London, with or without added polonium.

Afterwards, gossiped beautifully with an ex-colleague about my late unlamented employers: they are rapidly going down the plug-hole! Yippee!!

That set me up for the weekend, then :-)

Revenge of the Books

I shared a very large house with Ivan and Liz for 9 years. I could happily buy as many books as I liked and they would be easily swallowed up in the vast spaces available everywhere. This house was actually in CLAPHAM for the benefit of those “friends” and “relatives” who I have subsequently to my horror learned always secretly thought we lived in St Ockwell.

NOT STOCKWELL. CLAPHAM CLAPHAM CLAPHAM !!!

However, these days I do indisputably live in the Clapham heartlands, albeit in a tiny little flat. Foolishly, I took all 19 meters of my books (I remember the number because I had to measure for the mover’s quote and he said he had to come round “to see what 19 meters of books looks like”.

Well, it fills my spare room.

Need to use the room now, so have been studiously de-accessioning to the Trinity Hospice Charity shop over the past several weeks. I reckon I’ve got rid of at least 4 meters. I spent the weekend moving the bookcases (and books) into the sitting room. I now measure 18 meters of books.

The mis-match is possibly because I am adding books almost as quickly as I am getting rid of them. Sheesh. I really haven’t bought a book for ages and ages. Except for the one I bought on Saturday.

America's current standing in the world

A picture says a thousand words, as they say.

via Joe. My. God.. Too good not to steal, particularly since I'm having a political Monday.

The Triumph of Boris

“It is a unique feat to be the only politician to have prospered in the face of the ferocious opposition of both Thatcher and Blair, the two most powerful Prime Ministers of the past 60 years. So what a miserable end it will be for Ken if his nemesis turns out to be Boris Johnson, priapic cabaret artist and the most hapless host there has been in the history of Have I got News for You.”
- Andrew Rawnsley in The Observer, 6 April 08, trying to encourage Ken to find his mojo.

Olympic Flame Shame

Hooray for London! What a fantastic disruption of the whole Olympic propaganda scenario: snow, chanting, chaos, squads and squads of Chinese “officials” and British police (almost as many as George Bush needed when he came to visit) – my favourite bit was the fire-extinguisher. Personally, as a complete non-sporting couch potato, I couldn’t care less about sporting boycotts etc, but it has to be said China has left itself wide open to this sort of protest. After all, they specifically said having the Olympics would help them develop human rights in China, and in fact almost the opposite has occurred. So they deserve all they get.

I do like the pageantry – but as London as demonstrated, a good protest looks as good on TV as a festival.

Post Mugabe?

And we hold our breath as the aged autocrat Mugabe decides which way his country will go. It seems the foolish would-be dictator believed his own propaganda and didn’t have a Plan B for stealing the election. His age, his uncharacteristic pause for thought, and the overwhelming electoral win of his opponents all seriously weaken his position and it is likely he will have to go.

But how? He can choose to go quietly: negotiate an exit deal that will give him some real honour and give his country the opportunity to recover. Or else he can dig in, unleash the dogs of war and create a cataclysm.

It all goes to show elections are really quite powerful things. As I was born in Zimbabwe I feel quite involved and am hoping very much for the best.

weekend

Back from a weekend in the country – hiked in the rain with Lesley over a Civil War battlefield, and met a funny man whose facial hair growth was suspiciously 17th-century: methinks he’s a cavalier in the reconstructed Royalist army.

Liz flew back to Cape Town last night from Terminal Five and ‘phoned in a glowing report – it’s absolutely gorgeous, and she had no problems at all. Let’s hope her luggage arrives.

R.E.M. @ The Apple Store, Regent's Street

R.E.M Live @ Apple Store Regent Street, originally uploaded by Shashinshi-San.

I’ve seem R.E.M. before, at Milton Keynes, Madison Square Gardens, Jules Holland’s Later studio and a studio concert for BBC radio – last night was really special as the band was on great form in a very intimate space and Michael Stipe was notably relaxed, even quite chatty. He practically invited the crowd (of about 500) for an aftershow curry.

He shared with us his love for all things Apple (although he conceded PCs are ok for offices – “My office is my mind” claims Stipe) and informed us the Regent’s Street store is the largest Apple Store in the world.

