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| These guys are simply amazing. Talk about tenacity |
Thursday 30 August 2012
OK guys , I admit it, you get a 10 out of 10 for endurance
The things one will put up with to get a culture "fix"
You know, sometimes one is simply left standing in awe at the tenacity of culture vultures.
A classic case in point was yesterday. We were off to The Globe to take in Hamlet. For those of you who haven't visited this theatre I should clarify that although all perimeter seating is under thatched roof cover the central area directly in front of the stage is allocated to those prepared to stand during the entire performance and just to add a little drama to these guy's experience, this area is also fully exposed to the elements.
Roll onto midday Wednesday. I have checked the weather forecast ( a survival "must do" in this neck of the woods) and had established that there was a 70% chance of rain during the performance ( that's language, for it is a guarantee that you are going to be dumped on in big licks!).
We had covered seats. Even so, we dragged along both wet weather gear and umbrellas.
When we arrived at the theatre we were confronted by any number of punters dressed as if it was a sunny day in the middle of summer. Boy, were these guys in for a big reality check.
Twenty minutes prior to kick off and the skies opened up. Talk about rain. This was torrential. This was flood warning territory.
No matter, the show must go on.
Having taken our seats I turned to Julia and suggested that a heap of standing area patrons would have regretted forking out for their five quid entrance passes as they obviously weren't about to stand in one position for three hours in heavy rain.
How wrong was I on that call.
These patrons are a legend. Their tenacity is frankly stunning, and yes, inspirational .
From go to whoa, a period of nearly three hours, these guys just toughed it out in incredibly miserable conditions.
The fact that this particular version of Hamlet was both intensive and riveting probably diverted the standing-area patrons attention away from any self pitying type thoughts. However, I reiterate, for someone to be able to stand in one place in a continuous heavy downpour for nigh on three hours whilst, at the same time staying focused on the play being presented in front of you, well, that's pretty amazing stuff.
The other really interesting thing was the attitude of the actors towards all this inclement weather. These guys simply didn't give a toss.
They appreciated that they were performing to an adoring public and they responded in kind.
By the end of the performance all actors were dripping from head to foot and loving the experience.
A classic case in point was yesterday. We were off to The Globe to take in Hamlet. For those of you who haven't visited this theatre I should clarify that although all perimeter seating is under thatched roof cover the central area directly in front of the stage is allocated to those prepared to stand during the entire performance and just to add a little drama to these guy's experience, this area is also fully exposed to the elements.
Roll onto midday Wednesday. I have checked the weather forecast ( a survival "must do" in this neck of the woods) and had established that there was a 70% chance of rain during the performance ( that's language, for it is a guarantee that you are going to be dumped on in big licks!).
We had covered seats. Even so, we dragged along both wet weather gear and umbrellas.
When we arrived at the theatre we were confronted by any number of punters dressed as if it was a sunny day in the middle of summer. Boy, were these guys in for a big reality check.
Twenty minutes prior to kick off and the skies opened up. Talk about rain. This was torrential. This was flood warning territory.
No matter, the show must go on.
Having taken our seats I turned to Julia and suggested that a heap of standing area patrons would have regretted forking out for their five quid entrance passes as they obviously weren't about to stand in one position for three hours in heavy rain.
How wrong was I on that call.
These patrons are a legend. Their tenacity is frankly stunning, and yes, inspirational .
From go to whoa, a period of nearly three hours, these guys just toughed it out in incredibly miserable conditions.
The fact that this particular version of Hamlet was both intensive and riveting probably diverted the standing-area patrons attention away from any self pitying type thoughts. However, I reiterate, for someone to be able to stand in one place in a continuous heavy downpour for nigh on three hours whilst, at the same time staying focused on the play being presented in front of you, well, that's pretty amazing stuff.
The other really interesting thing was the attitude of the actors towards all this inclement weather. These guys simply didn't give a toss.
They appreciated that they were performing to an adoring public and they responded in kind.
By the end of the performance all actors were dripping from head to foot and loving the experience.
Wednesday 29 August 2012
It's a beautiful sunny weekend. We are in Germany. What a great day for a wedding!
We have just had a brilliant weekend over in Lower Saxony helping to celebrate the wedding of our friends Heinz and Birgit.
These guys have been an item for twelve years, so I guess it was only a matter of time before they finally got around to tying the knot.
Birgit is a great individual, full of life and interesting. Over the years I've been amazed at how well both these guys bond with each other. Great stuff!
As for Heinz, well Julia, Heinz and myself go way back to 1979 when we first met whilst Heinz and I were working for Lep International in Auckland.
The wedding venue and accommodation were located in the middle of nowhere, down country, about 80km south of Hamburg.
We will get into the trip south in a moment, however a word first about the festivities.
We were booked into a country retreat called Gut Thansen near Soderstorf (fingers on the Google Map.......GO!) Gut Thansen is a classy getaway of two old heritage buildings of the court, the former pigsty and stables. Needless to say, we drew the short straw and bunked down in the pigsty. The wedding took place within an old windmill (Muhle) in another metropolis called Eyendorf. As for the ceremony, well, .....it was in German. Let me just summarise by saying the celebrant dotted all the 'i's and crossed every 't' in sight. The highlight for me was the tenor Birgit had organised for the occasion. In front of about eighty punters this young guy fairly let rip into a couple of numbers. I have to say that this chap's performance was a tad emotional. I had a word with this dude afterwards (he answers to Stefan ) who confided to me that he had been a little nervous as he had never performed before without being accompanied by the piano.
The reception, it's the same wherever you go. Heaps of happy guests having a great time, lots of eating , drinking and dancing and both of the happy couple putting in the hard yards leading the charge.
It's a bit of a weird feeling watching a good mate of thirty something years getting re-hitched. Both Julia and yours truly came away feeling really good about the weekend .
Now, back to the trip down.
Things started to liven up after having arrived at Hamburg airport. We approached the Avis rental counter to pick up the car.
As I neared the counter I was confronted with the sight of two check in desks, the one on the left free and manned by a pleasant looking young woman and the counter on the right with one customer (a really amusing Pom) and manned by a really fierce looking middle aged woman. She appeared like she was about to burst out of her uniform and was giving off very scary vibes.
Naturally, I approached the free desk on the left and was just about to stick my documents into the outstretched hands of the young woman when her mate on her left gave me a "death ray " withering look and barked at me "ARE YOU A PREFERRED CUSTOMER? IF YOU ARE NOT - YOU CAN'T APPROACH THE PREFERRED CUSTOMER COUNTER. WELL?"
OK, I freely admit it, I got a hell of a shock by her delivery so I immediately went into reflex mode and responded "I think I am" "ARE YOU! YES OR NO?"
"Alright, then that's a yes."
This scary woman then barks at her fellow worker. I didn't need a translation . You could read it in her eyes "you just watch that English man with the funny accent. Don't let him trick you. If he can't prove he's a preferred customer send him over to me. I'll deal with this foreigner."
At this moment the Pom in the queue next to me broke into a laugh, turned to me and says " you better behave yourself, I think you have got her angry."
Then in the blink of an eye, this angry ant stares us both down and barks " I AM NOT ANGRY!........... I am not angry."
I don't quite know what it is about these type of conversations, however what I can tell you is that when they happen both Julia and I generally end up laughing hysterically and falling all about the place.
On this occasion we followed a safety first option and kept our poker faces on until we had exited the rental area.
What a woman! Where do they dig up these characters? Julia suggested she must have been a distant relative of the now retired Wynn, the Devil Woman who used to terrorise the front counter back at our Dolphin Sqaure apartments.
