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