They played a mix of classic hits and new songs – the new songs came over really well; I’m looking forward to the new album released next week.

While waiting for me to arrive Liz tried out a display model iPhone – they really work. “I’m calling you from an iPhone in the store” she announced excitedly. I was excited to get a call from an iPhone, less happy that my number is now on an instore display model! Might get lots of calls from prospective iPhone purchasers.

Hakkasan

I was so looking forward to eating at Hakkasan – Liz took me as a delayed birthday treat last week.

The restaurant is tucked away in an alley just off the Tottenham Court Road/Oxford Street junction. One’s name is checked off on a list by a doorman; a back slate-lined stairway leads down to an incensed-perfumed reception hall and the restaurant. The decor is mostly black with backlit blue walls. Laser-beam spots punctuate the gloom, and geometric Chinese screens divide the tables. It manages to reference an art-deco Shanghai opium den while being very modern, luxurious and comfortable.

Waiting for Liz at the bar, I had something called a “Purple Emperor”: a wonderfully smooth, but actually yellow mix (a base of rum and sake). The purple was supplied by a massive orchid the bartender popped on top for decoration

My preconception was that a Michelin-starred trendy restaurant would offer small portions: however the opposite was very much the case, with every dish seemingly sized for two hungry eaters. A starter of Sechuan chili crab was enormous and completely fabulous; my dimsum selection was pretty good too and contained 8 large dimsum. My main of jasmine tea smoked chicken was amazing (but must have contained at least half a chicken). Liz had another massive pile – of ribs this time. Side orders were a very generous plate of pak choi and and a canister of steamed rice. Neither of us actually fancied the rice but our waiter insisted.

He was a funny one – all the staff were charming and friendly except our waiter, who was quite aloof and dismissive and really couldn’t be bothered to answer questions (all the staff are very beautiful – the restaurant could double as a modeling agency).
We got complete fireworks when we asked for a doggy bag for the large quantities of leftovers. “We don’t do takeaway! We don’t do takeaway!” our waiter insisted emotionally, as if the very suggestion was mortally insulting. OK, this is a very smart restaurant and obviously they want to distance themselves from fast-food joints: point taken (and obviously, Hakkasan is a world away from a takeaway). But there were HUGE amounts of leftovers of very delicious food I was loath to leave behind. However, I am completely averse to making a fuss in restaurants. Not so Liz, who made them very aware that on this occasion they would be doing a doggy bag! So, eventually, I climbed the stairs out clutching my precious hamper of leftovers (much admired by an American tourist). Even our waiter seemed to find the funny side at last.

Worth it in the end – I reheated the food for a sofa dinner the next night, snuggled up under a blanket watching Rageh Omar’s absorbing Turin Shroud documentary on TV. I even got out my chopsticks.

Quote London

“As Samuel Johnson once said, when a man is tired of London, he slopes off to Henley”
~ Ken Livingstone scoring a direct hit on Boris Johnson. Hooray! Hopefully I was wrong in fearing this would be a boring election. Now Boris just has to release his funny streak.

The History of Me in Cocktails: No. 2 – The Buck's Fizz

I think this is the first true cocktail I ever had: concentrate orange juice and South African sparkling wine, to celebrate something at work.

While drinkable enough, these days there are other mixers I prefer with champagne. But then, it was the height of sophistication for a spotty teenager.

I had a part-time job in the very lush HQ of a multi-national cement company, doing the weekly filing for their accounts department. My supervisor Antoinette taught me my first lesson in business: when your boss takes you to lunch, always order the lobster.

Buck's Fizz

Freshly squeezed orange juice
Champagne

Really, mix to individual taste. OJ in first, then champagne, to minimise a potentially explosive bubble situation.

The History of Me in Cocktails: No.1

The History of Me in Cocktails: No 3

This Election is No Joke

The Evening Standard reports that Boris is ahead in the opinion polls. The Standard is pretty desperate to get rid of Mayor Ken Livingstone – I think it goes beyond ideology; it’s deeply personal too. Ken has said some nasty things about the Evening Standard himself. Hard to believe he was once a (presumably paid) columnist for the paper.

I think Ken has actually been pretty good for London on the whole; however his response to the recent corruption scandal has been less than inspiring. One also must ask just how long he can stick around being mayor.