I would like to tell you that was the end of the day's dramas. No such luck!
There are two main arterial routes ex-Hamburg airport that head south in the general direction of our destination. Highway 1 that blasts straight through the central city area as it heads south and highway 7, that avoids the central area. Heinz suggested we should check our GPS system should be tweaked to ensure we use the more circuitous route to avoid the city.
It was a great plan in theory, however less than a minute into our planned sixty minute journey we started hitting heavy traffic. What we didn't appreciate is this route travelled under the Elbe river, a bottleneck that was suffering from total vehicle overload. In the first two hours of our journey we travelled no more than 20kms, and at one point we sat for forty five minutes in the middle of our four lane highway with our vehicle engine turned off.
Isn't it weird? Germany prides itself on it's ruthless efficiency and here we were stuck in the middle of a massive traffic jam. It's kind of reassuring to know that on the "road front" Hamburg suffers the same sort of traffic hassles that London and other big cities are pilloried for as examples of poorly organised transport systems.
None of these dramas dampened our enthusiasm of our weekend. In fact all this pre-arrival action only served to heighten the enjoyment of our weekend experience.
These guys have been an item for twelve years, so I guess it was only a matter of time before they finally got around to tying the knot.
Birgit is a great individual, full of life and interesting. Over the years I've been amazed at how well both these guys bond with each other. Great stuff!
As for Heinz, well Julia, Heinz and myself go way back to 1979 when we first met whilst Heinz and I were working for Lep International in Auckland.
The wedding venue and accommodation were located in the middle of nowhere, down country, about 80km south of Hamburg.
We will get into the trip south in a moment, however a word first about the festivities.
We were booked into a country retreat called Gut Thansen near Soderstorf (fingers on the Google Map.......GO!) Gut Thansen is a classy getaway of two old heritage buildings of the court, the former pigsty and stables. Needless to say, we drew the short straw and bunked down in the pigsty. The wedding took place within an old windmill (Muhle) in another metropolis called Eyendorf. As for the ceremony, well, .....it was in German. Let me just summarise by saying the celebrant dotted all the 'i's and crossed every 't' in sight. The highlight for me was the tenor Birgit had organised for the occasion. In front of about eighty punters this young guy fairly let rip into a couple of numbers. I have to say that this chap's performance was a tad emotional. I had a word with this dude afterwards (he answers to Stefan ) who confided to me that he had been a little nervous as he had never performed before without being accompanied by the piano.
The reception, it's the same wherever you go. Heaps of happy guests having a great time, lots of eating , drinking and dancing and both of the happy couple putting in the hard yards leading the charge.
It's a bit of a weird feeling watching a good mate of thirty something years getting re-hitched. Both Julia and yours truly came away feeling really good about the weekend .
Now, back to the trip down.
Things started to liven up after having arrived at Hamburg airport. We approached the Avis rental counter to pick up the car.
As I neared the counter I was confronted with the sight of two check in desks, the one on the left free and manned by a pleasant looking young woman and the counter on the right with one customer (a really amusing Pom) and manned by a really fierce looking middle aged woman. She appeared like she was about to burst out of her uniform and was giving off very scary vibes.
Naturally, I approached the free desk on the left and was just about to stick my documents into the outstretched hands of the young woman when her mate on her left gave me a "death ray " withering look and barked at me "ARE YOU A PREFERRED CUSTOMER? IF YOU ARE NOT - YOU CAN'T APPROACH THE PREFERRED CUSTOMER COUNTER. WELL?"
OK, I freely admit it, I got a hell of a shock by her delivery so I immediately went into reflex mode and responded "I think I am" "ARE YOU! YES OR NO?"
"Alright, then that's a yes."
This scary woman then barks at her fellow worker. I didn't need a translation . You could read it in her eyes "you just watch that English man with the funny accent. Don't let him trick you. If he can't prove he's a preferred customer send him over to me. I'll deal with this foreigner."
At this moment the Pom in the queue next to me broke into a laugh, turned to me and says " you better behave yourself, I think you have got her angry."
Then in the blink of an eye, this angry ant stares us both down and barks " I AM NOT ANGRY!........... I am not angry."
I don't quite know what it is about these type of conversations, however what I can tell you is that when they happen both Julia and I generally end up laughing hysterically and falling all about the place.
On this occasion we followed a safety first option and kept our poker faces on until we had exited the rental area.
What a woman! Where do they dig up these characters? Julia suggested she must have been a distant relative of the now retired Wynn, the Devil Woman who used to terrorise the front counter back at our Dolphin Sqaure apartments.
I would like to tell you that was the end of the day's dramas. No such luck!
There are two main arterial routes ex-Hamburg airport that head south in the general direction of our destination. Highway 1 that blasts straight through the central city area as it heads south and highway 7, that avoids the central area. Heinz suggested we should check our GPS system should be tweaked to ensure we use the more circuitous route to avoid the city.
It was a great plan in theory, however less than a minute into our planned sixty minute journey we started hitting heavy traffic. What we didn't appreciate is this route travelled under the Elbe river, a bottleneck that was suffering from total vehicle overload. In the first two hours of our journey we travelled no more than 20kms, and at one point we sat for forty five minutes in the middle of our four lane highway with our vehicle engine turned off.
Isn't it weird? Germany prides itself on it's ruthless efficiency and here we were stuck in the middle of a massive traffic jam. It's kind of reassuring to know that on the "road front" Hamburg suffers the same sort of traffic hassles that London and other big cities are pilloried for as examples of poorly organised transport systems.
None of these dramas dampened our enthusiasm of our weekend. In fact all this pre-arrival action only served to heighten the enjoyment of our weekend experience.
Monday 20 August 2012
XXXL and Concert Seats, they can be a tricky combo
A few nights back we headed off to a Copeland concert (he of the Fanfare For The Common Man variety) performed alongside a few other New World pieces.
We were making our way to the Albert Hall on the trusty 360 when the bus pulled over outside Bibendums Restaurant to take onboard two very large old guys who looked to be in their early seventies . These chaps were obviously twins and though initially I thought my mind and eyes were playing tricks on me, these men were actually attired in identical garb. You have to admit it, this is a pretty strange look for a couple of old heavily overweight guys, even if they were twins. Julia immediately leaned over and whispered in my ear, what's the bet these guys' mother spent all her life choosing their clothes and dressing them the same and assuming she's long gone you would have to think these men couldn't see any reason to break the habits of a lifetime.
So there they were , sitting side by side in the bus, decked out in matching black loafers, beige trousers and red & white checked shirts. Creepy , very creepy.
Obviously the bus seats couldn't contain two similar sized posteriors packed side by side, so one of the guys spent the entire trip with his left cheek hanging over the side of his seat.
When we alight at the Albert Hall these guys also exit the bus.
My obvious thought was, I pity the poor buggers who have to sit next to these guys. It will be a nightmare.
Anyway, off for a few pre concert drinks to get us in the mood before we wander over to the Choir East seats which have a fantastic location right behind the stage and just above the percussion section.
We were about six rows back and just as we were getting settled, in wandered our very large twins, who proceeded to waddle over to a couple of seats three rows down and directly below us.
These guys plonk themselves down and without apparently exchanging so much as a word, then proceed to cross their arms on top of their stomachs.
To put this scene into perspective I would suggest that once settled these guys elbows were laying horizontal with their shoulders and as for seat space, well, all I can say that that the concert goers who were going to be seated either side of these dudes were going to be in for a rather interesting experience.
