Lunch in Istanbul

After a hard evening at the theatre, we felt we deserved a break, so zoomed across town to one of our favourite restaurants.  Sadly, when our meals (Yogurtlu Adana Kofte for your correspondent and Yogurtlu Kuzu Shish for his partner in crime) arrived we abandoned the camera and fell to eating - so this shot of me tucking into the complimentary bread, dips and olives will have to suffice.

Twelfth Night - Shakespeare's Globe - London

Down to London for a first for both of us - a night at Shakespeare's Globe to see Twelfth Night:

On arrival at St Pancras we crossed Euston Road and headed into Bloomsbury.  Our first stop was Judd Books, which we saw on our previous visit to the area, but which we had had no time to investigate.  Today we stopped, and immediately this item from my current (and ever expanding) 'want' list was spotted and acquired at a fraction of its cover price:

Sadly, I felt obliged to leave on the shelf the secondhand biography of JFK on sale for £63.50.

Continuing on, we paid our second visit to Skoob Books in the course of two weeks.   On our previous visit I had seen, dithered over and ultimately decided against purchasing, these two gems - a decision I came to regret the moment it became too late to rectify.  This time there was no such wavering:

I can't remember exactly when I started to read Ed McBain's "87th Precinct" series of (US) police procedurals - I guess I was in my late teens or early twenties.  The early Penguin editions are so much more attractive than later ones, and this particular title has also been on my 'want' list for a while.  "The Great Escape", written by an Australian fighter pilot who lived in the camp from which the titular breakout occurred, is also available in more modern editions than this one from 1957 - but, really, can you imagine a more beautiful cover?  (Later addition: See here for an interesting comment from another Penguin fan.)

On to a branch of Pret A Manger opposite Russell Square underground station (seen in the background in these two pictures):

A later Google search revealed that the oxblood red tiles seen on the facade of this and a number of other Tube stations are the result of a design decision by the architect Leslie Green, who died at the age of 33.

Acceptably refreshed, we continued by Tube to St Paul's, where Amanda, emerging into the sunshine, asked if we were in the right place, as the immediacy and enormous scale of the cathedral just a few yards away meant that, paradoxically, it was hard to see...

No such problems here as we headed down Peter's Hill towards the river:

and the Millennium Bridge:

Part way across we stopped to take in the view, including Shakespeare's Globe:

On arrival we acquainted ourselves with the local area and then located the entrance to the theatre:

After a quick drink in a nearby Starbucks we made our way into the theatre:

While in younger days I stood happily for hours at rock concerts, I now know my limitations, and we had therefore decided to forego the 'experience' of standing in the yard and had opted for seats in the Middle Gallery.

My usual rigorous research had confirmed that, unlike the three front rows of benches, the fourth row has a back against which to lean, and thus we found ourselves in the relative comfort of Section F, Row D (perching on cushions hired for the princely sum of £1 each).

During performances the "no photography" rule is enforced by a large number of volunteer helpers, but these pictures give some idea of the stage layout and the view we had from our seats:

The obligatory selfie:

So - what of the performance itself?  I lack the skills to provide a truly informed review, so I leave that to the professionals.  The Stage provides a useful summary of reviews from other publications, and for anyone wanting more details, these are all worth skimming:

• The Guardian

• The Independent

• The Telegraph

• The Arts Desk

• What's On Stage

• Time Out

• British Theatre Guide

We bought our tickets back in January, knowing nothing about the production itself, and relatively little about the controversy surrounding artistic director Emma Rice.  Over recent days I had started to read reviews of the production, and I confess that the more I read, the more I had come to have concerns about (that is, "dread") what we were about to see.

Never mind the transference of the action to a Scottish island in the 1970s (never properly explained, beyond the preponderance of kilts) - the insertion of musical numbers including "We Are Family" by Sister Sledge and the casting of Le Gateau Chocolat as Feste the fool were just a couple of concepts that persuaded me that, though this might be Shakespeare, it might not be Shakespeare as I like it...

And so it proved.  BUT I have to say that, in spite of that, I thoroughly enjoyed the show - for that's what it was - a show, which could have graced the stage of any West End  theatre.  By the end I was cheering as loudly as anyone, and had been completely won over by the sheer brio of the individual and collective performances.  I did have one reservation: Katie Owen's Malvolio was so funny (and, ultimately, endearing) that when the plot required other characters to turn on him and seek revenge, it seemed out of place; an article in the programme confirmed that this was an issue with which Rice herself had struggled.

