The Blog

 

Dear comrades, May Day is past, the Merry Month is upon us! And yet – so foul and fair a season I have not seen. Teeth-chattering, biting winds and squalls one day, fitful sunbeams gleaming through breeze-blown blossom the next. This restless Spring has found me in Amsterdam, in West Sussex, in Warwickshire, Wiltshire and Kent – never knowing how best to dress for the weather – my dear, it’s been frightful!

Actually it’s been good. My ever-alert art-loving pal Robin, despite being stuck for the winter in a beach-side apartment in Mexico – poor soul, it’s the only alternative to Birkenhead he could manage – reached across the Web to spear a pair of tickets for the now legendary Vermeer Exhibition at the Rijksmuseum in Amsterdam. So on his return off we went, to envious mutterings from all and sundry – the hottest exhibition ticket in Europe, and boy does it merit all the fuss! Mind you, the weather there was dire – having spent much of my youth in East Yorkshire I recognised straight-off the bitter, skin-smarting north-sea rain – but you don’t go to Amsterdam for the weather. You go for canals, for happy-cake cafés, for dotty sex shops, and for terrific restaurants with weather-beating fare. Sheltering at the Stoop & Stoop café we had a fantastic pea and sausage soup!

 

And then there’s the ART…During a recent TYA workshop actor Will Hopkins asked me “What’s the difference between good acting and great acting?” Good question – one you can bring to any creative activity, I guess. With acting, as well as the indefinable quality of God-given charisma, there’s something to do with sheer concentration, that draws the audience in and holds the attention, that suspends disbelief utterly. And watching and listening to a great musical instrumentalist or singer, there’s an all-else excluding focus on the flow of theme and variations, taking us into the very soul of the music. Is defining great visual art more elusive? Is our reaction to pictures, sculptures and artefacts more subjective? I know, for instance, people who declare themselves left cold by Picasso’s work.

And yet I can’t imagine anyone standing in front of almost any of the Vermeer pictures on display in Amsterdam without feeling that here is something remarkable, something fundamental about life… Brighter brains than mine have produced long books on the impact of art – and clearly perceptions change with the generations. For instance, there’s no doubt that many of Vermeer’s pictures “tell a story”, yet seem to provide far more insight into humanity than those – admittedly often finely painted – Victorian dramatic tableaux like “When Did You last See Your Father?” or “The Long Engagement”. But there my ability to explain grinds to a halt, so any thoughts on this, anyone?

Everyone at the exhibition was taking ‘phone-pictures of the pictures. What makes being in their presence more impactful than looking at photos of the images they represent? Here’s two I took, each of a painting reflecting a possible “back-story”. The lady in blue looking at a letter is, I assume, pregnant. And why is the woman receiving a note while practising lute chords being observed from what may be the inside of a broom cupboard…. ?

Leaving these musings to finer minds, focus now shifts to the Sussex County Cricket Club at Hove, and thence via Zoom to a fishing village in India.

 

My deeply missed friend GwynethPowell was a serious and active supporter of the Venkat Trust, an educational project in India, appropriately for someone so well known for years as the fictional school headteacher in “Grange Hill”. The Trust’s founder Sylvia Holder last month hosted a lunch at the cricket ground during which Gwyneth’s husband, the actor Alan Leith cut a ribbon to open a roof-top garden the Trust’s school has created in her memory, watched from the school in Kovalam, India by a video link . The work of the Trust is amazing – the project evolved from Sylvia sponsoring a single child’s education into a Trust gathering funding for a fully-fledged local school where previously none existed, providing both primary and secondary learning – and thus vastly improved career opportunities – for hundred of young people. You can read about it on the link at the end of this post.

Sylvia with the new garden – and Alan cuts the ribbon to applause on two continents!

A milestone each April for theatre folk is of course Shakespeare’s birthday on the 23rd – and this year the estimable “Bran & Chaff” group at Stratford on Avon (previously featured in these pages) held its “alternative” celebratory lunch at the Town House, at the same time as the “official” much more expensive one in the RSC’s marquee by the river. The Town House is a fine hotel/restaurant with links to the Jubilee which kicked off the whole Shakespeare “industry”back in 1769. The recipient of this year’s Bran and Chaff Award is that fine actor and Radagrad Edward Bennett, star of a celebrated RSC “Much Ado” and “Love’s Labour’s Lost” double bill. Ed was prevented from attending the lunch in person by filming commitments, but once again technology came to the rescue and post-lunch digestifs were eased down by a showing of a happy and interesting chat Ed and I had recorded on Zoom the day before.

After making his mark in the theatre – a previous triumph was famously taking over Hamlet on press night when David Tennant was injured –  Ed now has a family to feed, and his agent is concentrating on TV and film. So look out for him in “Bridgerton” on Netflix, “Joan” on ITV and “Rogue Heroes” on the BBC.

Meanwhile, in Stratford on the 23rd as usual flowers were paraded through the town to be laid at the church, near to where Will is buried alongside his wife Anne, who died 400 years ago this April.

Stratford sixth-formers passing the school Will attended; Anne and Will  Shakespeares’ resting place – and a salute in the church to a delegation of  theatre-makers from Ukraine, visiting to join in the annual Birthday service. Thoughts are with my colleague the young theatre producer Anastasia Yevchenko as she, her family and friends brace for the next stage in Putin’s wicked war.  

And so to Kent – do try to keep up – and a recital in another ancient church, St Andrew’s at Wickhambreaux, a village once owned by  Joan Plantagenet, known in medieval days as the “Fair Maid” of that county. She was mother to one of our less happy English Kings, Richard the Second. As part of the concert I read some lines from Shakespeare’s play about him, along with other poetry, and songs were provided by the superb professional choir from St Bride’s Fleet St.  (This well-attended event was sponsored by Vyvyan Harmsworth, whose family’s charitable Trust has for decades supported students at RADA) If ever you’re in those parts, this church has stunning art nouveau stained-glass by a Danish artist with a pleasingly Shakespearian name, Arild Rosenkrantz.

The concert was prompted by the crowning in London of a more current  monarch – something you may possibly have read about elsewhere, or perhaps caught on TV?

(By the way, I’m told the show at the Abbey was in fact a trailer for a new Westminster adventure series called Penny the Swordbearer……)

And so with stirring choral harmonies by the likes of William Byrd and Edwin Hawkins ringing in the ears, away down the A4 to Wiltshire, to the ancient Borough of Marlborough. This is a town that takes its civic life seriously. Their Mayor-Making ceremony may have no fine-tuned choirs, no military bands nor sword-bearers, but it has beadles, and a Town Cryer, and a Deputy County Lieutenant – and fine red mayoral robes to adorn the stately figure of this year’s chosen civic figurehead – my old friend Nicholas Fogg, MBE.  Nicholas is, as it happens, a native of Stratford upon Avon, a stalwart Bran and Chaffer, and author of (as well many other notable publications) a fine biography of the Bard. And this is his third time as Mayor, a hat-trick well worth a toast!