Then, if things couldn't get worse, joy of joys, it does.
In strolls two middle-aged women, one of normal size, the other , bless her soul, at least an XXXL and you guessed it in one, their seats were directly to the right of Billy Bunter and his twin.
When she saw what is about to go down both Julia and I had to use all of our self control to avoid bursting out laughing.
First things first, these women had to get past the twins.
Under normal circumstances you would just stand up, flick your seat back and leave enough space for other bodies to pass you.
However this was never going to be a goer.
So what these twins did (over the years they have obviously had plenty of practice with this manoeuvre ) is that they turned around and whilst looking towards us and away from the stage , proceeded to lodge their stomach areas on top of their seats.
It was a very weird look but it worked.
We were trying not to look, but you know what it's like, some things are just so weird that you can't avoid taking a gawk.
So here's the scene prior to the rest of the row being filled up in this sell out concert.
The first big guy is eating up his seat 14 and half of 13.
The second guy is wedged into 15 and overflowing into 16.
The large woman two doors down in 17 is overflowing into both 16 and 18
As for the large woman's friend, she has somehow managed to squeeze herself into 16 and was last sighted disappearing under two protrusions courtesy of seats 15 and 17 appendages that resembled rather large quivering hams.
This spectacle is made complete when two normal sized persons attempt to sit in both 13 and 18.
It's a tight fit as 13 and 18 are also forced to encroach into their respective partners territory in 12 and 19.
From the safety of my seat it appeared as if 11 and 20 and points east and west of same got a cram free run.
NOBODY MOVE, AND TRY NOT TO BREATHE, IT'S A SHORT CONCERT. WE SHOULD ALL BE OUT OF HERE IN TWO AND A HALF HOURS!
Talk about nightmare territory.
What am I saying. We loved it . The spectacle was almost as good as the concert.
I must remember to try and book these cheaper choir seats in the future . It's a very interesting location.
There is something very positive about English concert goers as they simply don't care one jot about either the size of the person seated next to them, their looks or what they are wearing. There are only four things that English concert goers frown upon: latecomers, people that applaud at inappropriate moments, people who talk or whisper during the performance and last but not least, other concert goers who generate disagreeable body odour.
Having experienced all four, sometimes in the same concert, we are in full agreement.
Cheers
We were making our way to the Albert Hall on the trusty 360 when the bus pulled over outside Bibendums Restaurant to take onboard two very large old guys who looked to be in their early seventies . These chaps were obviously twins and though initially I thought my mind and eyes were playing tricks on me, these men were actually attired in identical garb. You have to admit it, this is a pretty strange look for a couple of old heavily overweight guys, even if they were twins. Julia immediately leaned over and whispered in my ear, what's the bet these guys' mother spent all her life choosing their clothes and dressing them the same and assuming she's long gone you would have to think these men couldn't see any reason to break the habits of a lifetime.
So there they were , sitting side by side in the bus, decked out in matching black loafers, beige trousers and red & white checked shirts. Creepy , very creepy.
Obviously the bus seats couldn't contain two similar sized posteriors packed side by side, so one of the guys spent the entire trip with his left cheek hanging over the side of his seat.
When we alight at the Albert Hall these guys also exit the bus.
My obvious thought was, I pity the poor buggers who have to sit next to these guys. It will be a nightmare.
Anyway, off for a few pre concert drinks to get us in the mood before we wander over to the Choir East seats which have a fantastic location right behind the stage and just above the percussion section.
We were about six rows back and just as we were getting settled, in wandered our very large twins, who proceeded to waddle over to a couple of seats three rows down and directly below us.
These guys plonk themselves down and without apparently exchanging so much as a word, then proceed to cross their arms on top of their stomachs.
To put this scene into perspective I would suggest that once settled these guys elbows were laying horizontal with their shoulders and as for seat space, well, all I can say that that the concert goers who were going to be seated either side of these dudes were going to be in for a rather interesting experience.
Then, if things couldn't get worse, joy of joys, it does.
In strolls two middle-aged women, one of normal size, the other , bless her soul, at least an XXXL and you guessed it in one, their seats were directly to the right of Billy Bunter and his twin.
When she saw what is about to go down both Julia and I had to use all of our self control to avoid bursting out laughing.
First things first, these women had to get past the twins.
Under normal circumstances you would just stand up, flick your seat back and leave enough space for other bodies to pass you.
However this was never going to be a goer.
So what these twins did (over the years they have obviously had plenty of practice with this manoeuvre ) is that they turned around and whilst looking towards us and away from the stage , proceeded to lodge their stomach areas on top of their seats.
It was a very weird look but it worked.
We were trying not to look, but you know what it's like, some things are just so weird that you can't avoid taking a gawk.
So here's the scene prior to the rest of the row being filled up in this sell out concert.
The first big guy is eating up his seat 14 and half of 13.
The second guy is wedged into 15 and overflowing into 16.
The large woman two doors down in 17 is overflowing into both 16 and 18
As for the large woman's friend, she has somehow managed to squeeze herself into 16 and was last sighted disappearing under two protrusions courtesy of seats 15 and 17 appendages that resembled rather large quivering hams.
This spectacle is made complete when two normal sized persons attempt to sit in both 13 and 18.
It's a tight fit as 13 and 18 are also forced to encroach into their respective partners territory in 12 and 19.
From the safety of my seat it appeared as if 11 and 20 and points east and west of same got a cram free run.
NOBODY MOVE, AND TRY NOT TO BREATHE, IT'S A SHORT CONCERT. WE SHOULD ALL BE OUT OF HERE IN TWO AND A HALF HOURS!
Talk about nightmare territory.
What am I saying. We loved it . The spectacle was almost as good as the concert.
I must remember to try and book these cheaper choir seats in the future . It's a very interesting location.
There is something very positive about English concert goers as they simply don't care one jot about either the size of the person seated next to them, their looks or what they are wearing. There are only four things that English concert goers frown upon: latecomers, people that applaud at inappropriate moments, people who talk or whisper during the performance and last but not least, other concert goers who generate disagreeable body odour.
Having experienced all four, sometimes in the same concert, we are in full agreement.
Cheers
The almighty Sunday pub lunch roast
Yesterday was a real scorcher , a year high with hitting the mid twenties by early morning
In these sort of temperatures ones options tend to be limited. Having spent the last month on a constant roller coaster diet of concerts, plays and art exhibitions we decided to take a day off and go down to a pub to participate in a weekly English institution, the Sunday pub lunch
Both Julia and yours truly tend to steer clear of heavy meat meals as we are both coverts of a well promoted anti cancer campaign back in Christchurch that directly links the provinces high cancer rate to the massive local consumption of red meat
With that thought in mind I dived onto the net to locate a pub acknowledged as being a winner with their Sunday lunches , in combination with a halfway decent outdoor beer garden ( a must on a day when the temperature was climbing into the early thirties)
We finally settled on The Queens Head in Hammersmith as their client reviews all looked positive and on their site the pub claimed that their Sunday Lunches were "to die for" and get this , they guaranteed that the Yorkshire Pudding's were so large they were they size of three closed fists (that's as in big meaty work mens fists, not the small fists of an anorexic Asian woman)
When we entered The Queens Head around twelve thirty the place was full to overflowing with your typical fun loving beer guzzling loud voiced Sunday pub crowd
Straight to the bar to order drinks and food. We plugged for a lunch described as a Roast Trio , a meal which consisted of beef, pork, chicken and whatever else
Twenty minutes later we are kicking back in the beer garden and I happen to look over in the general direction of the kitchen just at the moment when our meals appear out of the kitchen door
I immediately bolt upright in my seat and manage to squeeze out of throat to Julia, "look what's heading in our direction. I pray God that they've got the table number wrong"
Fat chance of that happening.
