Tag Archive | Tate Britain

Tate and Theater

Jul26

Thursday, July 25, 2013

London

Tate and Theater:

Since a lot of exciting things have been happening in my London life, but not too much by way of work, I decided to knuckle down and get some done. Awaking at 7.00 am, I had a quick brekkie (toast w/peanut butter and apricot jam and tea) and started to work right away—I am editing one of the chapters of my book for inclusion in an anthology on Anglo-Indians in the World Today that is being edited by Robyn Andrews of New Zealand and Fr. Brent Otto (S.J.) of Boston. They had returned the chapter to me with some recommendations for change. Once I got working on it, time just flew and before I knew it, it was 2.00 pm! I jumped up because I was hungry again: more toast for lunch with Stilton Cheese and a Salad (I am loving Pizza Express’ Balsamic Vinaigrette with its mustard overdose—nice and spicy!) and then I was off to greet the city.

Traipsing Among the Tate’s Collection:
The trouble with going to a museum to see one set of works (the Turners) is that you realize what a wealth of art exists in the rest of the museum—and you simply must see it all! So I took the Tube to Pimlico, walked to the Tate Britain and began at the beginning—literally! I progressed chronologically from the 1500s to the present. It was a treat to go from the Tudor portraits to the work of the Bloomsbury Group. I was especially delighted to see David Hockney’s portrait of Mr and Mrs. Clark and Percy which is one of Marina Vaizey’s 100 Masterpieces of Art—and which I had never seen before. I was under the impression that it was at the Tate Modern where I have often looked for it. So coming upon it was not just a surprise but a delight.

I spent about two hours at the Tate, then hopped into the 88 bus and rode to Trafalgar Square—I caught a quick glimpse of Katherina Fritsch’s newest sculpture on the Fourth Plinth that Mayor Boris Johnson unveiled yesterday—it is called Hahn/Cock and is a bright blue cockerel in what looks like plaster of Paris. Already a great deal of humor is being generated about it in the press and on the internet, not the least having to do with the double entendre of its title.

I did want to get to a printer at NYU to print out some revisions of my chapter but there wasn’t enough time. Instead I took a bus from Trafalgar Square that was heading towards Covent Garden as my next appointment was for dinner with my friend Rosemary.

Dinner at Dishoom:
         I have mentioned Dishoom earlier in the week—the new(er) Indian restaurant on Upper St. Martins Lane in Covent Garden with a twist: this one serves Bombay street food which is really derived from several different cultures (Chaat and chicken tikka from North Indian, pau bhaji from Maharashtra). I was curious to see how good it was and Roz was game. We met at 6.00 pm, found a table inside (it was already packed) and ordered black daal, pau bhaji and chicken tikka with chai for her and a rose and cardamom lassi for me. I have to say that although the menu has been beautifully designed and is made very enticing by its unusual descriptions of very humble food, I was not impressed at all by the taste. Nothing really was exceptional. With a roomali roti that we split, we just about managed to finish everything (and were glad we did not take the advice of our waiter to order 6 dishes to be shared by two people—even at 3 dishes, our order was a tad too much). Not a place to which I will go again—that’s for sure. I will stick to Carluccio’s and Hare and Tortoise (where I can eat repeatedly and never get fed-up—pun intended!).

To The Duchess Theater:
      Our next port of call was the Duchess Theater on Catherine Street to see August Wilson’s Fences. Roz’s brother-in-law Colin McFarlane has a major role in it (Bono) and she suggested we go to see it. I did not realize that she had seen it twice previously—she gave nothing away by way of the plot, thank goodness. I had never seen or read the play, so all was a revelation to me.

Fences is set in the American South in the 1950s and consists of a bunch of African-Americans in a domestic environment tussling with their ‘issues’—most of which have to do with difficult childhoods through tough parents. The adage” The Abused becomes the Abuser” came home to me again in the main character of Troy Maxson, played by the comedian Lenny Henry (of Chef fame). As Roz said, it was startling to see him in a serious role (although last year, I had seen him play a double role in Much Ado About Nothing at the National Theater—in one role, he was rather serious, in the other, he was a joker).Needless to say, he did a great job but Colin as Bono was just amazing—in fact, I think he was a much better actor in a terrific role. The production was directed by Paulette Randall and has been on a nation-wide tour. I understand that on Broadway, the role of Troy was played by Denzel Washington and Gabe was played by James Earl Jones. Well, these West End actors might not have been stars (well, Lenny Henry is, I suppose), but they did a sterling job and the play was very well received.