Beadles stoutly guarding the Town Hall; Nicholas with the Deputy Lieutenant of Wiltshire, otherwise known as former BBC broadcaster Shirley Ludford – an expert in Community Radio…if you live in Wilts, stay tuned…

And amidst all this gadding about the Shires, what of London theatre? A production I enjoyed was at yet another church, St Martins in the Fields, of The Chevalier, a play-with-music about Joseph Bologna, the black composer at Marie Antoinette’s court, featuring brilliant violin solos by Braimah Kanneh Mason. And there were two London theatre visits to The Barbican – one to The Meaning of Zong by Giles Terera – a striking production from the Bristol Old Vic, about one of the most shameful events in British slave-trading, with TYA actor-tutor Remi King putting in sturdy work underpinning the unsettling, disturbing narrative.

The other was an “in progress” workshop introduction to an ambitious, intriguing project by The Faction, in which actors and directors in at least five countries are developing a multi-national, multi-language international tour of Shakespeare’s Pericles, Prince of Tyre. You can read more about this on Simon Tait’s excellent blog – link below.

 

Warmer than Amsterdam – sunshine at the Barbican, London, last week.

LINKS:

The Venkat Trust: https://venkattrust.org.uk

A Good Read for lovers of Shakespeare: https://www.amazon.co.uk/Hidden-Shakespeare-Biography-Nicholas-Fogg/dp/1445607697

The Chevalier: https://theartsdesk.com/classical-music/chevalier-st-martin-fields-review-virtuoso-journey-shamefully-neglected-past

The Meaning of Zong: https://www.theguardian.com/stage/2022/apr/08/the-meaning-of-zong-bristol-old-vic-review

SIMON TAIT  on the Pericles project:

https://www.artsindustry.co.uk/feature/3063-taitmail-when-shakespeare-isn-t-about-language-anymore-it-speaks-to-the-21st-century#:~:text=Home-,TAITMAIL%20When%20Shakespeare%20isn%27t%20about%20language%20anymore%2C%20it%20speaks,in%202the lovely sweep of the river016%20with%20Paapa%20Essiedu.

Historic footnote. This blog has previously mentioned an intriguing landmark quite near where I live, Garrick’s Temple to Shakespeare, on an attractive sweep of the Thames at Hampton. I’ve recently become a volunteer guide there during its summer Sunday afternoon opening times, so if you’re passing that way, please call in. And if by chance you live in the area, and are either interested in theatre history or know someone who is, full training (usually with cups of tea and cakes) is available for new guides, so please come and join us!  There’s more information – and a relevant contact – on this link:

https://www.dropbox.com/s/ycxzaefyh045gz1/GARRICK%27S%20TEMPLE%20FLYER.pdf?dl=0

 

 

 

 

Winter: where are the snows…?

 

 

Rough winds test the Sunday School at the sailing club, first daffodils nod by the weir – it’s high time, almost too late – for the Winter Blog. Spring already lurks by the Thames, while down in NZ autumn tornadoes trigger a State of Emergency, and in Ukraine dark rumours of a spring offensive echo 1916 as trenches are dug and weapons primed. And to the east earthquake survivors huddle in bitter, freezing lands already shattered by years of vicious warfare. The horrors spawned by even the likes of Putin and Assad pale beside the real Terrors of the Earth, once unleashed by Nature.

So here in this corner of the Home Counties, what’s to be done? If you’re like me, you send what donations you can, and try to swallow grumblings about inflation. How on earth can we feel sorry for ourselves when we see such utter, desperate misery elsewhere?

In our own country what’s left of a corrupt, incompetent governing party struggles forlornly to reclaim dignity before a weary and cynical electorate, certain only in knowing that however well-intentioned their post-election replacements may be, the rest of the 2020s are likely to be grim. So, if spring is not far behind, what hints of hope, what green shoots are to be seen?

Well actually, rather too many. Here in southern England we’ve had a season so mild you could hardly call it Winter. A few mornings of freezing fog, almost no snow, just grey drizzle and sometimes a  restless, chilly wind. Daffodils and crocuses are under foot, there are buds on the trees, and on the river swans already sway their long necks in courtly ritual. The spring of 2023 is precocious, it comes early, ahead of its allotted time…

Right now at Kingston University there’s a nostalgic gateway from present troubles to a lost, happy world, one that readers of a certain age – especially those in the theatre trade – will recall fondly.

There was a time when wherever you lived in the UK, you were likely to be in striking distance of a theatre with its own professional company, offering new productions every few weeks – sometimes even a new one every week. As a wide-eyed seventeen-year-old, I had my first paid job with the Richmond Theatre Company, whose producer Frederic Piffard presented a summer season of “weekly rep” at the New Theatre Hull. My pay was a princely one pound per week as “student assistant stage manager” – and I had a fabulous time, learning how to run a prompt corner, begging loans of furniture and props from local shops, liaising with designers and technicians, dealing with real-life professional actors -whom I even joined on stage several times in tiny supporting parts. My boss was Janet Chapman, a graduate from the stage-management course at RADA. Janet made sure that our budget always included real “prop” food so that her assistant “Taffy” had his weekly pound supplemented with a daily practical meal. (My nickname had, I guess, been triggered by my name and the lingering echoes of my childhood Cardiff accent.) I finished that first season as a proud member of both British Actors’ Equity and of NATKE, the technicians’ union – long-since absorbed by BECTU.

Three years later, after studying drama in Manchester and a season with Stephen Joseph’s company at Scarborough, I pocketed both union cards and made my way to London. Then, as now, an essential factor in trying to build a career was a subscription to “The Spotlight” Casting Directory. Your fee bought you an entry in one of their weighty volumes of actors’ pictures and credits (in my case sub-classified as “Younger Character”) and also access to their professional advice service – with an interview with their senior advisor, Cary Ellison.

Cary was a RADA graduate who became effectively Counsellor to the Profession – he was kindly, perceptive and wise. I remember his advice to me was to “join one of the big companies –  you need to learn work discipline…” He made it his professional duty every year to tour productions at the regional reps, to take notes and offer advice. His comments were lucid and succinct, often written on the theatres’ printed programmes. Over the years he build up a substantial archive – which, after Cary sadly died in 2002, his family gave to Kingston University. The collection is beautifully curated and preserved – and is now introduced by an exhibition in association with Anstee Bridge, an organisation supporting local teenagers, some of whom have responded with visual images – such as the above postcard. There is a link to further information at the end of this entry.

