A visit to Cheshire

A weekend away visiting old friends is always nice. And for a bachelor the bonus of a short trial of family life. Especially nice as I get treated as part of the family, eg the kids give me as much cheek as they would their parents. Well rather more actually.

Having gone up Friday lunchtime I was in time to see their youngest arrive home from his last day at school before the summer break, bringing with him his stonking good school report. Mother almost bursting with pride. Not unnaturally, as he is a lovely fun kid even without the added bonus of being good at school. And then we took him to sailing club whereupon he proceeded to far outpace his friends in their little sailing boats. More parental pride. Mother virtually splitting at seams by now. So sweet.

But, one has to ask, are kids a good commercial investment? Probably years before you get any financial return. That's not the point you say. Mm, well maybe that's why I never had my own, but suggest the borrowing of others for short periods is the best answer. You get the pleasure (for a period) without the cost and still able to do other things that parents don't seem to get round to anymore. Like gigs and theatre. A  loan system may be the solution. It works in football.

But my other conclusion is that 12 is a nice age. It certainly works on this lad.

Saturday we went to Biddulph Grange Gardens, a National Trust property in North Staffs. A sort of Victorian theme park with lots of follies - Egyptian tombs, Indian monuments, a Chinese garden. A place you could get lost in even on a small site.  Well worth a visit even if its not really a colourful flower garden.

Sunday was another garden, but rather closer - Abbeywood. Now much stronger than Biddulph on the pure flower front. Great herbaceous borders. But rather lacking in maturity. Especially the "arboretum". I am sorry but if I am going to see trees I expect to be gazing up at them, not stooping down. A tree should be taller than at least the grass and weeds that surround them. This was a nursery plantation. Come back in 20 years.

Yes Prime Minister and Journey's End

Couldn't really get a much bigger contrast for my weekly theatre visits between these two plays.

Yes Prime Minister is pure entertainment. For those of us of a certain age you have to get past the fact that the main protagonists are not being played by Paul Eddington and Nigel Hawthorne, both sadly now deceased. But once you have adapted to that the stage version of this long-running TV series is very enjoyable. A good plot, more convoluted than could be managed in the short TV sitcom framework, and well played. And just gently brought up to date with the advent of climate change to satirise, without losing the old targets of short term political gains and civil servants trying to protect their own interests at all costs.

Journey's End is by contrast no laughing matter. Set in the trenches of the First World War a young 21 year old captain is old beyond his years after 3 years at the front. He is confronted by his new eager young officer of 18 fresh from school. Only 3 years earlier they had been at the same school and the captain was captain not of a company of soldiers but the rugby and cricket teams, much to the admiration of his younger friend. Seeing what 3 years at the front does to his character is part of the theme of he play. As is cowardice (or rather logical self-preservation) and heroism (cowardice by those able to hide their terror). Its all stiff upper lip stuff and burying their love for one another, whereas a modern version would no doubt be all group hugs before going over the top.

And just in case you are looking for a happy ending, everyone dies. As we left the ladies behind us were weeping into their hands. It was that sort of play. But very thought-provoking and sometimes its quite good to be put through the emotional wringer. Cathartic.

Hurts and Dylan Moran

Having survived a bout of plague (ok man flu maybe) I managed to get myself together to go to see the Hurts at Somerset House. Now, first thing to say is this is an amazing venue. Courtyard of a 17th century palace tends to knock the spots of most modem venues, provided its not raining. And for once it wasn't. So nice to be able to stroll there from the office. Even nicer to watch the sun go down, but alas rather too cloudy for that. But you can't have everything. Other catch is the way you have to enter in single file. So a slow process. But once inside, well just very civilised.

Anyway my little group of 4 of us eventually managed to meet up during the second support act. The crowd eventually managed to coax the singer to announce who they were and it turned out to be Saint Saviour. Singer was a cross between Kate Bush and Bjork. Opened with a Depeche Mode cover (which took me a while to dredge up from my memory banks).

And then the wonderful Hurts. So much better live than on cd. Splendidly bombastic eighties synth stuff with a modern twist. Lead singer Theo Hutchcraft (I know, not the most rock 'n' roll of monikers) has a fine voice and mildly camp manner.Two female dancers added bits of extra stage presence in a sort of art deco style. But overall just very good stuff. Much enjoyed by both my current trainee and an-ex trainee in my little group (does my social life revolve too much round other lawyers?).

