Raving, Australia and El Dorado

I like to make use of a day out in town, so did a triple bill.

First up the Australian art exhibition at the Royal Academy. I like it when the RA does these sweeping exhibitions of a whole period or culture. And this was a very enjoyable, although uneven, spread.

The good bits are seeing the development of artists depiction of the new continent, from early and in some cases quite naive colonial art, to the middle of the 20th century. As usual, these types of exhibition open one to new artists painting in a style one already enjoys. So, there is a section on Australian impressionism, encompassing not only the pretty well-known Tom Roberts, but a whole series of other very talented artists who perhaps just aren't much recognised outside their country (or at least by me), Charles Conder, Frederick McCubbin and Arthur Streeton. All able to capture the beauty of Australia. Nice to see something new.

 But there are two bits that don't fit too easily. One is the contemporary art, which just reflects the nature of contemporary art. While say the impressionist section, or the landscapes, have a degree of homogeneity which permits the curators to say something general about the relevant gallery. the contemporary rooms could just as easily have come under the heading of "unrelated stuff of all sorts", some quite interesting, some ridiculous - the lumps of fluffy balls, or the Persian rug with a burnt hole in it where a bonfire had been constructed.

But the other bit that didn't fit was the aboriginal art. Now I know it sounds odd to say that aboriginal art doesn't fit in an exhibition of Australian art, since its more Australian than the rest. But  it is also quite alien to the rest of the culture. Put another way, the rest of the exhibition is a white western view of Australia reflecting the majority of its population. The aboriginal stuff is a completely different order - a different, primitive view of the world, and basically just patterns. Interesting, but a bit like an exhibition of Victorian art interspersed with a room full of Paisley pattern scarves. Or a Renaissance art exhibition with a collection of African tribal art dropped in the middle of it. Theoretically relevant, but in practice just a jarring break from the theme.

The gold of El Dorado has just started at the British Museum. This is an interesting exhibition of South American bling. And nice to see some treasure rather than something worthy but dull and more suited to reading about than looking at. But this is far from a mere exercise in looking at shiny objects. One gets to appreciate the manufacture techniques (and that the gold is a heavily copper-based alloy which is easier to work) and the total strangeness of the objects. So much is in the way of body adornments which actually look quite hideous to our eyes (especially huge nose ornaments) and many not very well-worked - the images of jaguars in particular look comical rather than fearsome or sleek.

So that was morning and afternoon, with a couple of hours in the office in between, leaving the theatre in the evening (after filling myself up on a Chinese meal for dinner).

Raving at the Hampstead Theatre is a hoot. I have seen some less than complimentary reviews, but they seem to me to have missed the point. This was just meant to be funny, not a satirical but meaningful exploration of the lives of middle-class couples with children. Its a laugh, stopping just short of what I would class as farce, but only just short.

Its set in a holiday cottage in Wales on which descend three couples who have left their children with friends and family to get away from it all for a weekend. Obviously they are all quite grotesque caricatures, a leftie teaching couple, a controlling organised couple (whose neat lives inevitably unwind) and a sex-obsessed upper class pair who obviously the lefties can't stand to start with but actually come to like by the end. The fact that you can see these bits coming doesn't detract from the enjoyment at all. And thrown in are a stereotypically awful modern teenager and a miserable god-fearing Welsh farmer who owns the cottage. Its all very funny - sit-com material, but a bit racier. Never for a moment do any of the characters seem true, but who cares. It wasn't a documentary. Robert Webb (of Mitchell & Webb fame) was I thought particularly good as the perfect husband who had, naturally, had an affair with his au-pair.

Bob Mills and another 50th celebration

A busy and varied week. It started with attending a lecture run by the Oxford University Society and given by Baroness Shepherd, one time Education Minister. However, it was sold as a talk on Margaret Thatcher. What became evident very quickly was that Baroness Shepherd wasn't ideal for the role as she didn't seem to know the iron lady particularly well. She, and the book she was promoting, rely almost entirely on reporting the anecdotes of others. Still, it was interesting enough, and kept us interested, our party being me, one of my colleagues and his teenage son taking politics at A-level. Of course the latter is particularly interesting as what for his father and me seems like current affairs for him is history,

Later in the week I attended my first bingo hall since the age of 5. No, I haven't finally succumbed to a hobby more commensurate with my age. It was a departmental outing. And at least was an interesting anthropological study. Basically a bingo hall in Stratford is where people with type 2 diabetes go to die. We were in the posh bit (ie the bit almost as plush as a Wetherspoons pub) with a bar where you could get unhealthy food for bargain prices (like a Wetherspoons). Behind glass walls is the serious hall, with row upon row of tables seating their geriatric guests in geometric formation. As a hobby this is, if you think about it, a quite unlikely one, where over 300 people just listen to a bloke calling out numbers between 1 and 90 at random, with the skill being dabbing your felt tip pen over the right numbers in your book. Like being a cloakroom attendant without the intellectual stimulation. I don't think I will be in need of the abundant leaflets offering me advice if I feel I am hooked.

A long weekend began with a trip to my local comedy club to see Bob Mills. Not sure what happened to Bob as he did quite a lot of TV work in the nineties. Well, one thing that has happened is he has piled on the weight. But he is a splendid a stand up who is well worth catching.

Then onto Cheshire for a friends 50th, or otherwise a weekend of eating and drinking too much with friends. What more can one ask for?

Curious thing with David is he is a gamer. Not computer games, but board games. Quite odd seeing a bunch of people even watching others playing board games. Well, whatever floats your boat. 

His wife led the afternoon escape party for a walk in the country

After afternoon tea, and dinner, we headed outside for a firework display. It seems most fireworks now go for names which suggest nuclear devices, and so may be troubling the advertising standards board. We finished with a large box which needed to be buried in the garden and claimed to be anti-matter. But it was a nice change and interrupted the gluttony. And fireworks are a good challenge for my camera.

And on Sunday morning we had a piano moving party. You know how you have decorating parties where people come round and help paint your house? Well here we had to get a second hand upright piano from around the corner. How many Oxbridge science graduates does it take to move a piano? Lots.