Cary’s programme notes on a production of “Filumena” at Cheltenham. I notice the cast included Wilfred Harrison, who went on to create the extraordinary Century Theatre – the famous “theatre on wheels”  – at which in its later, stationary years in the Lake District I directed several seasons of plays.

I’m writing this on the first anniversary of Vladimir Putin’s invasion of Ukraine. On Tuesday next (February 28th) in Whitechapel there is a fund-raising showing of two short features by young Ukrainian film-makers, Irina Shumaieva and Anastasiya Yevchenko. This will be at the Genesis Cinema in the Mile End Rd, and below is a link through which you can buy tickets. There is a now a pool of brilliant refugee talent in our city, so supporting their work is at least something we can do.

 

An interesting phenomenon in today’s digital world is the rise of “podcasts” – it seems that many of those people staring blankly into the middle-distance while sitting  opposite you on a tube or on a train have heads full of sound from their headphones – and are almost as likely nowadays to be listening to the spoken word as to music. Hence the rise in audio book-sales, and the use by “influencers” of the Podcast Medium. These are interesting linguistic arrivals. A podcast is “audio material made available for downloading from the Internet, which often may be presented in “serialised” form” – and it seems the word has its roots in soviet-era propaganda distribution in Russia. According to Wikipedia the English-language term “podcast” was first coined in an article in “The Guardian” by Ben Hammersley. This was in February 2004, so next year  will 20th anniversary celebrations generate another new word, something like “Podcastival…”?

The term “influencer” is a bit more elusive, in that people have always “influenced” other people’s actions, be they in religion, politics or commerce. But the idea of someone being an “Influencer” by trade, as it were, has come into use with the rise of “social media”, with people able to run sales and marketing campaigns using instantly available moving images, slogans and music. You don’t even have to wait till people are sitting down in front of their TV – you can get at their eyes and ears whenever and wherever they switch on their phone. I just read that this year in America something like five BILLION dollars will be spent on “influencer” campaigns.

So it’s little wonder that politics are spawning podcasts. One that I tune into while doing my ironing is Chris Wright’s “Wright on the Nail”  – a regular hour-long discussion, in which the previous week’s news is chewed over by a panel of potential “influencers” from across the spectrum, a different group every week. The producers’ “casting” of panel members really is genuinely broad-church – unlike the content in some of the new right-leaning news outlets such as GB News. It’s refreshing to hear civilised  – even polite  – exchanges of often quite extreme views from both socialist and conservative corners of the landscape, all of which Chris chairs skilfully. Being myself left-leaning, I find attending to observations from right-inclined minds quite enlightening. For instance, a couple of weeks ago on this podcast you could actually hear the words “Liz Truss” and “respect” contained within the same sentence…Remarkable. Link below.

And so  – leaving politics and going back to culture – as if….RADAgrads from my time are in the news, on the left, the right and in the middle. Maxine Peake is using her status as one of northern England’s most respected artists to rally protest against the shamefully threatened closure of Oldham Coliseum Theatre – a priceless Lancashire treasure. Interviewed in The Guardian Ben Whishaw says of the NHS “I so wish we would fund it properly, but I don’t know what we have to do to make the government wake up.” Andrea Riseborough, a terrific actress, finds herself at the centre of a major controversy in America over an Oscar nomination.  Meanwhile, at the aforementioned GB News, one of the current presenters is a certain Laurence Fox…

If you scroll back to last summer’s blog, you will see a rather jolly picture of aspiring actors in a “mask workshop” at the Kalamata Summer School in Greece. Now listen – should you feel inclined next summer to explore aspects of our craft with expert tutors in sun-swamped surroundings amongst olive-groves near the sea, and should you feel discouraged by the relentless Cost of Living – the stop-press news is that some grants are available. Link to further information below

 And finally a nudge to readers who might wish to explore acting skills in London. I am increasing my schedule of workshop sessions at the Theatre Deli Studios, close by the architectural wonders of the Gherkin and the Lloyds Building – just seven minutes’ walk from Bank tube station. If you’d like to find out more, be you an aspiring or established actor, or someone needing to boost your confidence in speaking in front of other people –  just get in touch – info@teachyourselfacting.com.

One of our workshops will explore How to Speak Shakespeare – so let me leave you with another quote from Ben Whishaw in The Guardian:

What made Shakespeare revolutionary is that he allowed real rhythms of speech to come through within the iambic pentameter. Characters in Hamlet forget what they are saying, or change their minds, just like real people. It should sound as natural as someone chatting to you. It’s poetry, but natural and everyday…..

 

LINKS

KINGSTON UNIVERSITY CARY ELLISON COLLECTION

https://www.kingston.ac.uk/news/article/531/06-feb-2012-kingston-university-acquires-archive-of-talent-scout-cary-ellison/

TO VISIT CARY ELLISON ARCHIVE: 0208 417 7054

UKRAINE FILM SHOWING TICKETS:

https://www.eventbrite.com/e/years-of-resistance-charity-screening-of-award-winning-short-films-tickets-526439493697

THE POLITICAL PODCAST:

https://www.wrightonthenail.fm

KALAMATA SUMMER SCHOOL:

https://kalamatadrama.com

KALAMATA GRANT INFORMATION: https://www.dropbox.com/scl/fi/ubl8vsm575hob1ruc82xe/KALAMATA-GRANT-INFORMATION.docx?dl=0&rlkey=s2g6jjj86fqz577yaka4nq5ms

Also:

RECOMMENDED PLAY:

TROUBLE IN BUTETOWN by Diana Nnaka Atuona at THE DONMAR WAREHOUSE THEATRE

“A gripping ensemble drama… richly involving, warmly and wittily observed, and immensely moving – and the performances are gorgeous.”
Evening Standard

RECOMMENDED NEW RADIO SERIES:

https://www.classicfm.com/music-news/kanneh-mason-family-radio-series/

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Because most people’s focus is at present on the death of our Head of State, and because of a coinciding tragic event closer to my own life, I’ve delayed full publication and notification of this post, the first draft of which was written  on September 6th. An update, as of September 14th, has now been added at the end of the post.

A long, long time ago, in a galaxy far, far away, I was briefly involved in ridding the world of Autons.

