Category Archives: London Love

A Litany On London Largesse

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Since coming back from holidays just over five weeks ago, I have been struck by how many great things there are to do in London, particularly when it comes to activities of the stage variety. And I have to admit that I’ve been a little lax in sharing this largesse with my lovely Gidday-ers so I thought I’d make this post a litany of my recent cultural adventures.

I’d been back not much more than a week when I popped down to Sadlers Wells to see Matthew Bourne’s Sleeping Beauty. Regular readers might remember my first Matthew Bourne experience last year and I was really looking forward to his take on this traditional tale.

And I was not disappointed. A combination of modern irreverance and gothic spirit cast their magic over the story and I found myself enchanted by Bourne’s mastery all over again. There were moments of laughter and darkness and beauty throughout and I left the auditorium wondering whether I’d get an opportunity to see the balance of Bourne’s Tchaikovsky triumvirate – Swan Lake and The Nutcracker – anytime soon. Sleeping Beauty has left Sadler’s Wells and is touring so you may have the chance to see it somewhere near you.

Sunday before last I went to see Argentinian company Tango Fire’s show, Flames of Desire. This had been inspired by a half price ticket deal in The Metro on my morning commute earlier the same week. 

For two hours the auditorium thrummed with passionate pas de deux, fleet feet and erotic attitude as the five couples, musicians and a rather smooth crooner brought the milonga (late night dance hall of Buenos Aires) to life. It was heart-stoppingly, breath-takingly brilliant. And when the cast – musicians, singer and dancers – took their curtain calls at the end, their absolute delight in the thunderous applause from the audience was as wonderful to see as the performance they had just given us.

And most recently, it was dinner and a show last Friday night with a friend. Again a deal dropped into my lap a couple of weeks ago and after a fabulous feed at Italian restaurant  Polpo near Carnaby Street, we took our seats for the greatest of musicals, A Chorus Line.

While I’d seen the 1985 movie starring Michael Douglas, I’d never seen the show. I am thrilled to report that this oversight has been corrected.

Because thrilled I was.

Every foot-tapping, fractious moment held me in thrall. The individual stories laid bare on the stage before the darkened auditorium: the pert, the cynical, the world-weary and the hopeful. The rediscovery of tunes I knew but had buried themselves in my memory. The cleverness of the choreography, entwining itself around the differences in shape, size, style and attitude of each dancer to create a whole truly greater than the sum of its parts.

And the culmination of all of this in the finale, ‘One’. One moment in the presence of an amazing cast and the most quintessential show tune of all time – a ‘singular sensation’ of glamour and celebration and synergy. Which took A Chorus Line to my all-time top 3, sharing my trinity of musical favourites with Les Miserables and Chicago.

Such is London’s largesse that I’ve managed to see all of these in the space of a month. Life may not always arrange itself so supportively – and cost-effectively – around my cultural interests, but let me assure you that I intend to grab every ‘moment’.

Another Spotlit Stage…

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It all started in Seville in 2002. It was an additional excursion, added on top of an already busy trip. Tourist-y it may have been but it was spell-binding.

In the deepening twilight, we’d driven down from our dinner in the hillside village of Mijas Pueblo to join the throngs at a tablaos flamencos in Seville. It was crowded and we had to push our way through to our reserved seating in the front rows (one of the perks of much-maligned organised tours). 

Before long the show began: the pounding feet, arched poses and haughty profiles holding my attention, challenging me to avert my gaze elsewhere if I dared. Women danced, men danced, women and men danced together. Skirts and shawls swirled and swayed, fingers flicked and clicked and the cantaores (singers) wailed and clapped. It was powerful and passionate and provocative.

Then a small man took the stage. He was not handsome or well-built. He had a hard, weathered face and a small wiry frame.  But he exuded a raw magnetism and as his heels started their gentle tempo against the floor, he looked out into the darkened audience over his hooked nose, turned swiftly, sharply and raised his arms.

From my seat in the front row, I could feel the heat of his body, see the beads of sweat rising on his face as he pounded the floor. I held my breath, my heart thumping in my chest and my eyes glued to this stomping, whirling, arrogant dervish in front of me. It seemed to last forever and be over in a minute. As he remained still for that last time, it was a few seconds before I could leap to my feet and applaud, so mesmerised was I by his performance.

Ten years later, my pulse still races when I remember the man on that small stage in Seville, dancing with such arrogance and magnetism. And it fuelled an ongoing desire to immerse myself in that wonderful Flamenco spirit at every opportunity.