Two waitresses were bearing down on us , each holding with two hands a huge meat tray loaded to the gunnels with food
My initial thought was there had to be some mistake as it's simply wasn't possible for one human being to consume so much nosh in one, or two, or even three sittings
Each plate would have been at least 45x30 cm and the food was piled in places maybe 10cm high
Frankly I don't know what I might have expected . Maybe a bit of this and that, a few potatoes, a very greens , possibly some stuffing and decent gravy covering a volume of food more suitable for a sixty year old looking forward to a smallish midday meal
So what did we get
For starters, half , yes half a large chicken
A slab of beef. It was so big the only things that appeared to be missing from this dead beast were a set of ears and a tail
And pork. Between us Julia and my plates must have accounted for most of a small porker
No greens , no stuffing, no gravy
However to back-fill this meat mega feast we were invited to dig into three huge roasted potatoes, two massive hand fills of parsnips , a small bucket load of under cooked carrots, and a mountain sized portion of swede and carrot mash, a horrible looking stodgy thing that even our Lab would have looked at twice before downing
And as for the Yorkshire Pudding, well their adverts weren't selling that pudding short. This strange looking object was fully 20cm in diameter and 12cm high
I could see the look in Julia's eyes, she was horrified
For my part, I was numb, yes numb
My immediate thought was what kind of loonie chef is operating out of that kitchen. Is the guy insane!
If I eat this stuff I'm a dead man, it's as simple as that.
For the next thirty minutes both of us nibbled away at the fringes of this lunch nightmare
When a waitress came over to take another drinks order she saw that we were finding this culinary experience hard going and said " your meals must be getting cold by now, do you want me to take them back into the kitchen and zapp them in the microwave"
My response was immediate
"look, if you can make these meals disappear and ensure that chef doesn't come charging at us with a carving knife in hand, then there's a good sized tip looking for your palm when you deliver our drinks"
Then the waitress with a knowing look responds "I know where you are coming from. We get these type of requests all the time from guests who find these roasts a bit much. Any room for dessert?"
In a perverse kind of way I really enjoyed the experience , albeit one that won't be repeated anytime soon
In these sort of temperatures ones options tend to be limited. Having spent the last month on a constant roller coaster diet of concerts, plays and art exhibitions we decided to take a day off and go down to a pub to participate in a weekly English institution, the Sunday pub lunch
Both Julia and yours truly tend to steer clear of heavy meat meals as we are both coverts of a well promoted anti cancer campaign back in Christchurch that directly links the provinces high cancer rate to the massive local consumption of red meat
With that thought in mind I dived onto the net to locate a pub acknowledged as being a winner with their Sunday lunches , in combination with a halfway decent outdoor beer garden ( a must on a day when the temperature was climbing into the early thirties)
We finally settled on The Queens Head in Hammersmith as their client reviews all looked positive and on their site the pub claimed that their Sunday Lunches were "to die for" and get this , they guaranteed that the Yorkshire Pudding's were so large they were they size of three closed fists (that's as in big meaty work mens fists, not the small fists of an anorexic Asian woman)
When we entered The Queens Head around twelve thirty the place was full to overflowing with your typical fun loving beer guzzling loud voiced Sunday pub crowd
Straight to the bar to order drinks and food. We plugged for a lunch described as a Roast Trio , a meal which consisted of beef, pork, chicken and whatever else
Twenty minutes later we are kicking back in the beer garden and I happen to look over in the general direction of the kitchen just at the moment when our meals appear out of the kitchen door
I immediately bolt upright in my seat and manage to squeeze out of throat to Julia, "look what's heading in our direction. I pray God that they've got the table number wrong"
Fat chance of that happening.
Two waitresses were bearing down on us , each holding with two hands a huge meat tray loaded to the gunnels with food
My initial thought was there had to be some mistake as it's simply wasn't possible for one human being to consume so much nosh in one, or two, or even three sittings
Each plate would have been at least 45x30 cm and the food was piled in places maybe 10cm high
Frankly I don't know what I might have expected . Maybe a bit of this and that, a few potatoes, a very greens , possibly some stuffing and decent gravy covering a volume of food more suitable for a sixty year old looking forward to a smallish midday meal
So what did we get
For starters, half , yes half a large chicken
A slab of beef. It was so big the only things that appeared to be missing from this dead beast were a set of ears and a tail
And pork. Between us Julia and my plates must have accounted for most of a small porker
No greens , no stuffing, no gravy
However to back-fill this meat mega feast we were invited to dig into three huge roasted potatoes, two massive hand fills of parsnips , a small bucket load of under cooked carrots, and a mountain sized portion of swede and carrot mash, a horrible looking stodgy thing that even our Lab would have looked at twice before downing
And as for the Yorkshire Pudding, well their adverts weren't selling that pudding short. This strange looking object was fully 20cm in diameter and 12cm high
I could see the look in Julia's eyes, she was horrified
For my part, I was numb, yes numb
My immediate thought was what kind of loonie chef is operating out of that kitchen. Is the guy insane!
If I eat this stuff I'm a dead man, it's as simple as that.
For the next thirty minutes both of us nibbled away at the fringes of this lunch nightmare
When a waitress came over to take another drinks order she saw that we were finding this culinary experience hard going and said " your meals must be getting cold by now, do you want me to take them back into the kitchen and zapp them in the microwave"
My response was immediate
"look, if you can make these meals disappear and ensure that chef doesn't come charging at us with a carving knife in hand, then there's a good sized tip looking for your palm when you deliver our drinks"
Then the waitress with a knowing look responds "I know where you are coming from. We get these type of requests all the time from guests who find these roasts a bit much. Any room for dessert?"
In a perverse kind of way I really enjoyed the experience , albeit one that won't be repeated anytime soon
Saturday 11 August 2012
Mixing ut up with the glitterati
Having lunch at one of London's "old school" restaurants can be a bit of a hit and miss affair. A few years back and against the advise of may of our well intentioned friends, Julia and yours truly booked into 'Rules'. This restaurant is one of London's oldest dining establishments and makes claim to having the first every written menu.
In the event we had a great time and loved the atmosphere. As for the food, it was gamey, game here , game there, this joint just didn't deal to lettuce lovers and health food freaks.
Anyway, a few days back Julia said that in every second London based novel she has recently read, The Ivy inevitably got a mention and on that basis suggested we go and check it out.
The Ivy is actually a very interesting restaurant. It's been around forever and is one of the key lunch/dinner venues for celebrities, wannabes and their entourages.
I've actually dined there on a couple of previous occasions with my friend Colin, so when Julia asked me in advance what to expect in the way of food quality and atmosphere, my response was a little short on specifics other than to clarify that having lunch there would be a real experience.
Well, the lunch lived up to and exceeded our expectations.
Let's get the downside out of the way first.
The food. Frankly, I don't know how this establishment gets away with serving up such ordinary fare (whilst fleecing you for same as if you were downing gold dust).
You would probably get better food at a Little Chef roadside cafe on the M25.
But that's London diners for you, they will put up with all manner of crap as long as the vibe is right.