At a secret location – suffice to say not very far from Stratford upon Avon – some of the survivors of this series of desperate events from long ago gathered together on a sun-filled day.

It couldn’t have been more timely…..as I write there are disturbing images on the television news of blank-eyed, robotic creatures assembling near Downing St…

So yes, folks, this was a “Dr Who” convention – for your blog-pilot today is one of the few cast members still around from the 1970 series “Spearhead from Space”, notable as the first story featuring the late Jon Pertwee as The Doctor, also notable as the first story to be shot in colour, and on high-quality film as opposed to video-tape – and even more notable since the first character to appear colour in it was played by me! But don’t let me spoil it for you – DVDs are still available….

 We met at a fine hotel right next to the Very Secret Location where we filmed the story back in the autumn of 1969, a site which even now is a real-life High Security part of the BBC,  into which at one point I wandered, and was briskly turned around by a very starchy uniformed guardian. My fellow cast members facing an amiable q&a with a hundred or so “Whovians” (some of whom were zooming in questions from as far afield as Australia, where it must have been the middle of the night) were the majestic Michael Kilgariff – a veteran of several “Dr Who” series, complementing a distinguished stage and screen acting career – plus the leading Auton himself – see the picture. This was the gifted writer Robin Squires, who as a young trainee on the production team, found himself encased in a full plastic head-mask doing a robotic character-walk to terrorise the inhabitants of late sixties  Warwickshire. And a most effective Auton he made – and he can still do the walk!

There were other sessions during the day, featuring for example, actors involved in more recent audio versions of the stories. This is an interesting dimension of which I admit I wasn’t aware, but it has a big following. In that q&a team was  Daisy Ashford, who plays the part of The Doctor’s companion in audio recordings of stories in which the rôle on TV was played by her mum, the late, much-missed Caroline John.

Another exciting aspect of the day was the presence of The Doctor himself, in the incarnation of the brilliant Sylvester McCoy, with his human companion Sophie Aldred. As well as a chance to ask questions, the fans were able to be photographed with the stars out on the lawn, where the Tardis had conveniently landed…

This summer I had as guest an old, old schoolfriend, now resident in the antipodes, so there have been excursions to the many and various Places of Interest around these parts.

In the first of those somewhat unsettling heatwaves we took an upstream boat from Kingston’s Turk’s Pier for a special open-air performance in the Courtyard at Hampton Court Palace. Now when I first heard about “SIX” – a musical about Henry the Eighth’s wives performed by an all-female rock band – I was at pains to avoid it, as I thought it sounded a really NAFF idea.

In 2017 at two Cambridge undergrads, Lucy Moss and Toby Marlow put the show together as an idea for the Edinburgh Festival – where it became a festival hit, then a London hit, then Covid struck, then it re-emerged in London, then became a smash in New York. It’s become a cult, as happened with “The Rocky Horror Show”, with a growing band of faithful disciples willing to turn up and buy repeat tickets – in London and on tour in the UK, on Broadway and on tour in America, and it’s now touring New Zealand and Australia.

The album of its songs attracts sixty thousand “streams”on the Internet every day.In a rave review the New York Times called it “a lark and a provocation”. Why am I going on about it”? With those figures the chances are you’ve already seen it. But just in case you haven’t, ignore any misgivings you might have about a show mixing A-level history with post-Spice Girls feminist rock’n’roll – seek it out and enjoy!

This summer has brought a new treat for visitors to these parts, in the shape of a wondrously restored Marble Hill House in Twickenham, reached from my side of the river by Hammertons’ Ferry (an ancient amenity now run as part of a cheerful family business – see link below.) The house was gifted by George the Second to his mistress, Henrietta Countess of Suffolk, who became the centre of a circle of local creatives – including Alexander Pope, Jonathan Swift and John Gay, who wrote “The Beggar’s Opera” (of which more in a minute). It’s been superbly refurbished – a terrific example of a compact 18th century villa, with a fine collection of paintings – plus a remarkable recreation of Chinese silk wallpaper – and at present entry is free.

It seems the recreation of the Countess’s dining room wallpaper took a thousand days of work by modern Chinese craftsmen. Or something. Must have cost a packet – English Heritage must be in funds, especially as – for now at least – they’re not charging to see it.

I’m sure her neighbours would have enjoyed their visits – below is a bust of the poet Alexander Pope, with pictures of his Irish satirist pal Jonathan Swift and playwright John Gay, all on view in the house . The latter’s smash-hit “Beggar’s Opera”produced by John Rich, “made Gay rich and Rich gay” – in fact it made Rich so rich he built a new theatre in Covent Garden, on the site of what is now the Royal Opera House.

 

 

 

 

“The Beggar’s Opera” was the first final-year production I directed as Head of Acting at RADA. Last week a young colleague, Anastasiya Yevchenko, invited me to watch two excellent short plays in English by two of her fellow Ukrainian playwrights, reflecting life in their wickedly tormented country. (The Finborough is still functioning as an adventurous, innovative theatre while the rest of the building undergoes transition from pub to restaurant, see link below.) The first play – called “Take the Rubbish out, Sasha” by Natal’ya Vorozbhit  – included a very strong, moving performance by Amanda Ryan, a distinguished graduate from my early days at the Academy. While we waited to go into the show, I was suddenly pounced upon by another beautiful and successful woman:  “Ellis, it’s Rachel Pickup – I was your Suki Tawdry in “The Beggar’s Opera”!  What a joy!

I was so, so lucky to have helped steer, over more than a decade, so many incredibly talented young people towards creative and inspiring lives – exemplified by a reunion of the RADA “Class of 2000”,  organised by Emma Lowndes at Gower St a couple of weeks ago. To say that it is twenty-five years since Nick Barter and I welcomed this group onto the RADA Acting Course is to underline how remarkable an event  this was, which a good two-thirds of the group were able to attend, some flying in from as far afield as Australia and America. This was the year-group who coincided with the Academy’s major Lottery-funded re-build, and who thus had to rehearse in a converted garage in Kennington, and perform their final shows either at Kennington or at random venues around London. The new Vanbrugh Theatre didn’t open until September, by which time they’d all set off on their careers. Some of them are now “household-name” actors, all of them following brilliantly creative, valuable pathways – not least, in many cases, as parents of equally creative offspring – two sets of couples who met during their training with us are still happily and productively married! Emma showed a fine collage of video clips of photos and video messages from their tutors – which, as you can see, held everyone’s rapt attention.

 

Meanwhile, back in Twickenham, your starter for ten – which local resident painted this nude?