He is such an oversized personality the two other parties have been forced to put up ‘personality’ candidates to run against him. However, Boris Johnson has been terribly careful so far to reign in his jovial personality for fear Ken will succeed in labeling him a clown. Ken’s own dry humour also seems to be taking a holiday, so what at first promised to be a scintillating campaign season is turning out to be boring. I’m constantly wondering when the fun will begin.

Brian Paddick is no slouch at attracting publicity either; and he is definitely the candidate easiest on the eyes. I think his strategy of presenting himself as the sensible one is quite clever.

I really haven’t decided yet who to vote for; and to make matters worse, we have two votes each! Too many decisions.

The Orangery @ Kensington Palace

"Here thou, great Anna! whom three realms obey,
Dost sometimes counsel take—and sometimes tea."

With these lines Alexander Pope forever linked in my mind Queen Anne and tea. So it is only appropriate that Queen Anne’s little palace conservatory extension at Kensington Palace (1704, Sir John Vanburgh designed, no less, and three times over budget) now houses one of London’s great places to take afternoon tea.

The Queen’s orange trees were housed in a sumptuous baroque space – soaring ceilings, windows and Corinthian columns; classical statuary and Grinling Gibbons carving. Apparently, she hosted al fresco summer supper parties here as well, hence the decoration. The all-white space works well for the modern café, with its rows of decorative metalwork furniture and dainty miniature orange trees on the tables. It seems to aim for the luxe tourist and/or well-heeled local; it is so nice to see this sort of thing being done well in this sort of location. The café certainly lives up to its elevated architectural surrounds. Service was very friendly and obliging but perhaps a little off-focus: but the place was hopping all afternoon (Anne and I settled in for a lengthy gossip over pots of tea and cakes; there was no pressure on us to move out)

We ordered the exclusive Tregothnan tea – the first tea to be actually grown in England (in Falmouth). One has to applaud the ambition – at 50º N it is the most northerly latitude at which a tea garden has been planted. However, great flavour requires high altitudes and – even as someone who prefers weak tea – I found this one slightly underpowered. Our cakes included lemon meringue (a generous slice with a tart lemon curd filling and just right crisp and chewy meringue topping), chocolate fudge cake, and an apricot and almond slice. A plate of prettily arranged dainty finger sandwiches included cucumber, smoked salmon and ham.

A very successful afternoon, and I am sure Queen Anne would approve of her Orangery’s modern incarnation. I’d definitely go again.

The Orangery @ Kensington Palace
(High Street Kensington tube)

Affordable

Credit crunch, what credit crunch? The Affordable Art Fair in Battersea Park goes from strength to strength – I have never seen it so heaving. This year showed strong evidence of infiltration by a hard-core Art Crowd, almost overwhelming the always strong contingent of South Chelsea yummy mummies with baby buggies and soy lattes. They all seemed to be buying like there was no end to the boom.

An international flavour to the galleries as well – great to see galleries from the USA, France and Germany in attendance. And the art? – a really invigorating mix of approachable contemporary art; something for everyone to hang on their loft wall.

The Affordable Art Fair
Battersea Park
13th-16th March 2008

Rockferry

Channel a 60’s vibe – listen to this album. A turbo-charged retread of classic divas from the Swinging London decade. Duffy’s voice is too extraordinary to miss, and the album is beautiful and comfortable listening. Looking forward to her developing her sound.

Quote London

“I slowly limp back toward Chelsea. I wander about in the semi-darkness once again filled with a kind of indescribable love for this gorgeous, rotting, progressive, sprawling, crazy, wonderful city. And love, my friends, does not suck. I promise you that.”
~ Neil LaBute

Duchamp, Man Ray, Picabia

I don’t get Surrealism. I was persuaded by the Marxists at University that Paris in the 1920s and 30s saw the final decadence and collapse of the French avant-garde; the Bauhaus (German) was the real deal. Surrealism was just so much bourgeois wank.