Meeting Theater Royalty:
      Roz had told me that there would be an opportunity to meet the show’s actors at the Stage Door after the play—and sure enough, when we did congregate there after the curtain came down, it was only a 10 minute wait before the cast emerged to the warm congratulations of those of us who were privileged enough to meet them. I exchanged a quick few sentences with Lenny Henry and with the actress who played Rose (Tanya Moodie) and then Colin emerged and suggested we get a drink at PJ’s, a pub around the corner which is a common West End hangout. So if you want to spot stars, go there!

We spent the next hour gabbing. Colin has a beautiful voice and I was not surprised to hear that he makes the bulk of his income from voiceovers—tomorrow he has a gig with Disney. The unexpected surprise was the appearance of Costanza, playwright August Wilson’s widow, who happened to be in London (from Seattle where she lives) and came to see the show. She joined us at our table and we ended up having a very interesting discussion on the play’s rather strange and baffling end. Other cast members also popped by and soon I had exchanged a few words with most of them. They are pleased with the good reviews and reception the play has received but were clearly exhausted—mainly from the heat in the theater.

While I am reveling in all this great London theater, it is pure torture to sit in these ancient theaters that have no air-conditioning, indeed no circulation of air through any means whatsoever. I was afraid I would pass out—it was so uncomfortably hot and I was fanning myself like a lunatic throughout. During the intermission, I had to get a beer as I felt deeply dehydrated inside. It is simply my bad fortune that I am in London during its most brutal summer in years and although I am used to the harsh heat of New York and the humidity of Bombay, I no longer have the ability to withstand them.

It was about 11. 40 when Roz and I got up to leave. We walked to the Leicester Square Tube station together where we parted to take different trains. I got off at Marble Arch, switched to a bus and was at home by 12. 20–not bad at all. A few minutes later, I was in bed after what had been another productive day in London Town.

Until tomorrow, Cheerio!

A Day of Lovely Reunions with Friends:

Jul25
Wednesday, July 24, 2013
London
 
A Day of Lovely Reunions with Friends:
            These later get-ups are great for making me feel rested but they are not good for getting work done. I am a Morning Person and at my most productive between 5.00 am and 9.00 am. And I hate the thought of having to wake up to an alarm—so I shall just hope I will be rising at an earlier hour soon.
            My day began with brekkie—multi-seeded bread with peanut butter and Wensleydale cheese—with tea. It is delicious but carb heavy and although all the walking I have been doing (an average of 5 miles a day—going up to 8 plus miles on some days) has already led to the loss of my “cruise weight”, it will be a while before I can come down to my desired weight again—it will mean losing about 8 pounds. Not something I am going to worry about while traveling…
           