The answer is none other than J.M.W Turner, he of amazing light-drenched landscapes, he of “The Fighting Temeraire”, who built this quiet, unobtrusive little house as his country retreat. He actually designed the building himself – albeit with some help from his architect pal, Sir John Soane. My friend from the antipodes, D.A.Townsend, was impressed by the exhibition currently on show there, of  some of the great man’s more, er,  private creations, and posed modestly beside this relic of the old country, sitting as it does in one of the borough’s quieter back streets.

According to my almanac, Autumn doesn’t actually start until the Equinox on the 21st, so this is still, by the skin of its teeth, my summer blog. But Autumn is, after all, when wheels start turning, when projects come to fruition, albeit this year under many lowering clouds – including, for instance, the far from unrealistic question as to whether our theatres are going to be able, as winter unfolds, to afford the electricity to light their shows? There are other more apocalyptic concerns in the world, from the perspectives of people in Kiev or Islamabad, but nonetheless one our trade can’t ignore. For the first time in over two years, I have just met a cohort of cheerful New York University students with whom I shall be exploring a season of London theatre productions from which I will report – it’s started well, with a terrific evening at Rebecca Frecknall’s zingy revival of  “Kit Kat Club Cabaret” at the Playhouse – bold, challenging, and much more resonant of the original story than the brilliant but not-quite-right Liza Minelli movie. And later this week I shall be attending the press night of “Antigone” at Regent’s Park Open Air Theatre (brolly already in bag) and a concert by the Philharmonia Orchestra in a (covered) car park in Peckham. Watch this space.

It’s a cliché to talk of unsung achievers as “backstage” heroes – and in the theatre the most unsung folk are so often indeed the stage-management team. The justly celebrated theatre school Drama Centre has, disturbingly, been allowed this year to disappear. The school which trained actors of the calibre of Tom Hardy, Geraldine James, Simon Callow and the late Helen McCrory had a laudable policy of final year shows being stage-managed by first-year students, giving the new recruits a sense of the practical realities of production.Each cohort of first year students was carefully and caringly overseen by a seasoned professional stage-manager, a rôle performed for many years by Diana Fraser. As the school dwindled and vanished, Diana’s contribution to the deep understanding and appreciation of their craft shared by several generations of fine practitioners has been honoured by the Stage Management Association, in the form of the David Ayliff  Life Time Achievement Award. Diana and I have worked together several times, and I can attest to her marvellous efficiency, good humour, and ability to provide just the warm, concerned support every actor and director needs, so bravo the SMA!

14th September

Since commencing this entry, two cheering items have appeared. One is for the benefit of those visiting, or who are fortunate enough to live in, God’s Own County. Up there on the North Yorkshire coast, Sir Alan Ayckbourn has now produced and staged his eigthy-seventh play at Scarborough’s Stephen Joseph Theatre, “Family Album”. 87 plays in and he’s still clocking up a 4-star review in the Yorkshire Post,  saluting “an outstanding cast” in a piece bringing joy and laughs, plus “profound and bleak things…wrapped up in Ayckbourn’s deft and light touch”. Link below.

                                                                               Photo: Nikos Iliopoulos

And meanwhile from another idyllic part of the planet, a report has arrived of international performing arts students relishing the 2022 Kalamata Summer School. Under expert guidance from Andrew Visnevski and Gabrielle Moleta, young actors spent 3 weeks exploring varied acting challenges, including using masks as in the workshop pictured above, but also through swimming with horses in the sea! We never did that in my time at RADA – memo to the new Principal at Gower St… If you want a chance to join in creative fun next year amongst vineyards in sight of the Ionian Sea, then keep an eye on the KaDISS website, link below.

Links:

Marble Hill House: https://www.english-heritage.org.uk/visit/places/marble-hill

Turner’s house: https://turnershouse.org

The Ferry at Twickenham:  https://www.hammertonsferry.com

Finborough Theatre: https://finboroughtheatre.co.uk

Playhouse Theatre: https://kitkat.club/cabaret-london/?gclid=Cj0KCQjwpeaYBhDXARIsAEzItbENic6NJwJoVbWF4BIoHEgXqbBid-9Baws2qEG11isYeFXVcKoXZR8aAhU3EALw_wcB

Stephen Joseph Theatre, Scarborough: https://sjt.uk.com/events/family-album

Kalamata Summer School: https://kalamatadrama.com/facilities/

 

But meanwhile, there has been one over-riding sadness. The same day that the Queen passed away, last Thursday, Gwyneth Powell also died. This has been the tragic event mentioned at the top of the post – we didn’t want to include it until a proper press statement had been released by her agent. She is mourned, of course, by several generations of followers of BBC Television’s school drama “Grange Hill” because of her eleven years as the stern but kindly Headmistress Mrs McClusky  – but also to many, many admirers of her brilliant, commanding work in countless other rôles on stage as well as on the screen.

Gwyneth and her husband Alan Leith have been dear friends of mine since we all “cut our teeth” in repertory at the Connaught Theatre Worthing, back in the late 60s. To lose Gwyn has been shattering, of course for poor Alan, but also for all who have enjoyed her loving, ever-supportive friendship – the greatest of all possible gifts.

In all conceivable ways, one of the best.

 

 

 

 

Down on the river, the swans dance. Springtime sunshine triggers the foreplay ritual: together in pairs, they sway their long necks, curling and uncurling to dip their heads into the water in rhythm – it’s a strange event, but clearly effective – this stretch of the Thames swarms with swan families, nay, clans, proudly and elegantly fecund!  The rustle of spring is upon us – on Good Friday I biked the towpath to Ham House,  saluted Neptune’s statue, took the ferry across the water and pedalled back along the far bank, taking in the glory of Orleans house, the pretty Twickenham church, and the bridge to Eel Pie island where more than half a century ago the Rolling Stones mixed rhythm with blues. And I found a theatre by the river, where the Richmond Shakespeare Society is offering “Henry IV” – both parts! (Link to production news below)

 

 

 

So the world turns. Above the equator, to the north and west the sun shines on restless wildlife, on bike-rides and picnics, and to the east on merciless slaughter of innocent people, in a war it seems supported by over 80 per cent of Russians. And in Africa a daughter of immigrants into Britain signs a deal with a dodgy dictator, to whom she promises millions of British pounds in return for an offer to take in hundreds of immigrants diverted from Britain….