Unfortunately, this thesis is undermined somewhat by Surrealism’s continuing critical and popular success. In recent years one can’t move in London without bumping into a Surrealism exhibition: Surrealism at the V&A, Dali at the Tate last year, and now the current troika at the Tate. And whereas the acknowledged ‘greats’ of the twentieth century, Picasso and Matisse, are still admired today, the artists whose influence is current are all the Surreal – as Andrew Graham-Dixon points out in his review in The Telegraph, “the work of almost every British artist of note to have emerged in the past 20 years – from Damien Hirst to Sarah Lucas, from Gary Hume to Tracey Emin - is visibly anticipated here.” (No link – can’t find it on their site)

Catriona and I went off to the Tate members’ private view last night. My scores are as follows:

Duchamp

9/10

Considering his influence, I think he’s massively underrated. He’s an extremely intellectual artist, yet very capable of arresting visuals – all his greatest hits are in the show, which is wonderful. The Philadelphia Museum of Art especially has been a very generous lender. Nude Descending a Staircase is a fabulous early work influenced by stop-frame photography; wildly controversial at the time but rapidly surpassed in notoriety by Fountain (1917), the ceramic urinal which launched the ready-made’s career in art history. It’s actually quite thrilling that two groundbreaking iconoclastic modernist icons are both currently on display in London – Duchamp’s Fountain at the Tate and Malevitch’s Black Square in the Royal Academy’s Russian show.

Man Ray

9/10

No matter what the ideological underpinnings, as long as the visuals are great an artist will always have admirers – Man Ray was incapable of producing boring work. Even his solarised photographs of nuts and bolts are formally gorgeous pieces. The entire exhibition kicks off with a ravishingly beautiful profile portrait of Duchamp I’ve not seen before, and also contains his wonderful portraits of lovers and my favourite, the soft-focus porrtait of Marchesa Casatti with four eyes. The Marchesa felt he had captured her soul.

Picabia

3/10

In comparison, Picabia comes off badly. His work reminds me strongly of Pulp’s song “Common People” – he’s the original rich-kid wannabe. He was the son of an extremely wealthy Cuban-born Spanish aristocrat, and liked to collect racing cars (especially Hispano-Suizas) – apparently he had over 100 cars. That says pretty much everything you need to know about him. He was clearly very lucky to link up with serious artists; he’s benefited greatly from their reflected glory. It is quite comic how in every room in this exhibition, with every development of style (and Picabia dabbles in many styles), his work is by far the weakest.

If you have by any chance any random Picabias in your collection, my advice after this show is: Run, don’t walk to Christies or Sotheby’s and Sell! Sell! Sell! Sell! Sell!

After the show Catriona and I repaired for a restorative glass of wine and some nibbles to the Tate café on level 7. The view at night-time is utterly fabulous – London glittering magnificently over a dark river; St Paul’s spotlit sublimely on the skyline. Sad this wonder is busy killing the planet – turn off those lights!!


Duchamp, Man Ray, Picabia: The Moment Art Changed Forever
Tate Modern
21 February – 26 May 2008

The End is nigh, continued

James Lovelock, maverick independent scientist, predictor of our current eco-crisis 40 years ago, and author of the Gaia theory (earth is a self-regulating super organism), tells Decca Aitkenhead in the Guardian that global environmental catastrophe is inevitable, carbon offsetting is a joke, and ethical living is a scam. Recycling is almost certainly a waste of time and energy.

“Enjoy life while you can. Because if you’re lucky it’s going to be 20 years before it hits the fan”.

Happy Monday.

twelve

One post in the first week of February; two posts in the second week; two posts in the third week; and seven posts in the last three days. We can see what’s happening here, right?

This is not quite what I anticipated when I set the rules for my blog this year (12 posts on average each month, but not to fall below nine or exceed fifteen to improve consistency). Must concentrate more on an even spread across the month!

I could blame my lack of posting on work commitments, but really I’ve just been feeling a bit blah and meh. Almost gave up on the aim of twelve posts. However, that part of me which does pep talks explained I would be feeling even more meh and blah if I didn’t keep to my commitments; hence my late spurt.

So, hurrah, yay me for me, etc etc. Onwards and upwards . . .

P.S. I can do colours now. Wooo!

Evolution

Marc Quinn’s latest exhibition at White Cube’s Mason’s Yard Gallery (25 Jan – 23 Feb) was superb. He’s a very interesting sculptor, directly confronting the canon of classical western sculpture with his exploration of the human body.

Evolution presented 9 huge sculptures demonstrating the development of the human embryo. Each showed the embryo emerging from its marble bedrock, directly referencing Michelangelo’s Slaves, right down to the unpolished artist’s chisel marks (these get progressively more polished away as the embryo develops). I thought it was a very beautiful and major work; he is certainly developing an amazing oeuvre. One of our best and most underrated sculptors.