This weekend I went to see Paco Pena and his Flamenco Dance Company at Sadler’s Wells. It’s the third time I have been to see this unassuming master of plucking, picking and strumming since I’ve lived in London and he has lost none of his musical magic.

This latest show, Quimeras, is a fusion of Spain and Africa. It is filled with foot stamping, arm waving movement that spends two hours weaving in and out of haunting wails and tempestuous rhythms. It was unbelievably good. So good that I was on my feet at the end, cheering and clapping until my arms hurt.


Yet for all its wonderful-ness, as I walked back to Angel tube station, my mind wandered and I was taken back to another small man on another spotlit stage.

My heart skipped a beat and my soul soared again.

Musical Memories…

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This month has been a busy one but over the last fortnight, I’ve managed to squeeze in a few musical meanders down memory lane.

Inspired by my recent dip into Krakow’s musical smorgasbord, the opportunity to experience a little more of the same at the end of a quick tube ride into London seemed too good to be true. But there’s nothing to lose so my first foray was a visit to the King’s Place Festival on September 15th to see Sacconi Quartet.

The four members of this string quartet met at The Royal College of Music and discovered a shared vision for bringing chamber music alive for a new generation. Their first program at the festival, Sacconi Sound Bites, featured five of their favourites, each introduced by one of the four, while the second – Bartok’s Third Quartet: What’s Under The Bonnet? – was led by violinist Ben Hancox, who explained the musical language behind this ‘contemporary piece’ before the quartet played it from start to finish. Sacconi Quartet’s passion oozed from every pore whether they were playing or speaking about the pieces and it was a thoroughly enjoyable few hours. I reviewed it on Weekend Notes so if you want to know more, click here.

A few days later I took a trip down a very particular musical memory lane.

26 years ago I sat in a darkened Dress Circle on the other side of the world and fell in love. And as I sat in London’s Queen’s Theatre and the first notes began, I knew. Les Miserables, without a doubt, remains the best musical ever.

Waiting for the show to start

I love the complexity and grit in the story, the intricacy of characterisation, particularly beyond the leads (just when you think you’ve seen the last of characters like Gavroche and the Thernadiers, they appear again) and the music. Oh how I love the music: On My Own, One Day More, Lovely Ladies, Bring Him Home, Master Of The House, Do You Hear The People Sing. Every note made my skin bristle and my heart fill. I left the theatre uplifted…and sang the songs in my head all the way home (and for many days after).

And then last weekend I ventured to Hackney Picturehouse to see The Eye Of The Storm, part of FilmFest Australia’s final weekend. There’s a tone and cadence that I think is unique to Australian films – understated, almost everyday, with an intense undercurrent. This story follows brother (Geoffrey Rush), sister (Judy Davis) and mother (Charlotte Rampling) as they engage in a fierce and often unspoken battle with their past.

Geoffrey Rush plays Basil in The Eye Of The Storm Image Source: IMDb
There’s a scene of aftermath in the movie which I found really poignant, the swirling music and windswept scene taking me back to my childhood. (I lived in Far North Queensland for 18 months as a child). Long story short – it’s a brilliant film and if you get the opportunity to see it, don’t miss it.

So that’s three fantastic outings and three opportunities for me to do a little nostalgic wandering.

I love living in London!

From The Cheap Seats…

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It would appear that my first 43 years on the planet have been so bereft of cultural pursuits that, as I am wont to do after a birthday, last weekend found me looking around for a new thing(s) to experience. Two years ago it was baking, last year it was polo (the pony kind).  And this year it’s opera.

Opera has been one of the few ‘Arts’ that I have not readily subscribed too. I love classical music but the combination of singing I don’t understand and high prices has been a particular deterrent. That’s where a bit of community clever-ness came in from my lovely local The Phoenix Cinema.

Being an independent arthouse cinema, The Phoenix doesn’t need to subscribe to the wants and desires of a head office and experiments with its schedule to inspire the local community. In partnership with Glyndebourne 2012’s Opera Season, it’s running two live screenings of the performances there this weekend. Tomorrow is a double bill of two 1 Act operas from Ravel. The other – Mozart’s The Marriage of Figaro – was screened last night and that’s where I was.

As cinema lights dimmed, the camera lit on the empty stage with its ‘Moorish Palace’ backdrop, the familiar strains of the overture began and soon the space was filled with hustle and bustle, music and colour…and a vintage red and cream Austin Healey.