So, in summary, a great show, but not necessarily great Shakespeare.

Visiting the Littlies

To South Yorkshire for the day, to visit little friends (and their Mum!).

The youngest, LMT, shows his appreciation for most things by dribbling on them - as evidenced by my shirt:

His sister, LLA, is never camera shy:

and his brother, LBD, is always at the centre of the fun:

Amanda gets the same attention:

though by now it seems that LMT has other things (such as food) on his mind:

Back to his default setting:

A happy day, with many reminders of my own childhood.

London - Shopping

Up, bags stored and out onto Euston Road, and time for a quick photo of St Pancras Station:

Along Judd Street and around the outside of The Brunswick (see here and here) to reach the palindromically named Skoob Books - to find that they were not yet open.  Completing a full circuit of The Brunswick we then made our way instead to Persephone Books:

- which was also "not yet open" but somewhat less so than Skoob.  A quick circuit of the adjacent block and we were amongst the first customers through their doors; on that basis, "She Who Would Like To Be Obeyed" thought it only polite to make a purchase (of which, more later).

More walking, aiming now for the London Review Bookshop.  This establishment has the magical effect of making me feel more intelligent just by crossing the threshold.

Our first port of call was the integral Cake Shop, but we resisted temptation and settled on a couple of drinks - a ginger beer for your correspondent and an iced tea (served in the seemingly de rigueur jam jar) for Amanda:

who then very kindly treated me to a belated anniversary present in the form of the latest volume of Alan Bennett's memoirs, made all the more acceptable by having been signed by the man himself:

In 1968 I was lucky enough (though I hardly appreciated it at the time) to see Bennett perform in his own first play - "Forty Years On" - at the Apollo Theatre in the West End.  In that production, one of Bennett's fellow teachers was played by Paul Eddington (later of "The Good Life" and "Yes, Minister" fame).  The headmaster was played by John Gielgud.

In 1987, Thames Television broadcast a drama series based on the collection of short stories "The London Embassy" by Paul Theroux (see here, here and here for three surviving episodes). I loved the series, but confess that this might have something to do with the little crush I had on the actress Betsy Brantley in later episodes - here she is just after meeting American consul Spencer Savage for the first time, and being introduced to "Margaret Thatcher".

Since only 6 of the nearly 20 short stories were adapted for broadcast, I bought this copy of the book and devoured the rest:

So what is the point of this aside? Moving on to 2001, Amanda and I were engaged in one of our fairly regular tours of second-hand bookshops on London's Charing Cross Road, and in Henry Pordes Books we found that they were in the process of selling the contents of John Gielgud's library, following his death the year before.  There, on the shelf, was this little gem:

and on the inside flyleaf:

I didn't buy it.  I'll say that again: I didn't buy it.

It was only when I got home that I realised what I had let slip through my fingers.  I shall, therefore, be forever indebted to Amanda, who phoned the shop the next day and bought it as a present for me.

After this stroll down memory lane - out into Bury Place, and looking up Gilbert Place to Centre Point:

At the time of writing, a three-bedroom apartment on one of the higher floors of this, the West End's only residential high-rise, will set you back around £5M.  Whenever I think about Centre Point, though, the chill wind of the Cold War wafts through my mind.

Young people today may not appreciate that conspiracy theories and agit-prop predate the internet by quite some time - it's just that in 'olden days' the medium of choice (and necessity) was usually paper.  In my late teens I read Peter Laurie's "Beneath the City Streets".  What started as a simple survey of Britain's civil defences, and a discussion of the probability of the 'man in the street' surviving a nuclear, biological or chemical attack, went on to specify, in some detail, what steps were being taken to ensure the continuation of government after such an event.

Laurie posited that Centre Point (which had been standing empty for six years since its completion) was being kept empty so that it could be quickly brought into service as a shelter against biological and chemical attack, to be occupied as a 'hub of government'.  Laurie went on to state that the then owner, Harry Hyams, was paying to the Greater London Council the ("ludicrously low") ground rent of "£18,500 a year for a fixed term of 150 years".  He further asserted that "Hyams was being paid a heavy but secret subsidy to keep it empty".