The drinks on the other hand were a completely different story. The wine guy obviously knows his onions and we were spoilt for choice. After a few drinks it didn't really matter what we were being invited to eat. However, I have to say that when our waiter asked us how we were enjoying our meal I was fast out of the blocks to confirm that we loved the wine. That waiter was no fool, he knew he was serving up food that was sub standard for such a prestigious eatery.
As for the clientele, they were simply brilliant. Lunching business men with very loud Eton trained voices, weirdly dressed guys with trophy women, very loud female groups dressed in bling and all braying at each other, Elvis Costello entertaining a buxom Bollie-guzzling blonde who by the looks of it had been the recent recipient of a small swimming pool of Botox (the woman simply wasn't in a physical position to smile even when she wanted to) and lots of show biz types. Our favourite star on display had to be Sandi Toksvig, a co-host on a number of televised antique quiz shows. This part time presenter, part time comedian is in her early fifties, on tip toes she measures about 5 ft and always dresses in very sensible boring country clothes. We call her 'Hurrumph' as she has a tendency to spit out Hurrumphy sounds when badgering contestants on the quiz shows. Sandi didn't let us down. The alcohol capacity of this oversized-dwarf was simply staggering. Over lunch she must have downed no less than half a dozen Campari and Sodas. We didn't actually see her leave the restaurant but it is almost a certain that she left on all fours. 'Hurrumph'. All the diners were going for it as if this was their last day on earth .
It's not hard to get caught up in this type of atmosphere and both Julia and myself who have a history " in the lack of self control department" well, we went with the flow.
I remember floating out of the front door late in the afternoon thinking to myself, what a great afternoon. Boy, are we going to pay for this tomorrow morning. And guess what?, we did.
Was it worth it?
Of course it was, we loved it.
Julia comment: I loved it. To all my girly friends, when you get the chance you must try this experience. If it's good enough for Eddie & Patsy then it's good enough for us. More Bollie darling?
In the event we had a great time and loved the atmosphere. As for the food, it was gamey, game here , game there, this joint just didn't deal to lettuce lovers and health food freaks.
Anyway, a few days back Julia said that in every second London based novel she has recently read, The Ivy inevitably got a mention and on that basis suggested we go and check it out.
The Ivy is actually a very interesting restaurant. It's been around forever and is one of the key lunch/dinner venues for celebrities, wannabes and their entourages.
I've actually dined there on a couple of previous occasions with my friend Colin, so when Julia asked me in advance what to expect in the way of food quality and atmosphere, my response was a little short on specifics other than to clarify that having lunch there would be a real experience.
Well, the lunch lived up to and exceeded our expectations.
Let's get the downside out of the way first.
The food. Frankly, I don't know how this establishment gets away with serving up such ordinary fare (whilst fleecing you for same as if you were downing gold dust).
You would probably get better food at a Little Chef roadside cafe on the M25.
But that's London diners for you, they will put up with all manner of crap as long as the vibe is right.
The drinks on the other hand were a completely different story. The wine guy obviously knows his onions and we were spoilt for choice. After a few drinks it didn't really matter what we were being invited to eat. However, I have to say that when our waiter asked us how we were enjoying our meal I was fast out of the blocks to confirm that we loved the wine. That waiter was no fool, he knew he was serving up food that was sub standard for such a prestigious eatery.
As for the clientele, they were simply brilliant. Lunching business men with very loud Eton trained voices, weirdly dressed guys with trophy women, very loud female groups dressed in bling and all braying at each other, Elvis Costello entertaining a buxom Bollie-guzzling blonde who by the looks of it had been the recent recipient of a small swimming pool of Botox (the woman simply wasn't in a physical position to smile even when she wanted to) and lots of show biz types. Our favourite star on display had to be Sandi Toksvig, a co-host on a number of televised antique quiz shows. This part time presenter, part time comedian is in her early fifties, on tip toes she measures about 5 ft and always dresses in very sensible boring country clothes. We call her 'Hurrumph' as she has a tendency to spit out Hurrumphy sounds when badgering contestants on the quiz shows. Sandi didn't let us down. The alcohol capacity of this oversized-dwarf was simply staggering. Over lunch she must have downed no less than half a dozen Campari and Sodas. We didn't actually see her leave the restaurant but it is almost a certain that she left on all fours. 'Hurrumph'. All the diners were going for it as if this was their last day on earth .
It's not hard to get caught up in this type of atmosphere and both Julia and myself who have a history " in the lack of self control department" well, we went with the flow.
I remember floating out of the front door late in the afternoon thinking to myself, what a great afternoon. Boy, are we going to pay for this tomorrow morning. And guess what?, we did.
Was it worth it?
Of course it was, we loved it.
Julia comment: I loved it. To all my girly friends, when you get the chance you must try this experience. If it's good enough for Eddie & Patsy then it's good enough for us. More Bollie darling?
Wednesday 8 August 2012
Final closure on The Dolphins devils spawn
Postscript to the departure of Wynn, the loathed and much despised front counter "Customer Services " (joke!) receptionist at our Dolphin Square Apartments.
Just to update that today, I had a bit of a chat with the very pleasant Jamaican receptionist who had to work alongside the evil Wynn during her many years at the Dolphin. The conversation went something like this
John (JRA) . "So I see Wynn's gone"
Jamaican guy (JAM). Long pause, very long pause......."Yes"
JRA. "I bet her husband will be dancing for joy now that he can spend his every waking hour with his wife"
JAM. "He's dead, she's a widow woman"
JRA." I see, that's a pity"
JAM. "I doubt it . He was probably better off dying when he did"
JRA. "Yeah, I think I see where you are coming from"
JAM. "Man, that woman was a piece of work. If I'd been married to her, no question, I would have topped myself years ago. I hope her husband has gone to heaven , cause it's a guarantee that when Wynn dies she will be on a one way ticket to hell. No question about it"
JRA. "Yeah, I obviously didn't know her too well, however I have to admit that she didn't appear to be the most user friendly person I've met"
JAM. Big roar then emits from JAM's mouth "User friendly . USER FRIENDLY. Man that woman was the devil. Look I've said too much. Let's just say that since 27th July every working day has turned into a joyful experience"
JRA. " I suspect 1200 apartment owners will agree with your sentiments"
JAM "Man, you got that in one"
Just to update that today, I had a bit of a chat with the very pleasant Jamaican receptionist who had to work alongside the evil Wynn during her many years at the Dolphin. The conversation went something like this
John (JRA) . "So I see Wynn's gone"
Jamaican guy (JAM). Long pause, very long pause......."Yes"
JRA. "I bet her husband will be dancing for joy now that he can spend his every waking hour with his wife"
JAM. "He's dead, she's a widow woman"
JRA." I see, that's a pity"
JAM. "I doubt it . He was probably better off dying when he did"
JRA. "Yeah, I think I see where you are coming from"
JAM. "Man, that woman was a piece of work. If I'd been married to her, no question, I would have topped myself years ago. I hope her husband has gone to heaven , cause it's a guarantee that when Wynn dies she will be on a one way ticket to hell. No question about it"
JRA. "Yeah, I obviously didn't know her too well, however I have to admit that she didn't appear to be the most user friendly person I've met"
JAM. Big roar then emits from JAM's mouth "User friendly . USER FRIENDLY. Man that woman was the devil. Look I've said too much. Let's just say that since 27th July every working day has turned into a joyful experience"
JRA. " I suspect 1200 apartment owners will agree with your sentiments"
JAM "Man, you got that in one"
Senior citizen V's London pigeon. I think we will call this one a draw
We dropped into the 244th edition of the Royal Academy of Arts Summer Exhibition earlier today.