Glyndebourne’s re-telling of this famous tale is set in the Seville of the swinging 60s. If you don’t know the story, it follows the trials and tribulations of Figaro and his lady love Susanna as they plan their wedding. There’s lots of hi-jinx and trickery, cross and double-cross in the tale (a bit like a Shakespearean comedy such as A Midsummer Night’s Dream or Twelfth Night) and with the aid of English subtitles, the familiarity of the music (I love Mozart’s music and it wasn’t until I sat through this that I realised how much of his musical bounty I had actually heard before) and the captivating performances, it made the whole experience a really enjoyable one – although as an opera neophyte, I could not tell you one aria from the other.

So in short, I loved it. And I paid £13.00 and was home 20 minutes after I’d left the auditorium.

I am sure that experiencing opera live, and especially in the gorgeous surrounds at Glyndebourne, is fantastic. But for someone who wasn’t sure it would all be worth it, getting a taste from the cheap seats was a perfect way to dip my proverbial toe into the water.

The other thing to say is this: I really admire Glyndebourne (and some of the other companies that will feature over the coming months) in their vision of bringing opera to the masses. While I’m a known champion of the written word (and quite frankly anything that promotes it), having access to art in all of its myriad expressions is such a wonderful opportunity and one of the things I love about living in London and more specifically, the ecclectic and fabulous Finchley.

The Marriage of Figaro actually follows on from the story in another Mozart opera, The Barber of Seville – the protagonists have grown older by the time we see them in 60s Seville and rather than lead, form backdrops (and a few barriers) to Susanna and Figaro’s impending nuptials – so you can guess what I’ll be keeping an eye out for in order to dip my other toe.

And as ever, I’m hopeful that my search will all turn out in the end – just like the marriage of Figaro and Susanna – with a joyful celebration and me drifting off into the warm and hazy night, humming a little Mozart to myself on the way home.

Inspired By…Local Colour

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This afternoon I have been cosied up on the couch with the Diamond Jubilee River Pageant on telly in the background. The banks of the Thames are alive with cheering folk and British-themed bunting, adding a whole lot of local colour to an otherwise grey and drizzly London day.

But this is not a Jubilee post – having already given a nod to Her Majesty just last week – but rather a celebration of local colour right here in Fab Finchley…at our local railway station.

Finchley Central station is on the Northern Line (High Barnet branch) of the London Underground. It was originally opened in 1867 as Finchley & Hendon on a line that ran between Finsbury and Edgware. In 1872 a branch line to High Barnet was constructed and in 1894, the station was renamed Finchley (Church End). It was incorporated into the London Underground network during the 1930s and took its current name – Finchley Central – on April 1st, 1940.

Last night I went into London to see The Duchess of Malfi at The Old Vic so I set off to catch the tube from Finchley Central as usual. The early evening sky was traditional bank holiday grey and I whizzed through the ticket barrier, down the stairs and on to the open air platform hoping that the skies would not see fit to open upon my arrival there. (Contrary to popular belief, parts of the London Underground are not, in fact, under ground.) And not for the first time, I gasped softly in delight.

You see, Platform 3 (for trains travelling south to London) had been transformed into a riot of glorious Spring colour. I’ve seen this testament to green thumbed locals before but the last few weeks of rain – sun – rain has brought forth vibrant purples, bashful pinks, delicate whites and golden yellows in abundance. And as a picture paints a thousand words, here’s a little photo tour for you that I prepared earlier (I love my HTC Desire):


This was my first glimpse – look at all that glorious colour!
Here’s a little nod to the Olympics – but keep this under your hat. We wouldn’t want the organisers to know!
There was some Union Jack-ery in evidence too…
…and a sweet attempt at prettying up ‘Bill Steamshovel’.
There were also a few quirky critters dotted around.
There were a few of these piggy planters…



…a bee who’d come to see a man about a dog…
..and some sheep (a big ‘un and a lil ‘un).
And what’s this hiding in the grass? More quirk-ery perhaps?
It looks to me like a bunny with ears made of carrots!

Isn’t it pretty? There’s real sense of pride – not to mention fun – evident as you walk along the length of the garden and I caught myself smiling as I discovered each of its quirky inhabitants.

So it’s a big (green) thumbs up to the folk at Finchley Central Tube station for making my damp, grey evening just a little less grey. Well done old chaps!

The 39 Steps…British and Brilliant!

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Last night I popped down to The Criterion in Piccadilly Circus to see The 39 Steps. I read the book several years ago and then saw the Hitchcock film (with its amended ending) so I was looking forward to seeing how this tale of murder and mystery translated not only on to the stage but also into a comedy as well.