Off to the Tate Britain to see the Turners:
            Over the last few times when I have been in London, I have not had the chance to peruse the marvelous collection of works by Turner for which the Tate Britain is famed as the bulk of the collection has been traveling to various parts of the world. Now that they are all back to their home at the Tate, I figured I should lose no time going out to see them. I took the Tube to Pimlico and walked the six minutes to the museum—if you recall I had met my friend Murali there last week but our viewing of the Turners had been cut short by his kind offer to take a look at my laptop—he is an IT Man and he fixed it in a jiffy! But he is now very busy and I figure that if I wait to go with him, it will never happen—so I set out on my own and what a lovely morning I had.
            The Turner Bequest, as it is known, put thousands (and I mean, thousands) of works by Turner (the Tate owns 37,000 works on paper alone) into the hands of the Tate Britain. To best exhibit them, the Tate specially constructed the Clore Gallery which houses the collection and allows the viewer to see the progression of Turner’s craftsmanship. From largely realistic canvasses, his work became progressively impressionistic; from representations of mythical scenes, he delved into nature and experimented freely with attempts to capture light—for which he became best known in his later life. I had a lovely morning examining his works which are spread out over 10 galleries and grouped quite beautifully. The bonus was that I also saw a few canvasses by John Constable, his contemporary, who painted scenes from the Stour Valley, Dedham, East Bergholt and other places where I had once taken my students on a day-long field-trip. Constable’s View of Salisbury Cathedral from the Meadows—a spot I had actually stood upon to peruse the scene when I was in Salisbury–is now in the Tate. It has been moved recently from the National Gallery where it was on loan for years.
            Once I finished seeing the Turners, I drifted into other parts of the museum and ended up perusing grand sculpture by Jacob Epstein (his alabaster sculpture Jacob and the Angel is outstanding) and massive works by Henry Moore.  I also saw a lot of interesting paintings by Lowry and by Lucien Freud and I realized that to see the older works, I will need to come on another day.
            Llew called while I was in the galleries and I had a long chat with him. It was then time for me to leave the museum for my next appointment at the National Gallery with a very dear and very old friend.
Meeting Firdaus at the National:
            Dr. Firdaus Gandavia is one of my dearest and oldest friends. We met for the first time about 30 years ago when we were both on British Council Scholarships at Oxford where we became inseparable. Over the years, we have stayed close friends. He is a true Renaissance man: a financial whiz (he is a qualified Chartered Accountant and now the Chief Financial Executive of a huge firm in Bombay) with a Ph.D. in English Literature—his dissertation was on Graham Greene. Extremely well-read and a wonderful conversationalist, I enjoy the best times with him and when he suggested that we meet at the National at 1.00 pm, I jumped at it as he is in London on a short visit and returns to Bombay tomorrow. Naturally we had an affectionate reunion and then decided to go far away from the tourist mele of Trafalgar Square to have something to eat. I recommended Blackfriar’s Pub—so off we went.
Light Lunch at Blackfriar’s Pub:
            Blackfriar’s Pub near Blackfriar’s Bridge is one of London’s most unusual pubs—the exterior sports a fat black friar at the entrance and inside there are wonderful friezes on the walls and on the ceiling that portray friars dressed in black robes also marching around the walls that are plastered with axioms. It is a truly fun place. The wall sconces and the andirons at the fireplace also feature hooded friars—so there is a lot of visual interest to keep the eye riveted as you enjoy a draught ale. Ihis part of London.  believe that Blackfriars is so-called because in the distant pre-Reformation past, an order of monastic friars who wore black robes were based in the area 
          Firdaus was having a later big meal with another friend so opted for apple crumble and a coffee. Since it was a hot morning, I chose Eton Mess (a combination of vanilla ice-cream, strawberry sauce, fresh strawberries and meringue) and a pint of ale. This pub is one that participates in The Ale Trail—a plan which marks your card for every pint of ale you consume and gives you the fifth one for free. You can then also purchase the “I Walked The Ale Trail” T-shirt. The pubs are in The City—that part of London that is mainly financial and during the last week of my stay in The City, I shall try to walk it—it is one of the items on my London To-Do List.
            “Dr. G” (as I affectionately call my friend) and I had a lovely hour together and then it was time for me to go on to the next item on my agenda for the day—a Cruise upon Regent’s Canal in a Narrow Boat. Four years ago, when Chriselle had visited London during my stay here, we had tried to do the canal cruise but had missed it by just a few minutes. This time, I was determined to do it. Unfortunately, Dr. G had done it years ago and had to keep his next appointment at Hampstead, so he escorted me as far as Camden Town where we said goodbye before he proceeded to his next appointment and I went into the madness of the market.
Combing Camden Town:
            Camden Town has grown into this incredibly colorful area with loads of shops catering to a very specific demographic—young, hip, edgy. I saw tons of heavy boots, leather studded garments, steel jewelry—you name it, they had it. The market has developed around what is known as Camden Lock—a Lock upon the Regent’s Canal which was once the industrial life-blood of the city. The locks regulate the amount of water in the canal; they prevent flooding and stalling of the narrow boats that ply it. Today, these boats have been turned into cruisers for the pleasure of tourists. The usual route goes from Little Venice to Camden Town, but I chose to do the journey in the opposite direction from Camden Town to Little Venice.
            I chose Jason’s Boats because the cruise is done in a boat that is 107 years old—so it really did see the Industrial Revolution. The return journey cost 9 pounds but I had time for only a one-way cruise—which costs a hefty 8 pounds. Doesn’t make much sense to me, but there you have it. The return journey is a better financial bargain; but I simply did not have the time as I had a packed evening ahead of me.
Cruising Down Regent’s Canal:
            Fortunately, I had picked the perfect afternoon to go cruising down Regent’s Canal. The temperature was perfect, there was low humidity and a lovely gentle breeze blew throughout. We left the craziness of Camden Lock and cruised quietly down the narrow canal lined on the right hand side by the paved tow path—this was the path that the horse walked on as the barge was pulled by horses in the days before engines and automobiles. All commercial traffic used the canals—London had the Regent’s Canal and across the country, there was the Grand Union Canal that joined it. Goods and passengers were transported on these canals through hard-working horses and their human caretakers right through the 1900s and into the 20th.
            We passed by London Zoo and caught a glimpse of the birds in their large cages. It brought to my mind the trip that Chriselle and I had made to the zoo and the way in which we had bent laughing at the antics of the chimpanzees. Around Regent’s Park, we saw grand mansions whose rears look out on to the canal with their impeccable private gardens. Further on, at St. John’s Woods, we were at the back of the famous Lord’s Cricket Ground and in front of a power station which was once a coal-loading station in the days of steam power. The canals were used for commercial purposes right until the 1950s and the narrow boats on which entire families once lived in cramped quarters, were converted to pleasure craft. Occasionally we passed by long stretches of greenery with willow trees trailing their foliage into the water. It was very calming to be in such an environment and hard to believe one was still in Central London.
Eventually we reached Little Venice which has developed into a very upscale neighborhood with celebrities such as Judi Dench having purchased houses there. They are beautiful terraces structures and are very pleasing to the eye. We disembarked at Little Venice after what had been a truly lovely afternoon’s excursion and one I would gladly recommend to anyone wishing to get away from the tourist bustle but still wanting to enjoy the pleasures that London can offer.
  I walked briskly up to Paddington Underground Station and rode the Tube home to St. John’s Wood. This left me enough time for a short nap before I showered and got dressed for my next appointment—dinner with a former student.
Dinner at Hyde Park with Elise and James:
            Yes, today turned out to be a day of happy reunions and at 7. 30 pm, I was ringing the doorbell of my former NYU student, Elise, who lives in a lovely flat right opposite Hyde Park on Kensington High Street. Elise is unforgettable as she was a star student who took two of my courses as an undergrad at NYU and then travelled with me to India and Nepal on a Summer Trip that I had led. She is married to an English barrister named James and is the mother of two kids (Thomas, almost two and 8 month old Elektra). It is a little strange for me to look upon these students as mothers with children and domestic responsibilities when I once knew them as mere kids. While I had met Thomas on a past visit, I was looking forward to the pleasure of meeting the gorgeous Elektra and, of course, James.
            Elise’s cousin Greer was at her place when I reached but she left soon after. James arrived in due course from his chambers at Pump Court (which, coincidentally, happens to be one of my favorite parts of legal London). Elise offered champagne which I had to refuse (too afraid of my suphite allergy). I opted instead for a beer (perfect on a muggy day) and enjoyed her marvelous steak dinner—the steak done just right, medium rare as I like it. Served with boiled potatoes and green beans, it was the simplest food but perfectly seasoned with just salt and pepper to allow the flavor of the meat and the vegetables to come through without being drowned by spice. I loved it.
            We had a wonderful conversation and a great opportunity to catch up once the kids were asleep. I learned a great deal about James’ impressive background (Eton, Cambridge) and his work in Commercial Law which seems closely related to what Llew is now doing in his own relationship with the SEC. James was a Classics major so we had much to discuss and overall, it turned out to be a scintillating evening in the company of young people of whom I am intensely fond. Their abundance of blessings is easily evident in their setting and their interaction with each other and I couldn’t help feel deeply grateful for them.
            It was 10. 00 pm when I jumped up to go back home by taking the bus from across the street to Marble Arch and then changing to the 139 bus from there which dropped me right opposite my building on Abbey Road. I did nothing more than brush and floss my teeth and change for bed before I was out like a light.    
           Until tomorrow, Cheerio!                    