This event runs for a couple of months in the middle of each year.
It's actually a very interesting event as it fronts as the showcase for all up and coming British artists.
The deal here is that if you think you have what it takes you forward your works to the Academy and if they agree, then your stuff is displayed, with price tag attached.
We saw some pretty interesting stuff however I have to say that most of the participants aren't shy when it came to establishing a sale price.
Some of these no name up and comers were looking for prices in excess of £300,000. That's pretty heady stuff.
Enough of that, the drama of the day actually occurred after our visit. We decided to have a couple of cappuccino's and share a raisin twirl bun outside in the quadrangle.
Whilst Julia was off purchasing the drinks and bun I was idly watching the pigeons scavenging for crumbs and thinking to myself that these birds weren't messing about and looked like they were in fighting mode.
Over comes Julia, who plonks herself down and we set to drinking our very fine cappuccinos whilst ripping into our raisin twirl.
At this stage a bloody hoard of pigeons arrive and start pecking away all around our feet which is normal English pigeon behaviour.
Then these two legged ninjas start looking up at the plate holding our twirl and I can see that they have evil intent written in their eyes.
My left hand grabs the last of my share of the twirl and as I am in the process of lifting said twirl to my lips, a huge frantically flapping winged beast launches itself directly off the ground and starts beating its wings about an inch in front of my face, whilst at the same time thrusting it's savage beak directly at my twirl.
Without giving it a second thought (blame it on the bird's element of surprise) I swung my left hand (with twirl attached) out of the bird's firing line whilst at the same time punching this attacker right on his beak with my right hand.
I would like to report that I landed the punch with a closed fist however I have to admit that at that precise moment my hand was also holding a full and very hot polystyrene cup of coffee.
I don't know who got the greater shock, yours truly or the pigeon.
The bird immediately took flight and I was left covered from head to foot with the backwash of cappuccino.
As I was in the process of attempting to wipe myself down an English woman sitting directly over from me and who had witnessed this altercation pipes up and says,
" I don't think it's a very good idea for you to feed the birds. It only encourages them"
I look over at her , dripping in coffee, chocolate and cream foam and respond "Is that a fact?"
And she responds ........"Yes"
Then I respond "Thank you for your kind and insightful comments. I will endeavour to keep your advise in mind next time I'm minding my own business and out of the blue am attacked by a winged monster"
Then as my bird feeding advisor looks away she lets off a final parting shot "You're welcome."
That's it. From now on no more coffee breaks at The Royal Academy.
This event runs for a couple of months in the middle of each year.
It's actually a very interesting event as it fronts as the showcase for all up and coming British artists.
The deal here is that if you think you have what it takes you forward your works to the Academy and if they agree, then your stuff is displayed, with price tag attached.
We saw some pretty interesting stuff however I have to say that most of the participants aren't shy when it came to establishing a sale price.
Some of these no name up and comers were looking for prices in excess of £300,000. That's pretty heady stuff.
Enough of that, the drama of the day actually occurred after our visit. We decided to have a couple of cappuccino's and share a raisin twirl bun outside in the quadrangle.
Whilst Julia was off purchasing the drinks and bun I was idly watching the pigeons scavenging for crumbs and thinking to myself that these birds weren't messing about and looked like they were in fighting mode.
Over comes Julia, who plonks herself down and we set to drinking our very fine cappuccinos whilst ripping into our raisin twirl.
At this stage a bloody hoard of pigeons arrive and start pecking away all around our feet which is normal English pigeon behaviour.
Then these two legged ninjas start looking up at the plate holding our twirl and I can see that they have evil intent written in their eyes.
My left hand grabs the last of my share of the twirl and as I am in the process of lifting said twirl to my lips, a huge frantically flapping winged beast launches itself directly off the ground and starts beating its wings about an inch in front of my face, whilst at the same time thrusting it's savage beak directly at my twirl.
Without giving it a second thought (blame it on the bird's element of surprise) I swung my left hand (with twirl attached) out of the bird's firing line whilst at the same time punching this attacker right on his beak with my right hand.
I would like to report that I landed the punch with a closed fist however I have to admit that at that precise moment my hand was also holding a full and very hot polystyrene cup of coffee.
I don't know who got the greater shock, yours truly or the pigeon.
The bird immediately took flight and I was left covered from head to foot with the backwash of cappuccino.
As I was in the process of attempting to wipe myself down an English woman sitting directly over from me and who had witnessed this altercation pipes up and says,
" I don't think it's a very good idea for you to feed the birds. It only encourages them"
I look over at her , dripping in coffee, chocolate and cream foam and respond "Is that a fact?"
And she responds ........"Yes"
Then I respond "Thank you for your kind and insightful comments. I will endeavour to keep your advise in mind next time I'm minding my own business and out of the blue am attacked by a winged monster"
Then as my bird feeding advisor looks away she lets off a final parting shot "You're welcome."
That's it. From now on no more coffee breaks at The Royal Academy.
Friday 3 August 2012
If you are not into the Arts, it probably best to look away now
 |
| My new hero.The elderly woman in the front row sitting directly to the left of the old guy in the white shirt who is leaning slightly forward. This pensioner delivered a memorable performance . Read on |
 |
| Gearing up for an evening of mayhem at the Hammersmith Apollo |
This has been pretty heavy fortnight on the Arts front
Over the last couple of weeks we have been flat out on the arts front.
Exhibitions at the Tate Britain (Another London) Tate Modern (Edvard Munch), Portrait Gallery (BP Portrait Awards 2012) , Somerset House (The Rolling Stones, 50yrs), the V&A (British Design 1948-2012) and finally the Barbican (Designing 007: Fifty Years Bond Style).
Two great plays. A fantastic performance of A Midsummer Nights Dream performed at Regents Park Open Air Theatre and set in modern day English Romani caravan park with a theme along the lines of A Big Fat Gypsy Wedding.
Also an electric performance of Bernard Shaw's A Doctor's Dilemma performed at the Lyttelton Theatre at Southbank.
Straight into the classical stuff. Off to variously, Westminster Cathedral to take in one of the 2012 Grand Organ Festival performances, over to St-Martin-in-the-Fields for an uplifting eighteen string performance of various works, the highlight of which was Dvorak's Serenade for Strings in E major (inspiring stuff). Then of course, hanging out at the Royal Albert Hall to take in Beethoven's symphonies and a a performance of Bach's Mass in B Minor.
Finally, we attended a rock concert the other night performed by Eddie Vedder (the lead singer of a group called Pearl Jam). Good old Eddie isn't much cop as a solo act however, the theatre he performed in, the HMV Hammersmith Apollo was a class act in itself. What a great place!
All this spiritual infusion stuff aside, a couple of things happened during our last two concerts that basically rated as evening highlights for us.
The first was last night.
You see this shot above of the audience applauding. This shot was taken after the event in question.
Check out the older woman in the front centre of the shot sitting directly to the left of the old guy who is dressed in a white shirt and is leaning slightly forward.
Now picture the scene. 6,000 of us are attending a performance of Bach's Mass in B minor. We are all playing the classical unwritten rules game. No unnecessary coughing during the performance, no entry or exit from your seat , phones off, no photos, no clinking of glasses, and last but not least, no applauding until the end of each half.
Things in the first half went to plan and the second half was travelling along OK, that was, until the choir had belted out a particularly inspirational number.
The piece finished and just as the conductor was about to move on, this old woman started applauding.
Can you imagine it. A 6,000 person auditorium and exactly one person applauding.