The History of Me in Cocktails: No. 1 – The Beer Shandy

Now, I have just bought a very definitive book of Cocktail recipes, and the Beer Shandy doesn’t feature (from this I deduce it must be utterly utterly uncool; don’t order this at Mahiki). However, this was the first alcoholic mixed drink I ever drank, aged three-and-a-half and upwards. My mother was partial to the beer/lemonade mix and I used to have a sip or two. I also remember enjoying the froth on my dad’s beer, and apparently in solidarity with my granddad’s mates demanded Guinness at the pub aged 2. I think though I may have ultimately settled for smarties and a coke.

These were the glory years of my beer consumption: can’t stand the stuff now; I swear I’m allergic. Can only drink wine or gin or vodka. Doesn’t make life easy at the pub after work; although I am an exceptionally cheap date – I’m usually drunk after half a glass!

Thank heavens for Wikipedia – more about Shandies here.

The History of Me in Cocktails: No.2

Overheard

Last night, in the ticket queue at Norbiton Station:

Silver fox lady: A return to Waterloo, please. Can you put tomorrow’s date on the receipt?
Ticket seller: I’m going to have to see your toyboy.

Earthquake in London!

Both the Evening Standard and BBC London relate that residents in London felt the earthquake that hit the UK last night (5.2 on the Richter scale, the biggest in almost 25 years). The epicentre was Market Rasen in Lincolnshire.

I was awake at 1am and definitely felt nothing untoward happening. Maybe it was just West and North London that felt anything? Growing up in Johannesburg, we frequently had tremors, caused by the gold-mining activities thousands of feet down.

Modern Painters: The Camden Town Group

Went with Catriona to the private view. Have always avoided the Camden Town group wherever possible in the past, and the first room reminded me why! – they are all so reductively derivative; aping the concerns and style of French post-Impressionism. Yargh!

Luckily, the Tate peps things up a bit with contemporary documentary film footage of London. I enjoyed seeing a top-hatted gent descend the (open) rear staircase of a horse-drawn omnibus as it pulled up Whitehall into Trafalgar Square – all the buildings remain recognisably the same, but everything else is so different. I wonder how this stretch will appear in a hundred year’s time? A glowering, attitudinal bowler-hatted boy was clearly just waiting for hoodies and the onset of Catherine Tait. Chavtastic before his time.

Refreshed by the film footage, the following rooms were far more enjoyable. Especially, it was charming to see familiar London sights expressed Post-Impressionist stylee. Charles Ginner’s Piccadilly Circus (1912) depicts another London bus: the 19 to Clapham Junction!

The most distinguished Camden Groupie is, of course, Walter Sickert. Catriona was intrigued by Patricia Cornwall’s theory he was the real Jack the Ripper. Apparently, Cornwall spent $6 million of her own money investigating this theory – controversially, she even destroyed a Sickert painting she bought searching for forensic evidence!!

Sickert’s prostitute paintings and paintings of the Camden Town Murder can easily be explained by his French Post-Impressionist influences: Manet, Toulouse Lautrec and Degas all painted prostitutes and sometimes violent scenes of ‘real life’. Also, it is unclear why Sickert, if he really was Jack, would wait 20 years after the Ripper murders to start painting such scenes. Also, has anyone checked out Sickert's knowledge of the backstreets of Whitechapel? In justice to the unfairly accused Sickert, let us hope this exhibition causes his prices to rise and Cornwall to regret her misguided iconoclasm.

The exhibition ends with more newsreel footage. Be warned, though, that footage of the suffragette Emily Davison throwing herself in front of the King’s horse at the Derby horse race in 1913 is included, and is pretty shocking: think frog in a blender. I’m amazed such an event was caught on camera at the time. I don’t think she meant to kill herself, just interrupt the race. A glancing blow from the leading horse knocks her right in the path of the horse following and down she goes, in a welter of hooves and skirts. What this has to do with the Camden Group, who knows, but it is interesting.