The play follows the Hitchcock movie plot pretty faithfully and there’s a clever mix of effects, movement and acting which allows for the transition of each stage of Richard Hannay’s thrilling and fast-moving tale.

The show is billed as 4 actors playing 130 characters over 100 minutes. The three female roles – the predatory Annabella Schmidt, the innocent Margaret and the ‘do-right’ Pamela – are played by Catherine Bailey.

Catherine Bailey plays Pamela, love interest for the protagonist, Richard Hannay

These are necessary roles in the story and Catherine does a great job with all of them. But this play, by its very nature, throws its male characters into the limelight.

Andrew Alexander plays Hannay with manic, John Cleese-ian fervour moving from privileged languor to adolescent awkwardness to splendidly British stoicism as Hannay evades the law, the criminal and any costume changes. 

The police chase through the train and across the roof achieves just the right mix of panicked flight  

That leaves 126 characters. And these are brought to life by Stephen Critchlow and Ian Hughes providing moment after moment of comic ingenuity…

An early moment of hilarity from Stephen Critchlow and Ian Hughes

So it is indeed 4 actors playing 130 characters over 100 minutes.

It is also inordinately clever and brilliantly funny. If you are in London and fancy anything from a giggle to a guffaw, make sure you catch this.

Open Day…Opening Minds…

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I’m just back from The Guardian newspaper’s inaugural Open Day. I hadn’t really heard much about it until this week but was drawn in by an email inviting me (as a subscriber to all things Guardian Book Club) to an interview with Robert Harris to celebrate the 20th anniversary of his first novel, Fatherland.

I’ve not read Fatherland but I have read Imperium and Pompeii (see number 41. in 2011’s Book Nook exploits). So based on these two and a successful first Guardian Book Club outing late last year, I bought myself a ticket.

The premise of Fatherland is this: What would happen if Hitler had won the war?  It’s an interesting idea. What sort of world might we live in now had just one or two things fallen Hitler’s way?

There is actually a genre for this sort of book – Alternate History – where facts are extruded into the what if scenarios of the author’s imagination and with Harris’ CV including time as political editor at The Observer, I was looking forward to an interesting discussion.

And what a thought provoking hour it turned out to be. Harris admitted that he had not read this novel since it was published in 1992 but spoke of his love for finding out the facts and then exploring the possibilities around them. Not for him the realms of pure fantasy: he actually likened his lack of appreciation to garlic and vampires. But his passion for his genre was evident as he spoke about the extraordinary lifecycle of power and politics, proposing views of his own and discussing the opinions of others. 

His own exploration of political power both as a political journalist/editor and as a writer suggests to him that the horror of the Holocaust is not so far away from you and I: the persuasive nature of power nurtures behaviours which promote survival and he talked about the Nazi Party as simply a bunch of lawyers and administrators who, as the majority of humankind would do, protected their own interests – families, friends, life itself –  and found themselves embroiled in a new, albeit inconceivable, staus quo.

Harris also spoke of books he’s loved and Kingsley Amis and Martin Cruz-Smith rated a mention as writers of particular brilliance. (Although upon racing home, I was disappointed to find no mention of Gorky Park on Amazon’s list of e-books for Audrey – boo! I say).

Much to my relief the discussion was so varied and interesting that interviewer John Mullan did not have the opportunity to quiz Harris about the ending of Fatherland (which a book club interview usually does) so it is with unexpected curiosity that I can look forward to tucking into Fatherland sans spoilers.

Harris’ eloquence and his knowledge of and passion for his subject made the hour go very quickly and I’m glad I ignored the delights of my sunny back patio this afternoon for this opportunity to explore some new ideas. And as I wandered back to Kings Cross station in the sunshine, I found myself smitten all over again with this fabulous city I’ve come to call home. 

Bet You Thought I Forgot…

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It’s been a busy time here at Gidday HQ and with the end of the year fast approaching, there has been a notable absence of a tradition that has no doubt left long-time Gidday-ers breathing a sigh of relief wondering what has happened.

But fear not.

As I walked through London mid November, the lights were up in Regent and Oxford Streets.

Last weekend I braved London’s Southbank Market to do a little inspired present shopping.

Mum’s annual cross-the-miles Advent Calendar arrived last week in plenty of time.

This year’s theme is The Nutcracker and instead of chocolates or gifts, each window contains a little booklet which tells a part of the story.