Rambling Along Birdcage Walk and Vintage Pinter

Jul16


Monday, July 15, 2013
London
It seems I simply have to catch up with sleep—after two inexplicable wake-ups (one at 3. 00 am), I slept till 7. 30 am which is a virtual London lie-in record for me. This meant that I missed the 8.00 am Mass but sleep did me a world of good and my periodic drowsiness was history.
I worked steadily for two hours reviewing comments from my editors and re-drafting my proposal when I stopped for breakfast (muesli with Greek style honey yoghurt), then decided to take a chance and get the “10 at 10” tickets that the sales assistant at Trafalgar Studios told me was easily available. I hopped into the Tube, got off at Charing Cross and was lucky to get the last remaining 10 pound ticket for The Hot House—Harold Pinter’s tragi-comedy set in a mental institution in the 1950s. For me, the star attraction was Simon Russel Beale whom Stephen Fry calls one of the most brilliant British actors of our time. How thrilled I was to make my dream come true. Since this is theater in the round, my stage-side seats would be terrific, I knew, and in the States, I could never dream of seeing Broadway drama for $15! Forget it!
It was time to take advantage of another glorious day in T’Smoke. Although it is hot, there is zero humidity in the air so I am rarely uncomfortable. Armed with a bottle of water, sunglasses and a baseball cap, I feel ready to conquer the streets. My aim was to finish the sights around Westminster and Whitehall recommended by DK Eye Witness Guides, but I was also keeping my eye on the recommendations of City Secrets London.
Sculpture of Charles I at Trafalgar:
Being that I was at Trafalgar Square, it made sense to scrutinize the statue of King Charles I who is routinely overshadowed by the towering presence of Nelson on his pedestal just behind. Yet, Charlie is the oldest fixture in that space, having been installed on his mount—the work of Hubert Le Seuer—in 1633. The sculpture predates Trafalgar Square itself by 150 years although it was not installed at this location until 1675 “having been sold under Cromwell to a brazier who, with a shrew eye to later financial advantage, buried it until the Restoration although he was instructed to destroy it”. He gazes down Whitehall which would have been the route he took to his execution in 1649 at the Banqueting Hall which he constructed in honor or his father, James I. Once a year, on January 30 at 11.00 am, a wreath-laying ceremony occurs to commemorate his ill-fated end. 
     