And finished with an encore of Better than Love accompanied by jets of pink paper, for a simple but rather dazzling effect. Wouldn't like the job of picking up the litter afterwards though.

Dylan Moran the following night at Hammersmith Apollo gave a rather more laid back performance. Now one of the traits with Dylan live, and one I have discussed with my companions, is whether or not he is half pissed while performing. If not, he gives a very good impression. But if he is then he manages to hold it all together wonderfully well. He often seems almost to have lost the thread, but then will come back with lovely little lines like "Now where was I?. Oh I know. I was just talking to you... About .... Stuff."  Did  a great bit about going to first posh dinner party and being confronted by a starter. "That's not food. Its a prawn pole dancing on a breadstick."

And as befits a man of his (and my) age, did material on that. "I've got to the age my wife comes in and tells me about other men of my age who were doing normal things like jogging or having breakfast, and dropped down dead." Or "I have a 9 year-old son, who like every man I want to respect and revere me. But he comes in from school and I ask what he has done and he doesn't even talk to me. He just pokes his fingers in my stomach and goes "wibble, wibble, wibble" and then storms off in a giggling fit."

Like a plethora of Irish comics, he uses his Irishness very well with those little homespun tales. "My granny gave me a very good piece of advice. Never have sexual relations with more than 11 people. At one time.  It affects your work on the farm."

A great way to end a week as its just so undemanding. All you have to do is listen and laugh. Just a pity that one of my companions was up half the night with a brief and the other was jet-legged after a holiday in Canada. Well it was warm, and dark and really easy to nod off....

Nuremburg and Newcastle

No, not some horrendous town-twinning exercise....

Trial at Nuremberg

Went to this play at the Tricycle Theatre in Kilburn, so off my normal track in two ways, firstly because it was an amateur production (although very well done and secondly because its Kilburn, which isn't very convenient travel wise (unless you live in Kilburn but who would want to do that?)

So not exactly a barrel of laughs, but certainly a very engaging play based on the Nuremberg war trials and in particular the trial of the Minister for Justice in the Third Reich. In all very thought-provoking, although clearly a well worn subject. It did keep emphasising the point that no Germans seem to have known what the Nazis did, which is just a little implausible given the scale of their atrocities. But what would any of us have done in their place. Would one have risked one's own life to stand up, or at least not turn a blind eye? Well I am sure I wouldn't have done. But nor would I have voted for Herr Hitler. The guilt lies surely not in failing to stand up to these tyrants when the tipping point has passed and its difficult, but in failing to stand up to them early on when it was easy, or easier.

Newcastle 

And then up to Newcastle for my annual trip to see my best friend from University. The joy of this every time I go up is it reminds me why we were best friends in the first place. Friday night we went down the pub for a pint, then onto Italian restaurant and back to a pub for one for the road. The mundane description of the evening in no way conveys the real pleasure of the experience. Which was truly immense. Couldn't even tell you what we talked about, although I am sure we righted most of the ills of the world. If only we had written them down.

Then Saturday we dodged the showers to visit the Roman fort of Vindolanda. Of the fort itself there is little more than foundations to see, but a reconstructed turret is also helpful.

The museum has however been revamped and has a remarkable collection due to the boggy ground preserving items that you just can't imagine surviving 2000 years. In addition to countless leather shoes (well I say countless but no doubt someone has counted them somewhere) there are things like socks and hairnets and the crest off a centurions helmet. And given that they don't have the greatest treasure dug up there, the tiny scraps of letters written on wood shavings, they have an excellent display relating to them.

Then onto the new Roman Army museum 5 miles down the road. Now boasting a 3D film which was rather good and excellent reconstructions of weapons, armour etc, this was well worth the detour.

In stark contrast to English heritage's offering at the next fort along, Birdoswald. Not much in the way of excavated ruins and a rather pitiful little visitor centre was very poor value for my fiver. At least we managed to avoid the most torrential downpours while in the open.

And I made a new friend - Sooty the cat. Now I have never been fond of pets, but cats don't seem to notice my indifference. And Sooty made a bee-line for me. However, my Dr Doolittle bubble was burst by little Emma telling me she made friends with everybody. And I thought I was special...