Today, the Gidday tree went up and got all adorned with the trinkets from my travels (note to self: if one wants to travel next year and collect more bright, shiny objects, buy a bigger tree)…

…and the Christmas paper has been unearthed from its new home following last week’s frenzy of post-Freecycle nesting.

So my festive spirit has risen from the dust and left-over packing boxes to announce

there are just 20 sleeps to go until Christmas!

I’ll bet you thought I forgot.

A Tale of Two Cities…

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It’s official. Melbourne, my home town, is the world’s most livable city.

The Economist Intelligence Unit’s 2011 Livability Ranking has placed Australia’s Melbourne city as the most livable city in the world, with a score of 97.5. Austria’s Vienna and Canada’s Vancouver were ranked on the second and third places respectively among 140 cities. Source: www.economist.com

For those of you who haven’t been to Melbourne and are wondering why it won, here are a few snaps from my trip last Christmas.


Melbourne City View from South Bank (January 2011)
Eureka Tower at South Bank – a new addition since my last visit
The Palais at St Kilda – and that’s Luna Park in the background
Mentone Beach – lying on a beach towel (it was 26C and deserted, far too cold for the locals!)

There were also a few fond memories that the locals are likely to appreciate a little more than your average tourist:

Hamer Hall? The Greatest Show On Earth?  What a tribute!
Love is in the Air – The Myer Melbourne Christmas Windows featured The Nutcracker Suite last year
The best chips on the planet (yes chips, not crisps..bloody Poms!) – Burger Rings and Twisties!

But those of you who read my meanderings regularly, or know me well, know how much I love London:

Harrods from the top deck of the number 14 bus, a regular drive-by after a night out on the town
Tower of London – it was just there for the taking
View of the Thames from Putney Bridge (from another bus)
Richmond Park – splendor in the grass and right next door
Another delicate sunset – from the front window of my flat
The ice and snow last December – from my (then) office building
Footprints in the snow – where I’ve been

So in the livability stakes, it’s a tale of two cities for me.

The first is the one left behind laced with nostalgic and happy rememberings. 

And the second is the one where I am quietly proud of the new life I have built for myself. The one where, despite it’s lower ranking, I feel like I’ve come home.

Sleeps To Go…On A Small Island

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I have been reading Bill Bryson’s Notes From A Small Island during my commute this week and this morning, I read a page that really struck a chord.

One of the things I am asked by every second (or maybe third) Brit the minute they hear my accent is ‘what are you doing over here?’  Well, let me refer you to page 46 of Bryson’s tome:

“It has more history, finer parks, a livelier and more varied press (nowadays lively in a sinister, phone-tapping kind of way it would seem), better theatres…leafier squares…and more courageous inhabitants than any other large city in the world.”

He also talks about the ‘incidental civilities’

“cheery red pillar boxes, drivers who actually stop for you on pedestrian crossings …lovely forgotten churches …sudden pockets of quiet like Lincoln’s Inn and Red Lion Square…black cabs, double-decker buses…polite notices, people who will stop to help you when you fall down or drop your shopping, benches everywhere.”

 
It inspired me to think about some of the things I love about London and as I was gazing out of the window of the number 57 bus tonight, here are the first five that sprang to mind:

  • the light – it’s soft and beautiful and drapes itself gently over great expanses of countryside within 30mins of London
  • the fabulous place names – I am just dying to get on the bus to see what Seething Wells is all about and St Martin In The Field overlooks not a field but Trafalgar Square

  • the squirrels – skipping across the railing along my front garden, in the tree overhead, the little ones daring to venture a little way along my front path towards my open door before scurrying away at the behest of the bigger ones
  • the sun worship – with the merest hint of sunshine, Londoners appear from every nook and cranny and cram themselves along river banks, in parks and all sorts of public places to bask at lunchtime, after work, on weekends and any available opportunity
Source: Metro.co.uk
  • the irony – the Brit’s do that dry, dry wit better than anyone else – and really know how to poke gentle fun at themselves (and others) as a result.

There are loads of other things and I could go on (and on and on) but this post was inspired by someone else’s vision of the place I call home.  So what about you?  I’d love hear what you love about London, whether it’s your home, your home-away-from-home, a memory captured for holiday posterity or a trigger for the nostalgic yearning of days gone by.

What do you consider worthy of note about this small island? 

ps…there are 20 sleeps to go peeps…that’s less than 3 weeks for all your Gidday shopping and shipping. Just as well I’m super-prepared with my wishlist at the ready should any of you need a little helping hand.  I mean let’s face it, who has to have a wedding to partake of one of those Bridal Register thingies?