Modern Painters: The Camden Town Group
Tate Britain
13 February – 5 May 2008

Oscars 2008

I am absurdly pleased and proud of Europe’s success – all four best actor prizes went to America’s foundation colonial powers (UK = 2; Spain = 1; France = 1). However, can’t say I’m planning to see any of the films – they are either too scary or too worthy. Two of them (There Will be Blood and No Country for Old Men) definitely have very scary haircuts and moustaches.

Javier Bardem’s haircut mercifully was vastly improved for the Oscars. However, can’t say the same for Daniel Day-Lewis – he was channelling Elizabethan travelling player style with lank locks and earrings. I do not agree with all the flak Tilda Swinton and Marion Cotillard got for their frocks – I liked both their outfits; it’s nice to see individuals expressing their own taste rather than displaying the safe stylishness imposed by stylists. Julie Christie especially looked great.

Quote London

I can walk about London and see a society that seems an absolutely revolutionary change from the 1950s, that seems completely and utterly different, and then I can pick up on something where you suddenly see that it's not.
~ Penelope Lively

Bad water

So, after last night bottled water is now on every eco-warrior’s hit-list: it’s the new Chelsea Tractor or patio-heater. BBC’s Panorama programme made a really strong case against – the transportation and (plastic) bottling of water is a real ecological nightmare and complete waste of resources. Discarded plastic harms wildlife and pollutes the oceans an will hang around for hundreds of years.

Fiji water turns out to be quite a bad deal. Originally funded by the EU to source fresh water for the islanders, the government now licenses an American company to bottle and export the water to North America and Europe. But a third of the islanders do not have access to safe water and typhoid is still quite prevalent. The Fiji water company is doing something to help this situation, but obviously as a private company doesn’t have the responsibility to supply the islanders with their water needs. One wonders what their government is doing with all the royalties from the export of their fresh water.

The Rules of Shopping

1) Sainsbury’s guarantees never to have the crucial ingredient Hedgie needs. This ingredient will always be the last item on Hedgie’s shopping list.
2) Hedgie will always choose the wrong queue at the check out. This effect will be magnified when shopping on limited time at lunch hour, when there will be a confused moron in front of Hedgie who queries a £2 special offer, causing spiralling confusion amongst the till operator and her supervisor, finally resulting in an IT meltdown which will take 20 minutes to fix. It will then be found that the moron was mistaken and the bill was correct all long.
3) And what is it with Asda’s bread? It certainly wins the prize for most bizarre baguette ever. A bouncy, chewy texture much like a doughnut, with a sugary crust much like a doughnut. Not unpleasant, but definitely weird and definitely not ever to be given to French friends.

Made in the Dark . . .

And should have stayed there!

☹

V. disappointed with Hot Chip’s new CD – it’s massively different to The Warning, their excellent 2006 release, and to my ears not as good. At first listen I like only two tracks: the first single “Ready for the Floor” and “Don’t Dance”. About 3 or 4 other tracks are ok; the others are either dismal dirges or just noise. Some Sunday paper reviews felt it was “more commercial” – not so!!!

I’ll give it a few more listens to give it a chance, but in the meantime, disgruntled of Clapham signing off . . .

Tube Rage

Blissfully, I have managed to avoid rush-hour tube travel for almost 25 months. Unfortunately, however, I had to take the tube up to Euston on Monday morning at 7:18 am.

From previous experience, I thought this would be early enough to at least be able to squeeze into a carriage at Clapham Common station, if not actually get a seat. However, we were packed so tight I was able to identify people’s preferred toothpaste brands. At least, and thank goodness, people on the southern end of the Northern line use toothpaste in the mornings!

Well, things were fine if tightly packed ‘till Stockwell, where I changed to the Victoria line. I then unwittingly stood in the personal and private space of someone else on this packed platform (he had followed me closely all the way from the Northern line platform, huffing and puffing). When the train came in this gentleman elbowed me roughly in the ribs in order to get into the carriage first, then deliberately blocked me off from getting a seat (unsuccessfully). He glowered threateningly at me. I glowered as fiercely as I could back, and thankfully before things escalated the carriage became packed and we were separated.

So – beware of Mr Angry on the Northern line: a middle-aged gent with a few wispy ginger curls clinging nostalgically to his bald pate. Doesn’t look like a yob but is a total psycho. Hope he gets seized by the authorities and forced to watch Ken’s “courtesy on public transport’ video back-to-back all weekend.