However –  even as the Ukraine tragedy unfolds, as shameless, thick-skinned posturing persists in Whitehall, and despite the lingering, uneasy Covid count – our theatres have stumbled back onto their feet. This week to the Bridge, to witness “Straight Line Crazy” – a play by David Hare about buildings, planning, people and traffic in New York, with lots of impressive acting from Ralph Fiennes, backed up equally impressively by Danny Webb and Siobhán Cullen. Ralph Fiennes is currently at the height of his powers, and is now undoubtedly a Great Actor for our times. I loved his recital of T.S. Elliot’s “Four Quartets” recently at the Harold Pinter Theatre, and at the Bridge his sheer physical presence and magisterial vocal command are quite wonderful – although for my money the play itself wobbled somewhat under pressure…

Over at the Old Vic, we find another extraordinary actor, Bertie Carvel, also bringing amazing skill to a not-quite-there-yet text. He gives a wondrous study of Donald Trump in Mike Bartlett’s “The 47th”. Bertie tells me the production process was accelerated by the Old Vic unexpectedly becoming available, and one has to say that the play, while witty and full of shrewd commentary on a post (or perhaps not post) Trumpian world, and currently needs another draft or two to tidy it up, is well worth a visit if you’re in London. There’s also smashing work in support here, from James Garnon – like Bertie, another grad from my RADA days – as Ted Cruz, and from Tamara Tunie as Kamala Harris.

This is a shifting, uncertain Spring, wherever you look –  I hear of friends forking out fortunes to get home from holidays in Europe because of cancelled flights and trains, and of colleagues in Shanghai once more completely locked down because of massive Covid resurgence. And all quite apart from the horrors of a not-so-distant war and echoes of 1960s nuclear threats.In such times comedy will sour and darken – for instance, people are re-discovering the long retired, ninety-five-year old Professor Tom Lehrer’s bleak, razor-sharp cold war wit.  There’s a link below to his most apposite song, which should be forwarded to the Kremlin, if anyone knows how. Disjointed, unsettling events appear – I just read that John Darwin, the husband in the true story behind “The Thief, his Wife and the Canoe” currently on ITV, is reported to have taken himself off to fight in Ukraine, at the age of 71 – but maybe in every generation there’s a place for tales of a Don Quixote, or a Walter Mitty. Some events lose their comic potential quite quickly – trouser dropping and gross champagne-swilling in high places are perhaps too familiar, too recent, to generate even the most rueful chuckle. However, as referred to in an earlier post I recently took part in a new short film called “the Contract” by two bright young writer-producers Harry Davies and Adam Howe, which boldly goes into just that territory, and will soon be available on Amazon – watch this space.

Sharp-eyed readers will have noticed in the above paragraph no fewer than two shameless plugs for my own fitful, minor excursions back into the limelight as an actor. Please don’t rush to watch the ITV “Canoe” story expecting to see anything other than very brief, wordless appearances from Carrie Cohen and me as Anne Darwin’s distressed parents – but please watch it because of the superb lead performances from Monica Dolan and Eddie Marsan, and fine writing and directing by Chris Lang and Richard Laxton respectively. If you missed it this week, it’s on the ITV hub, just click below

I am aware that many of you will include varying degrees of travel annoyance in your memories of Easter 2022, and I have been smugly savouring my good fortune in living in a pleasant, historic place which people strive to visit, and thus I have to travel only short distances to enjoy London and its attendant glories like Ham House, like Hampton Court, like Kew Gardens.

And even driving to further London parts isn’t that much of a problem, providing you’re canny about the Clean Air and Congestion  charges – or at least that’s what I fondly thought until this week… But then I experienced the growing plague of “rat-run” signs. They look a bit like this:

They’re quite small, and quietly pop up on through-routes in residential areas, routes you might have been using for years, and thus not think to look out for them. And they carry underneath, in quite small print, warnings on the lines of “Buses and cycles only. Cars not allowed 7am to 7pm”. A carer friend has recently been clobbered four times in as many days while visiting a disabled client, simply because the route she has taken for decades suddenly sprouted these warnings and she hadn’t noticed them – and it’s a minimum fine of £65 a time, delivered smartly to your letterbox .. My sat-nav is struggling to cope. I drove to visit friends in Islington yesterday, Easter Sunday, and was repeatedly exhorted by my phone’s Google Maps lady to “Make a U-turn”…”Eh?” says I “I’ve come this way for years, whatever is the matter…?” And then I started to see the little round signs…Beware, my friends, oh beware…

Fortunately a short bus-ride from where I live is, as mentioned, one of the undoubted wonders of the post-Victorian world – Kew Gardens. I confess I haven’t visited there for years, but on Saturday my friend Jo – who’s a member there – and I enjoyed a glorious wander and picnic, amongst the lakes and the blooms and the birds. Oh, and the bees….

 

 

 

 

 

The Hive at Kew Gardens is a most extraordinary installation, which allows you to tune in, via an electronic link, to the sounds and vibrations shared by the inhabitants of a nearby working beehive, expressed through flickering lights and vibrating tones in the Key of C – the key in which honey bees buzz.  I bet you didn’t know that. I certainly didn’t. Neither did I know that bees recognise a particular vibration which triggers what the information plaque calls “their famous waggle dance”.

So this post starts with the Dance of the Courting Swans and concludes with the Waggle of the Dancing Bees…

Enjoy.

Links:

The Richmond Shakespeare Society at the Mary Wallace Theatre Twickenham

https://www.richmondshakespeare.org.uk

“The Thief His Wife and the Canoe”

https://www.itv.com/hub/the-thief-his-wife-and-the-canoe/10a1187a0004

and finally –  and I mean finally….

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=frAEmhqdLFs

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Because of two heart attacks, I was once in Ukraine. It was just before Christmas 2013, and I was on my way to New Zealand via Singapore. The plane had been delayed for several hours at Heathrow because of a faulty smoke-alarm. Then three hours into the flight, the cabin staff put out a call enquiring if there was doctor on board: someone had suffered a heart attack. Half an hour later, the doctor was called for again. A second person had had a heart-attack. The pilot announced he was going to have to land, at an airport with access to good medical facilities. This turned out to be the main airport at Kyiv, Ukraine. As soon as the plane had come to a stop on the runway, a team of highly efficient Ukrainian medics swiftly came on board and took the patients off to hospital. However, by this time, because of the previous delay in leaving London, the plane’s crew had used up their permitted flying-hours, and we were told they would have to rest for a minimum of 24 hours, during which time we would be taken to hotel accommodation.

Eventually, as our plane quietly accumulated frost on the tarmac, we were loaded onto several buses, and taken off to a hotel away from the city centre, the scene of recent anti-Russian  demonstrations, which were to lead a few weeks later to Ukraine’s pro-Russian government being driven from power. And then to a western-leaning, pro EU government being elected…and then, to Putin sending in troops to annexe Crimea…

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Thus echoes of one of the oddest episodes in my travels have been summoned by grim, surreal images of the Russian invasion, eight years on. The news is so distressing for all of us, left watching impotently while homes and hospitals are destroyed, blood is shed, and civilian lives shattered at the whim of a crazily deluded despot.