A Peep into London’s Oldest Wine Bar:
            It was time to make a detour into Villiers Street sandwiched between The Strand and the Embankment. Touted by many as the most Dickensian watering hole in the city, it simply demands a look-see—Gordon’s Wine Bar. And what a fantastic place it turned out to be! At any minute you expect Fagin to emerge from its shadows in the basement with its low-hung arches resembling a medieval cathedral crypt. Dark, smoke-streaked walls—the result of a forest of candles stuck into wine bottles—crammed with 1950’s memorabilia (suddenly made so much more significant after the Diamond Jubilee), also moth-stained and sepia-ed with time, add to the overall atmosphere of this place. No room here for light, for space, for improvement—as the present “gastro pubs” boast. This is Victorian olde-world at its most authentic. For those wishing to breathe in unpolluted, non-alcoholic air, there is a café that borders the Embankment Gardens at the back. Don’t be fooled by the nondescript exterior—although it too is profoundly aged—but take the challenge and descend the narrow, dark and dinghy stairs and enter into an era that fairly bristles with history. Be assured that Kipling who lived in the same building (today known as Kipling House) would have been a regular as well as Kenneth Clarke who came with his entire crew after filming portions of Civilizationat the National and stood quietly, drink in hand, in the corner, drowning the day’s stresses away. Gordon’s serves your traditional pub grub (read Roast Beef with all the trimmings) but most patrons come in to drink in—both the spirits and the spirit of centuries past.
Saying Hello to Embankment Heroes:
            A long-ish walk down the Embankment (opposite the Thames side) brought me within hand-shaking distance of a number of British war heroes, statesmen and colonialists—all remembered in cast metal on lofty pedestals and surrounded by the seasonal splendor of flowers: sunflowers, begonias, day lilies. I recognized Bartle Frere after whom Frere Road in Bombay is named. There is William Tynedale who translated the Greek Bible into English and was executed for his pains. There is a monument to the Chindis, a World War II regiment based largely in Burma, with an appropriate lion symbolizing the ferocity of the regiment. It is a pity that most people choose to walk along the river and these wonderful symbols of British history are largely ignored.
Leaving the tourist chaos of Parliament Square behind me, I turned onto Birdcage Walk—lovely name and I pause to wonder about its origins as most “funny” names in the UK carry an appropriately funny story. It borders St. James’ Park—its leafiest, shadiest portion, thanks to the massive plane trees that make it a bosky place.   
Rambling Down Birdcage Walk:
            First stop, Queen Anne’s Gate. I can hear the booming of the last of the Changing of the Guard on Pall Mall as I enter this wonderfully 18thcentury enclave, complete with its granite statue of Queen Anne whose haughty gaze sweeps the residences. They have elaborate canopied entrances, some in stucco, others wooden. Historical worthies lived here—from Prime Minister Palmerston to philosopher like Haldane.
            From here, it is a short hop to St. James’ Park Tube Station which is built into the building known as 55 Broadway—it reminds me of Bush House at Aldwych in its grey solidity. The building is remarkable for its Jacob Epstein sculptures that punctuate it at regular intervals. All you have to do is raise your head upwards to take in the marvels of one of the 20thcentury’s most famed sculptors. Inside the station, Art Deco elements are evident in the light fixtures. One of these days, I shall find the time to take in the art and sculpture of the Tube stations—it will be like a Progressive Museum Tour, no doubt.
            Circling the building, I arrive at Caxton Street, home to the Blewcoat School that was founded in 1707 as a charity school to teach pupils how to :read, write, cast accounts and the catechism”. It remained a school until 1939—indicated by the blue-coated pupil sculpted high on its entrance just below the ubiquitous clock—became an army store during World War II (every place in the country was requisitioned during the war), was bought by the National Trust in 1954 and used as their gift shop until recently. Alas, today it stands wan and forlorn, disused and empty. No doubt some savvy entrepreneur will soon come calling to initiate yet another Java Stop in these hallowed, red brick premises.
            The Guards Museum, back on Birdcage Walk, was next on my agenda: although I did not have the time to enter the Museum, I did pay my respects at the attached chapel with its moth-eaten standards flying from flag-poles along the sides and its stunning gold mosaic altar in Byzantine style. The Horse Guards are so revered that they have their own house of worship where Sunday choral services take place routinely and a gift shop that sells toy soldiers in virtually every avatar.