5,999 sets of eyes all immediately swung in the direction of the box that seated this unconstrained pensioner.
My immediate thoughts were, two things are going to happen here, and fast
1) this woman is going to realise she stuffed up and will stop applauding or
2) some others in the crowd might just join in to cover their own embarrassment at what was going down.
Well, I have to tell you neither of these things happened.
As one, the entire audience just sat there liked stunned mullets. Neither the orchestra nor it's conductor moved a muscle.
And this old duck just kept on clapping.
I have to say this was one seriously enjoyable moment in my classical life.
Said women, finally ran out of puff, the audience all let out a collective sigh of relief, the conductor dabbed his sweating brow and we got back to business.
Great stuff. I loved it!
The other thing worth commenting on, is the complete contrast between Classical Music and Rock Concert audiences. Talk about extremes.
Over here when you attend a classical concert there are all these common understandings as outlined above. Everyone sits quietly in their seats, nobody talks during a performance, drinking is kept to modest levels and applause is generally kept to a respectful clapping. And as I have already said, no phones, no photos, no moving about, just sit down , enjoy yourself and don't bother your neighbour.
Down to the Hammersmith Apollo to take in an evening of Rock. For starters, the ticket suggests an 1830 start when in fact the warm up act doesn't hit the stage until 1950 and the main act sometime just before 2100.
The crowd (maybe 3,000) arrive en masse at 1830 and hit the facilities extensive bars. There is some serious drinking going on here. Everyone but everyone is hyped up and is getting tanked on beer, wine and whatever. At the point the lead up act hit the stage, my guess would have been that there were probably 300 in their seats and the remaining 2,700 in the bars.
No problem, as one we all buy as many beers or wines as one set of hands can hold and we then storm off to our seats.
The next three hours is total mayhem.
Photos , filming , people calling their friends on the phone, seemingly endless lines traipsing to and from the bars and toilets. Yahoo-ing at the start, during and at the end of each number.
This wasn't a concert.
This was an event of massive proportions.
As to the question of the quality of the headline act.
Eddie Vedder in a word was rubbish.
Who cares, these punters didn't come for the quality of the performance.
We were here to be uplifted and we were.
Off home on the tube, via a couple of pubs.
Now that was one concert worth attending.
Exhibitions at the Tate Britain (Another London) Tate Modern (Edvard Munch), Portrait Gallery (BP Portrait Awards 2012) , Somerset House (The Rolling Stones, 50yrs), the V&A (British Design 1948-2012) and finally the Barbican (Designing 007: Fifty Years Bond Style).
Two great plays. A fantastic performance of A Midsummer Nights Dream performed at Regents Park Open Air Theatre and set in modern day English Romani caravan park with a theme along the lines of A Big Fat Gypsy Wedding.
Also an electric performance of Bernard Shaw's A Doctor's Dilemma performed at the Lyttelton Theatre at Southbank.
Straight into the classical stuff. Off to variously, Westminster Cathedral to take in one of the 2012 Grand Organ Festival performances, over to St-Martin-in-the-Fields for an uplifting eighteen string performance of various works, the highlight of which was Dvorak's Serenade for Strings in E major (inspiring stuff). Then of course, hanging out at the Royal Albert Hall to take in Beethoven's symphonies and a a performance of Bach's Mass in B Minor.
Finally, we attended a rock concert the other night performed by Eddie Vedder (the lead singer of a group called Pearl Jam). Good old Eddie isn't much cop as a solo act however, the theatre he performed in, the HMV Hammersmith Apollo was a class act in itself. What a great place!
All this spiritual infusion stuff aside, a couple of things happened during our last two concerts that basically rated as evening highlights for us.
The first was last night.
You see this shot above of the audience applauding. This shot was taken after the event in question.
Check out the older woman in the front centre of the shot sitting directly to the left of the old guy who is dressed in a white shirt and is leaning slightly forward.
Now picture the scene. 6,000 of us are attending a performance of Bach's Mass in B minor. We are all playing the classical unwritten rules game. No unnecessary coughing during the performance, no entry or exit from your seat , phones off, no photos, no clinking of glasses, and last but not least, no applauding until the end of each half.
Things in the first half went to plan and the second half was travelling along OK, that was, until the choir had belted out a particularly inspirational number.
The piece finished and just as the conductor was about to move on, this old woman started applauding.
Can you imagine it. A 6,000 person auditorium and exactly one person applauding.
5,999 sets of eyes all immediately swung in the direction of the box that seated this unconstrained pensioner.
My immediate thoughts were, two things are going to happen here, and fast
1) this woman is going to realise she stuffed up and will stop applauding or
2) some others in the crowd might just join in to cover their own embarrassment at what was going down.
Well, I have to tell you neither of these things happened.
As one, the entire audience just sat there liked stunned mullets. Neither the orchestra nor it's conductor moved a muscle.
And this old duck just kept on clapping.
I have to say this was one seriously enjoyable moment in my classical life.
Said women, finally ran out of puff, the audience all let out a collective sigh of relief, the conductor dabbed his sweating brow and we got back to business.
Great stuff. I loved it!
The other thing worth commenting on, is the complete contrast between Classical Music and Rock Concert audiences. Talk about extremes.
Over here when you attend a classical concert there are all these common understandings as outlined above. Everyone sits quietly in their seats, nobody talks during a performance, drinking is kept to modest levels and applause is generally kept to a respectful clapping. And as I have already said, no phones, no photos, no moving about, just sit down , enjoy yourself and don't bother your neighbour.
Down to the Hammersmith Apollo to take in an evening of Rock. For starters, the ticket suggests an 1830 start when in fact the warm up act doesn't hit the stage until 1950 and the main act sometime just before 2100.
The crowd (maybe 3,000) arrive en masse at 1830 and hit the facilities extensive bars. There is some serious drinking going on here. Everyone but everyone is hyped up and is getting tanked on beer, wine and whatever. At the point the lead up act hit the stage, my guess would have been that there were probably 300 in their seats and the remaining 2,700 in the bars.
No problem, as one we all buy as many beers or wines as one set of hands can hold and we then storm off to our seats.
The next three hours is total mayhem.
Photos , filming , people calling their friends on the phone, seemingly endless lines traipsing to and from the bars and toilets. Yahoo-ing at the start, during and at the end of each number.
This wasn't a concert.
This was an event of massive proportions.
As to the question of the quality of the headline act.
Eddie Vedder in a word was rubbish.
Who cares, these punters didn't come for the quality of the performance.
We were here to be uplifted and we were.
Off home on the tube, via a couple of pubs.
Now that was one concert worth attending.
Thursday 2 August 2012
The Stamps! How could I have overlooked the Stamps!
You have to give credit to the British Postal Service
The first two Team GB Golds were nailed sometime around midday Wednesday
and here it is at eight o'clock on Thursday morning and the woman reading the news is telling us that if we have the time and inclination we can wander down to any British Post Office when they open at nine and be able to purchase Olympic stamps issued to celebrate the two victories.
The stamps contain head shots of the victors.
Talk about moving into overdrive to capitalise on the moment.
Well done the Post Office!
Some great quotes in today's paper.
The babbling announcer Matt Baker, in an attempt to forge the victorious moment on the national consciousness, equipped with nothing more than the molten heat of his powerful rhetoric:
QUOTE We wondered, he said, if the Olympics would be like a London bus. Suddenly you get one and two come along at once UNQUOTE
Down at Eton Dorney, Garry Herbert (a former cox) and Dan Topolski ( a former coach) were lucky commentators going slightly hysterical at the whiff of victory.