And how remarkable that the superbly heroic Ukrainian resistance is being led by an actor-turned President, the admirable Volodymyr Zelensky. It’s weirdly pleasing to know that his impressive c.v. as a performer includes providing the voice for both “Paddington Bear” movies – the Ukrainian counterpart of our own Ben Whishaw.

Photo: BBC

Ben of course is currently starring in the BBC adaptation of “This is Going to Hurt”, gaining lots of admirers in a rôle drawing on real-life experiences of an NHS doctor at a time when the public’s awareness of our health service has never been higher.  Ironically, also now at a time when horrific international events obliterate recent memories of the scorn and disregard for all patients and medics shown by our own, elected political leaders. Given the shocking images and reports arriving every few minutes on our screens and radios – how trivial and pointless seem our “party-gate” concerns. But, but…those events nonetheless happened, and since we are so very fortunate to live in a democracy, let’s not forget that the sub-Churchillian platitudes now uttered in Downing St are from the same mouths that quaffed wine as fellow citizens suffered, and mocked the laws they themselves had made.

Links between politics and stage of course are not uncommon – most recently in our country Tracy Brabin comes to mind, moving from “Coronation St” to being elected MP for Batley and Spen after the horrific murder of Jo Cox, and who is now the Mayor of West Yorkshire. In earlier years a recipient of two Oscars, RADA graduate Glenda Jackson served as a Labour minister. And even further back, my misty memories of being an active trades unionist recall decisively right-wing positions being taken at 1970s Equity gatherings by a Guildhall School of Acting graduate, one Roger Gale – now a prominent MP and an articulate critic of his party-leader’s love of parties.

 I guess the nearest equivalent of Zelensky would be the late playwright Vaclav Havel, who in the 1970s confronted the Russians as a leader of the “Velvet Revolution” in Czechoslovakia, going on to become President of the Czech Republic. I daresay Putin knows well that this previous theatrical-political star played a major rôle in dismantling the Soviet-dominated Warsaw Pact, and expanding NATO’s presence in Eastern Europe –  both of which achievements Putin is out to reverse, slaughtering as he does innocent citizens and children he claims as “fellow-Russians”.

Photo: kafkadesk.org

Mention of the Guildford School of Acting (GSA) brings me back to safer, more domestic matters. One of our TYA Audition Surgery clients is now, very happily, a student on the B.A. Acting course at GSA – where this week the appointment of a new Principal has been announced. A new generation of UK drama school leaders is emerging: Catherine McNamara moves to Guildford from the University of Surrey (and before that  she was at Central, where there is another recent appointment, Josette Bushell-Mingo) while – at last – in June my old Gower St manor will welcome Niamh Dowling as the new (and first ever female) Principal of the Royal Academy of Dramatic Art, RADA.

Photo: Rada.ac.uk 

Niamh has a fine track-record in running courses, at the Rose Bruford School, previously at Manchester Metropolitan University, and is a specialist in Movement. As one who spent more than a decade striving to balance the training needs of phenomenally talented young actors, I rejoice in this appointment. Alongside the wretched, apocalyptic news from Ukraine, our arts industries’ recent concerns pale –  the painful debates over diversity, the struggles to keep going throughout a pandemic  – even though they have been deeply serious. Now is a time for mature, sane and considered leadership – and my sense is that the prevailing winds in our sector are calming, to bring a fresh and optimistic focus for a generation facing a world immeasurably changed, where we can but pray that Miranda’s lovely salutation will prevail.

“How many goodly creatures are there here! How beauteous mankind is! O, brave new world…..”                                                                                                                                                                        

Regular readers will know this blog never lets St David’s Day pass without mention, and as the welcome daffodils appear for a pound-a-bunch in our supermarkets (80p in Lidl!) I’d like to flag up the return to the West End stage of two of our finest Welsh thesps.

 

 

 

 

Craig Gallivan – like Ben, a Radagrad from my time, star of a rollicking production we did on the Queen Mary Two of “Under Milk Wood” – has segued from knocking ’em dead in “School of Rock” to the huge hit musical “Frozen” at the Theatre Royal, Drury Lane, and is by all accounts tearing up a storm. Actor, rocker….Craig is also incidentally a former Welsh youth rugby international….

Photo: Twitter

And my dear fellow “Squirrel” from yesteryear, Merthyr Tydfil’s own Alan David is set to return in May in the revival of the hit play, “Jerusalem”by Jez Butterworth, alongside Mark Rylance at the Apollo Theatre. Here we are acting together at Elstree studios, some time ago. Neither of us looks at all different. Honest.

 

 

Below are links to where you can get tickets to see these two fine Gallic performers. And while you’re around Drury Lane, across the road at the Fortune Theatre my old University chum Terry Wilton can once again be guaranteed to make even the sparsest hairs stand on end in “The Woman in Black”.

Also please find below a link to the British Museum’s “World of Stonehenge” exhibition, to which I went last week, and thoroughly recommend. Beautifully presented evidence from thousands of years ago, that our race even then was capable of bringing beauty and majesty into the world…and alas, evidence also that the cycle of man-made destruction has always repeated endlessly, leaving only stones standing…

Links:

“Frozen”:                https://frozenthemusical.co.uk

“Jerusalem”:         https://jerusalemtheplay.co.uk

“The Woman in Black”: https://www.thewomaninblack.com

“The Wold of Stonehenge”: https://www.britishmuseum.org/exhibitions/world-stonehenge

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

                                                                  The Thames at Kingston, November

As a long-standing Micawberist – we in our unsteady trade have constantly to remind ourselves that “something will turn up” – I find it unsettling to live in a country run by an Extreme Micawberist.  Some high-profile actors cheerfully rely on “getting away with it” via charm and chat rather than talent – and good luck to them, say I. They don’t have the finger on the nuclear button, or the means to insult mendaciously and repeatedly the nation’s intelligence, blythely allowing the concept of a “caring” society to drift away and evaporate, like the autumn mist. A previous leader of our currently ruling party famously declared “there is no such thing as society”, and well – cometh the hour, cometh the man to prove her right.