            By this time, I had reached St. James’ Court and spying a different sort of standard flying from it—that of the Taj Group of Hotels—I could not resist exploring it. I have a long family association with the Taj as my brother once worked for the group and a special affection for it as someone who has often used its excellent hotels. I have also learned from long and frequent travels that five-star hotels make great comfort stops as their lobby restrooms can often be used by the public. I needed a sit-down rather badly and air-conditioning in the lobby made it particularly welcome on another toasty day. The bonus was wifi which I used to check email and re-check the number of my doctor at the Holborn Medical Center. Attempts to call and make an appointment based on the number I had stored, drew a blank. Armed with the new number, I tried to make an appointment with little success for my sulphur allergy which has flared up again in an itchy, uncomfortable rash. Though I faced initial frustration, I have to say that the Triage Doctor called me back within the hour and gave me an appointment for that very afternoon at 2. 20 pm. It would mean making changes in my plans, but I conceded. Who knows when they would be able to fit me in next if I dithered?
            I found the time to sit under the shade of the above-mentioned plane trees and munch my ox tongue sandwiches in the company of other office-goers who were drawn irresistibly to sunshine and shade provided by the Park where Henry VIII had once hunted lustily. My sandwiches were made more delicious by my picnic environment, but much as I would have liked to linger, I had a doctor’s appointment to keep.
            So off I went on the Tube from St. James’ Park station to Lamb’s Conduit Street at Holborn, sorry to discover that my regular doctor is no more with the practice but equally delighted to discover that his place had been taken by an American doctor—one John Roegner, originally from Michigan, who knew the names of all my American medication and could work with me to combat the allergy. After a very companionable chat and an examination, I left with a prescription for a local cream to be applied twice a day and instructions to return to see him again, should it not work. My faith in the NHS was reinstated and I was grateful for the speedy service. The pharmacy next-door provided the medication which I purchased quite reasonably and returned to my plans for the day.
Meeting A Friend at the Tate Britain:
            This involved returning home to pick up my field glasses for the play in the evening before nipping into the Tube again. This time my destination was the Tate Britain to see the Turners in the Clore Collection with my friend Murali Menon, a fellow art-lover and blogger. A short walk from Pimlico brought me to the Millbank Embankment where Murali was awaiting my arrival at the main entrance. We sat down to cups of tea in the noisy Manton Café first for a lively chinwag when I discovered that Murali, an IT guy, might help me fix the glitch on my blog that was making the inputting of text impossible. He offered to come over to the Holborn flat to take a look and thrilled with his suggestion, I jumped up, rushed off to look at the Turners—only to discover that they demanded more than just a cursory glance. I would need to return for a more leisurely look.
            But first things first: within twenty minutes, Murali and I were heading back on the Tube, speeding to Holborn, where within minutes, he figured out that simply changing my browser might enable me to solve the problem. And indeed it did! From Internet Explorer to Mozilla Firefox I went and hey presto! My blog is now alive and running—as you can see. Murali’s efforts were rewarded by a chilled lemonade and a slice of lemon sponge roll cake. We had to alter our plans to meet at the Tate again—but it was so worthwhile. Ten minutes later, Murali left and I was able to take a shower and get dressed for my evening out at the theater.
The Hot Houseat Trafalgar Studios:
            I have seen a lot of drama over the years at the Trafalgar Studios—a small, intimate, amphitheater-like space that I dearly love. Arriving on the Tube at 7. 25 pm, I took my place behind the stage and was so close to the actors that my field glasses were completely unnecessary. I could not have snagged better seats if I had paid a small fortune for them! And what a show it was! This is vintage Harold Pinter—in a play he had abandoned for a long while before returning to direct it himself in the 1980s and to play the lead role of Colonel Root (superbly performed by Simon Russel Beale). This is dark comedy at its most explosive for the setting is the controversial mental health institutes that were run by totalitarian regimes specifically to use electric shock therapy to silence dissidents. It was shocking, it was brutal, it was fearsome and it was hilarious—all at the same time. Brilliant (and I do not use this word just because I am in the UK) performances, superb playwriting, excellent direction combined to make this scintillating at every turn. I loved every second—and the bonus was the chance to see British stars of film and TV in the flesh. I had gone to see Beale but on stage, I found Indira Varma (with whom I have recently become familiar in her role as Luther’s wife in the Idris Alba crime drama), a much slimmed down Harry Melling (who plays Harry Potter’s fat cousin Dudley in all the films of the series) and Christopher Timothy (James Herriot in All Creatures Great and Small) whom I have loved for years. What a treat it was and how determined I am now to get as many 10 pound tickets as I possibly cam for all the stage dramas I wish to see. Thank you Jamie Lloyd for directing such a satisfying production.
            Twilight had fallen over Trafalgar Square when I emerged from the theater and I had half a mind to jump on a bus and get out there to see the monuments illuminated—but it had been a long day and I needed to review a chapter that has a strict deadline. So I resisted temptation and went back home for dinner (quiche, salad, cherries) and in very little time, I was off to bed.
            Until tomorrow, cheerio!