A flight of fancy?  Who knows - but the government at the time took the claims sufficiently seriously to produce a formal response - perhaps one day I'll visit The National Archives and take a look at it...

Along Bury Place, past the practice of architects Rodić Davidson immediately adjacent to the LRB.  Why mention this?  Because their window display was, to me, a thing of beauty.  Sadly, the bright sun shining directly onto the windows prevented me from getting a picture, so a description will have to suffice.  On display, in half a dozen open-fronted birch plywood boxes each about two feet square, were over a hundred vintage wood-working tools and toolboxes that had been owned and used by the cabinet-maker grandfather of one of the two directors.  (For the back-story, see here.)

I lost my own cabinet-maker grandfather in 1978, and inherited from him his tool box, and also a bulging tool chest owned by his father before him:

They are prized possessions, and the tool box in particular has remained essentially unchanged over the last nearly 40 years; tools that my grandfather kept in that box continue to be kept in that box - they belong together and are a constant and happy reminder of the hours I spent learning to use them (literally) at his knee.

On to Great Russell Street, past the British Museum, to L. Cornelissen & Son.  If the LRB can seem to magically increase one's IQ, Cornelissens can seem to transport one back in time.  Opened in 1855, this art shop appears to be almost unchanged since then.  With not an artistic bone in my body I resisted temptation; the same cannot be said of Amanda (of which, more later).

From Great Russell Street onto Tottenham Court Road, where refreshments were taken at (and Boris bikes inspected from) a conveniently located Pret a Manger:

Back to the The Brunswick, and Skoob Books, where temptations were endured but not succumbed to.

And so finally back to the Premier Inn to collect bags, across to St Pancras and the train home - where "She Who Would Like to Be Obeyed" was finally able to appreciate her day's purchases:

Branford Marsalis and Kurt Elling - Barbican - London

Wimbledon Men's Final day, but we were off down to London, to see Kurt Elling and the Branford Marsalis Quartet at the Barbican Hall.  We had seen both before, but separately, so this would be a first.  The collaboration started a year ago, with a well-received album, Upward Spiral, so the indications were that this would be something special.  

To combine the concert with some shopping we had booked a night in the St Pancras Premier Inn on Euston Road.  This view from our room shows The British Library and, behind it, the roof of the amazing Francis Crick Institute.  On the left, beyond the cranes and on the horizon, is the greenery of Hampstead Heath.

To the right can be seen St Pancras station itself:

But we had no time to admire the view - we were on a mission; the programme:

The stage:

Two slightly over-excited audients in a state of anticipation:

So how was the concert?  In a word - superb.  When two major artists come together like this, there is always the possibility of a clash of egos.  No such worries here - each left plenty of space for the other to shine, and on a number of occasions, both men took to the shadows while the rhythm section worked up not just one storm but a succession throughout the night.  

The gorgeous first encore, "I'm a Fool to Want You" - partly composed by Frank Sinatra - involved just the two principals, with Marsalis's saxophone and Elling's voice swirling around each other almost interchangeably.  I found the second encore, involving guests from the audience (pianist Julian Joseph and vocalist Cleveland Watkiss) less entertaining - though this was not a view that seemed to be shared by the rest of the crowd, who went wild for it.

For me, though,  musically and emotionally the high spot of the evening was the performance of the Sting song "A Practical Arrangement" - performed here in the more intimate setting of the New Morning club in Paris.  (Trivia note: Marsalis's connection with Sting goes back a long way; anyone who watched Sting at the 1985 Live Aid concert will already have seen a collaboration between these two, probably without even realising it.  To close the loop - here are Sting and Jo Lawry performing a slightly modified version of "A Practical Arrangement").

For anyone who'd like to read a professional review,  these in the Financial Times and The Prickle are worth a look.

And so, by Tube, back to our hotel.

The Tempest - Barbican Theatre - London

Having missed the production at the RST in Stratford we decided to catch "The Tempest" during its run at the Barbican Theatre - our first visit there.

Homework:

Your correspondent checking out the merchandise in the recently relocated Barbican shop:

and again, waiting to go into the auditorium: