Stratford-Upon-Avon

A visit to Stratford that was simultaneously both completely spontaneous and several months in the planning.

This time last year we were in Stratford to see "A Christmas Carol", and we combined that with some Christmas shopping.  At the time we acknowledged how much we enjoyed walking around a smaller and quieter shopping centre for a change.

Some months ago the RSC announced that this year's festive production would be The Boy in the Dress, which neither for us felt drawn to; however, the attraction of a pre-Christmas shopping trip still remained.  Accordingly, we decided that we would, uncharacteristically, leave the planning of any such trip until the last minute, which would ensure that we would be able to take advantage of any late-breaking hotel deals, and not run the risk of booking something only to find that seasonal coughs or colds prevented us from going.

And so it was that, with only 24 hours notice, we booked one bargain night at The Arden Hotel and packed a couple of small bags.

With the desperately disappointing but almost entirely expected general election results all over the news, we woke on the Friday morning even more grateful that we had something nice to look forward to.  A straightforward run to Stratford.

The rooms at The Arden are all named after trees, and laid out alphabetically:

Home for the next 24 hours:

Amanda seemed quite excited to be away:

Your correspondent affected a somewhat more laid-back demeanour:

A quick freshen up and then out  for a walk round the town and to pick up some stocking-fillers.  Firstly, over the road to the "almost immediately adjacent" Royal Shakespeare Theatre and its associated shop.  This (genuine but decommissioned) telephone box was filled to capacity with footballs all emblazoned with "The Boy in the Skirt" as a form of advertising:

The view along Henley Street:

That rarest of things - a photograph of Shakespeare's birthplace without any tourists in view:

This shop stocks nothing but Christmas-related paraphernalia 365 days a year:

We knew from experience that the Christmas 'tree' would look much better in the dark:

Presents and cards purchased, we returned to the hotel for a short rest, and then out again to Edward Moon for dinner.

Not our usual table, but still one that gave us a reasonable view of what was going on:

The House Burger and chips, and panroasted lamb, mashed potatoes, minted redcurrant pan gravy and vegetables; I shall insult no-one's intelligence by asking you to guess whose was which:

After this and sweets we were both happy bunnies:

Out into the fresh night air for a further perambulation:

Back to the hotel, where the news continued to depress, before a good night's sleep provided some respite.

The next morning, and checking on the weather:

Down to breakfast:

The Royal Shakespeare Theatre across the road:

The hi-vis vests in the distance were worn by Saturday morning runners tracing the route of the river through the town:

A final walk round the town.

There is something slightly old-fashioned, cramped and steamy about the town centre branch of Costa, which means that I find it the perfect place for a pre-Christmas beverage and a spot of people-watching, reminding me as it does of too many after-school hours spent sitting in a coffee bar discussing what was wrong with the world and how we were going to change it.

Back to the car and time to head home - significantly more relaxed than we had any right to feel after only 24 hours away and given the state that the country was now in:

London Jazz Festival - 4

By this stage, energy levels, and my ability to recall to mind all details of the day, had started to flag.

Breakfast at Pret on Euston Road and then a cab to the north end of Marylebone High Street.

First stop was one of my absolute favourite bookshops, Daunt Books.  It is a rare visit when I depart without having added at least two or three books to my wish-list.

Dodgy looking geezer checking out the window display:

Amanda does like a nice Christmas-themed thriller display:

A stroll down to Oxford Street to check out the furniture department in Marks and Spencer, which we were disappointed to find was no better stocked than the one at Fosse Park.

More walking to Piccadilly, where we visited another favourite bookshop, Hatchards:

More walking, back to the hotel to rest and freshen up and then out to the Tottenham Court Road branch of Honest Burgers:

and then on to Wigmore Street and Wigmore Hall:

Amazing decor and architecture inside:

We were there to see Swedish bassist Lars Danielsson and his band.

Left to right - French pianist Grégory Privat, Lars Danielsson, British guitarist John Parricelli and Swedish drummer Magnus Öström:

With the exception of Öström we had not seen any of this band before.  Seeing Öström again was bittersweet; he was the drummer in the Esbjörn Svensson Trio (EST) until, in 2008, his lifelong friend Svensson died tragically at the age of 44 in a SCUBA-diving accident. We had seen EST many times, and I can still remember the shock of Amanda relaying the news to me from the radio late one night.

Privat, Öström and Danielsson signing autographs after the gig:

Out, and a cab back to the hotel to pack in anticipation of our departure the next morning.

The trains being 'back to normal' we returned via St Pancras.

I have to say that this Eiffel Tower, made of expensive French perfume bottles and standing in place of a Christmas tree, did cause me to think that, when it came to celebrating the birth of the Saviour of mankind, the management at St Pancras couldn't have got it much more wrong if they had tried...

An uneventful journey home, exhausted but happy.

London Jazz Festival - 3

A day of rest, free of concerts (or so we thought).  Out, and along Euston Road to Pret for breakfast.  

St Pancras in the distance:

The British Library:

Out, and a long, slow perambulation down to the Strand:

and eventually into Trafalgar Square.  The view down Whitehall:

Dodgy looking geezer ("Psst - wanna buy an art gallery - going cheap"...):

Into Soho and to the Old Compton Street branch of Herman ze German:

Bratwurst and fries:

Bratwurst, fries, crispy fried onions, mustard and ketchup:

Over lunch we debated the merits of squeezing in another concert that evening.  New York pianist Emmet Cohen was playing at the Soho Pizza Express jazz club that night, and on the basis of the one CD of his that I had so far managed to acquire, this was a gig I was likely to enjoy.  On the other hand, at this late hour for booking the seats were unlikely to be prime, and it was supposed to be a rest day...

I called the venue; yes, they confirmed, there were tables available, but they were right at the back or side of the room.  I thanked them and hung up.  More discussion.  "Stuff it", I said, "I really want to see this guy - are you up for it?".  

I called back and made the booking.

Back out into Soho and down to Charing Cross Road for a visit to Foyles.

X marks the spot; if ever we can't find each other in the shop, this is our agreed meeting spot:

Back to the hotel for a rest and freshen up, and then to the Pizza Express.

As already indicated, our table was right at the back and on the side.  We sat and surveyed the room, and I realised that the table behind me would offer much better views.  I went back to the maître d and asked if we could swap; he checked his clipboard and agreed that we could.  

As I started to turn away I noticed a small pile of Cohen CDs on the table beside him; one of them was an album that I had long been trying to purchase, but which seemed to be out of print in this country and prohibitively expensive to import.  "Are those for sale?", I asked, somewhat redundantly.  "I'll take one - I loved the first one in the series and have been trying to get this one for ages".  "Bless you", said a voice beside me, and I realised that Cohen had been standing beside the maître d' all along...

CD acquired, we moved to our new table, with which we were well pleased:

Views of the room:

Every one of these tables was eventually occupied to capacity:

The announcer reminded everyone to switch mobiles, etc to silent and to keep all unnecessary noise to a minimum, noting that this was a concert and not "dinner with background music"; the band took to the stage and the concert started:

Mid-way through the first number two young women arrived, caused enormous disruption to everyone around them while they squeezed into their seats, ordered a bottle of wine... ...and then proceeded to discuss their respective days in voices that increased in volume the louder the band played...

The two young men on the table adjacent to them looked uncomfortable but said nothing.  I lasted about three minutes and then leaned over to gently admonish them: "Could you please shut the hell up - you're ruining it for everyone else".  They did (and at the end of the evening one of them had the good grace to come over and apologise).  It's all in a day's work for "Extraneous Concert Noise Monitor"...

Emmet between numbers:

Bassist Yasushi Nakamura:

On drums and occasional vocals, Bryan Carter:

Guesting on trumpet for a couple of numbers, British trumpeter Mark Kavuma:

The band take their leave; this being the London Jazz Festival the curfew had not been observed too precisely, and it was well past 23.00:

Out, and up to Oxford Street:

 where we eventually hailed a cab back to the hotel.