This blog seldom wanders into political territory – God knows there is enough print and media opinion out there – however I recall the sadly late, gloriously talented actress Miriam Karlin at a big Equity meeting back in the 70s squashing a heckler’s cry that “actors have no business in politics” with “Darling, the very air you breathe is political…”

So, breathe, Jones, breathe….and lend an ear folks, to tales from an ageing character man’s diary. My latest cautious excursion back into the restless, uncertain Thespian jungle took me slap into the political swamp, in a ripely satirical short movie called “The Contract”.

 

This has a sharp, spiky script, written and produced by Harry Davies and Adam Howes, and directed by Stephen D’Arcy –  a stem from the rich vein of Celtic talent which ran through Gower St in my time at RADA. There’s a cracking cast led by Max Brown and Elizabeth Bower, with surprise contributions from Harry Enfield and Dan Snow. Also included is a corrupt senior business operator with an unusual hobby – played by me. There will be a score by Isata Kanneh-Mason, and the project is currently in post-production, so watch this space – the release date and distribution t.b.a. The more this troubling year unfolds, the less absurd seem the antics of the imagined group of hapless business-types rejoicing in government connections as featured in this satire.

Meanwhile, in the quiet backwaters of my gently stirring, slightly bewildered acting career, the biggest project I’ve been involved in this year – alluded to in the last blog  entry  – has been “The Thief, his Wife and the Canoe”, a four-part drama inspired by real events, due to be broadcast by ITV early in 2022. You may remember the original news items, reporting a northern couple’s extraordinary insurance scam, featuring the husband faking his own accidental death in a sea canoe, and their attempt to use the ill-gotten life-insurance pay-out to set up a business in Panama. It’s an amazing chronicle of shameless lying and deception, poignant and current in the present  political zeitgeist. Carrie Cohen and I make modest, almost wordless contributions to this re-telling of the tale, as the distressed parents of Anne, the wife in the couple played by the quite brilliant Monica Dolan. We had no words at all in the script, and those we spoke were improvised, but the fellow cast members and crew – and above all the excellent director Richard Laxton – made us feel very much integrated, essential team-members on a fine project. The humane, shrewdly observed script is by Chris Lang (who wrote Unforgotten) and Richard’s distinguished previous credits include other scenarios rooted in real-life events, including Honour (with Keeley Hawes) and Mrs Wilson, Ruth Wilson’s account of astonishing episodes from her family history, in which she played her own grandmother.

                 No hiding place for a canoeist…the beach at Seaton Carew, County Durham where the story begins.

Picture: Trip-advisor

A welcome result of the otherwise unwelcome pandemic has been, for this website as an online  coaching resource, new connections across the globe, including mainland Europe, India and the Middle East as well as a range of locations in the UK.  And as the business world clicks back into gear, demand for presentation coaching is re-emerging, under our new communications banner, Peterson Lane Training, so at this address anyway, these worrisome days have at least been quite busy.

Recent acting clients have been experiencing their first term at drama school – for instance, at LAMDA, at the Oxford School of Acting and at GSA in Guilford. The UK drama schools, like our profession in general, have been reeling from the impact of the pandemic, and are striving to contain it by observing social distance, working in masks, etc while confronting the challenges arising from the BLM and Me Too issues which surfaced not long before Covid arrived. At the time of writing two of the leading schools – LAMDA and RADA – are currently without Principals, although I gather appointments will be announced soon. Those accepting the posts will be brave souls – these have never been jobs for the faint-hearted, but in today’s climate they will need exceptional resources of ingenuity, sensitivity, imagination and acres of patience.

I guess one benefit of recent restrictions has been, both for the applicants and the schools, a reduction in the cost of recruiting. Audition fees have dropped, and almost all the schools are using zoom or other on-line platforms for the “first round” of the process. This means that the new generation of actors will perforce have learned the basics of performing on camera before they even start formal training – which is just as well, since the massive boom in “box-set” TV drama spawned by the pandemic means that once trained they will more likely be working on screen rather than for “live” audiences. Given today’s news of a scary new variant, it’s clear that the Virus is far from defeated,  and thus that warnings and restrictions are unlikely be removed any time soon.

In September, grasping my Covid-test passport, I ventured into France, carefully taking all the required Covid tests on the way there and back, staying with friends on the southern coast and in the hills of the southwest. I can report that the beauty of that big country is undimmed, that the vitality of the citizens prevails in these trying times – and that they embrace the need for Covid awareness far, far more thoroughly than we do here. On all transport – planes, buses and trains – and in all gathering places, indoor or out – for instance in the open-air markets – everyone wears masks and all bars and restaurants require you to show proof of vaccination before you will be served. Although it has to be said that I did come across one, utterly charming exception – a small family circus on tour in the village of Mirandol, near to my friend Jenny’s  lovely home in the hills above the River Viaur in the Département du Tarn, where audience participation over-ruled the masks!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

As winter storms our islands, as the wretched and dispossessed perish in the waters we share with France while politicians blather, here are images of the calm and beauty we will, hopefully before too long, reclaim – irrespective of borders…

      The coast at Le Cap d’Antibes,  chez mes amis Kate et Doug

 

The River Tarn at Albi and morning mist at Mirandol

Yesterday Storm Arwen approached the Thames Valley, its outriders looming over Hampton Wick. Today windows rattle, waves rush and tumble on the river ahead of a wild, vengeful north wind.

 

On a wall at Toulouse Airport there is a poem, part of which translates as “On an infinite horizon/plays the theatre of our affections/At the turn of springtime/ we shall find each other once more…”

And in the meantime, Christmas will happen. If like me it’s now that you start scratching your head for ideas for presents, here’s a couple of book suggestions.

If you are trying to cope with bereavement, or someone you know is, “Good Grief” by Catherine Mayer and Anne Mayer Bird is a remarkable book of sane, helpful reflections by a mother and daughter both bereaved within weeks of each other, and will soon be available in paperback.

Another highly recommended best-seller, already in both hard cover and paperback, is Kadie Kanneh-Mason’s account of bringing up a houseful of seven wonderfully musical children  “House of Music”, which last week garnered the 2021 Royal Philharmonic Storyteller Award.

Both of these books bring inspiration, and celebrate in totally different ways the need always to seize, cherish and use well our time on this bruised, uneasy planet. And yesterday we lost one of the most inspiring talents of all time, the great tune-maker and wordsmith, Stephen Sondheim.

“Wishes may bring problems, so that you regret them, better that though than to never get them”

Into the Woods, lyrics and tunes by Stephen Sondheim, book by James Lapine, 1986.

This morning as a tribute BBC Radio 3 played a recording of Dame Judi Dench performing “Send in the Clowns” from Sondheim’s A Little Night Music. This you can watch at: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=yvZex3Qf7QQ