QUOTE Clear water! Record books! Cried Garry. 1200 metres to glory! shouted Dan. Two worthy, worthy winners. We stand up and we salute you! screamed Garry . This is tears in the eyes stuff, sobbed Dan .UNQUOTE
On the river bank , it was over to John Inverdale, a rugby expert who knows as much about rowing as I do. 'There is hardly any need for questions' he began, clearly because he couldn't think of one.
'Eventually' he asked Heather.'Tell us, what is happening in that body of yours at this moment?'. Rowing is not Inverdale's area of expertise.
Meanwhile over at Lord's cricket ground where the archery is being held , commentator Jonathan Agnew was putting his oar into things, too. Indeed, the BBC's much-loved cricket correspondent seems to have got the archery gig only because he knows his way to the ground and quite probably has a permanent parking space there.
Memorable contributions so far? QUOTE There are arrows flying everywhere . It's like the Battle of Hastings out there UNQUOTE
Great stuff!
The first two Team GB Golds were nailed sometime around midday Wednesday
and here it is at eight o'clock on Thursday morning and the woman reading the news is telling us that if we have the time and inclination we can wander down to any British Post Office when they open at nine and be able to purchase Olympic stamps issued to celebrate the two victories.
The stamps contain head shots of the victors.
Talk about moving into overdrive to capitalise on the moment.
Well done the Post Office!
Some great quotes in today's paper.
The babbling announcer Matt Baker, in an attempt to forge the victorious moment on the national consciousness, equipped with nothing more than the molten heat of his powerful rhetoric:
QUOTE We wondered, he said, if the Olympics would be like a London bus. Suddenly you get one and two come along at once UNQUOTE
Down at Eton Dorney, Garry Herbert (a former cox) and Dan Topolski ( a former coach) were lucky commentators going slightly hysterical at the whiff of victory.
QUOTE Clear water! Record books! Cried Garry. 1200 metres to glory! shouted Dan. Two worthy, worthy winners. We stand up and we salute you! screamed Garry . This is tears in the eyes stuff, sobbed Dan .UNQUOTE
On the river bank , it was over to John Inverdale, a rugby expert who knows as much about rowing as I do. 'There is hardly any need for questions' he began, clearly because he couldn't think of one.
'Eventually' he asked Heather.'Tell us, what is happening in that body of yours at this moment?'. Rowing is not Inverdale's area of expertise.
Meanwhile over at Lord's cricket ground where the archery is being held , commentator Jonathan Agnew was putting his oar into things, too. Indeed, the BBC's much-loved cricket correspondent seems to have got the archery gig only because he knows his way to the ground and quite probably has a permanent parking space there.
Memorable contributions so far? QUOTE There are arrows flying everywhere . It's like the Battle of Hastings out there UNQUOTE
Great stuff!
Wednesday 1 August 2012
WE HAVE A WINNER!
You know you hear some pretty interesting commentaries when tuning into the Olympics.
The whole deal here is run by the BBC on the telly and the leading radio broadcaster is BBC's Radio5 Live.
Both these broadcasters have added new meaning to the word 'jingoistic'.
The broadcasts are so one-eyed that they actually come across as being rather amusing.
Take a rowing final that has just been completed, the women's four.
Prior to the gun being fired the TV had been giving blanket coverage to the GB Team, a powerful foursome of "giant killers".
And off they go .
Our girls are looking good.
The slow start is obviously a team tactic to ensure they have what it counts when it matters further down the course.
We are at the halfway point and they are in a good rhythm superior to their fellow competitors.
Time for the girls to pick up their stroke.
And over the finish line in sixth and last place, trailing by fourteen , yes fourteen seconds are Team GB.
What went wrong?
Time to bring in the greatest rower of all time (Oh, did I mention he is British). Sir Stephen Redgrave (please, hold your applause. I'm just a simple person like the rest of you folk).
"Sir Stephen, you understand these things. Where did it all go wrong for our girls?"
"Well it like this, our girls simply weren't good enough to beat the other five teams in the final."
"Yes, yes, but Sir Stephen, where do the girls go from here?"
"Well, I think they will probably go for a shower then head off down to the pub to drown their sorrows."
The laugh for the day had to be the great Team GB women's pairs rowing victory.
The announcer on Radio5 Live hit new heights for himself, which wasn't easy as this dude is the ultimate cheer leader.
As the women crossed the line to nail the gold, the announcer screams into his mike, "This is a victory for London , for England, for Great Britain, for MANKIND!"
Good one.
The peoples of our world grovel at your feet.
Paintings of your victory will be hung in the Portrait Gallery. Cliff Richard has volunteered to compose and record a song in your honour. Henry Moore has promised to come back from the dead to sculpt the moment for all time. Knighthoods are a given. Maybe even a couple of flats in a mid priced housing complex compliments of a grateful nation. Oh yes, we will name a couple of streets after you.And in total confidence mind you, I hear Boris will be proposing a name change for Heathrow Airport to reflect the importance of this victory.
The FTSE 100 has just rocketed up by no less than 1400 points. This indeed is a proud day
By the way, who came third.
What?
New Zealand?
For heavens sake let's get onto more productive conversations.
Let's get back to analysing where it all went wrong with our women's four.
Cheers
The whole deal here is run by the BBC on the telly and the leading radio broadcaster is BBC's Radio5 Live.
Both these broadcasters have added new meaning to the word 'jingoistic'.
The broadcasts are so one-eyed that they actually come across as being rather amusing.
Take a rowing final that has just been completed, the women's four.
Prior to the gun being fired the TV had been giving blanket coverage to the GB Team, a powerful foursome of "giant killers".
And off they go .
Our girls are looking good.
The slow start is obviously a team tactic to ensure they have what it counts when it matters further down the course.
We are at the halfway point and they are in a good rhythm superior to their fellow competitors.
Time for the girls to pick up their stroke.
And over the finish line in sixth and last place, trailing by fourteen , yes fourteen seconds are Team GB.
What went wrong?
Time to bring in the greatest rower of all time (Oh, did I mention he is British). Sir Stephen Redgrave (please, hold your applause. I'm just a simple person like the rest of you folk).
"Sir Stephen, you understand these things. Where did it all go wrong for our girls?"
"Well it like this, our girls simply weren't good enough to beat the other five teams in the final."
"Yes, yes, but Sir Stephen, where do the girls go from here?"
"Well, I think they will probably go for a shower then head off down to the pub to drown their sorrows."
The laugh for the day had to be the great Team GB women's pairs rowing victory.
The announcer on Radio5 Live hit new heights for himself, which wasn't easy as this dude is the ultimate cheer leader.
As the women crossed the line to nail the gold, the announcer screams into his mike, "This is a victory for London , for England, for Great Britain, for MANKIND!"
Good one.
The peoples of our world grovel at your feet.
Paintings of your victory will be hung in the Portrait Gallery. Cliff Richard has volunteered to compose and record a song in your honour. Henry Moore has promised to come back from the dead to sculpt the moment for all time. Knighthoods are a given. Maybe even a couple of flats in a mid priced housing complex compliments of a grateful nation. Oh yes, we will name a couple of streets after you.And in total confidence mind you, I hear Boris will be proposing a name change for Heathrow Airport to reflect the importance of this victory.
The FTSE 100 has just rocketed up by no less than 1400 points. This indeed is a proud day
By the way, who came third.
What?
New Zealand?
For heavens sake let's get onto more productive conversations.
Let's get back to analysing where it all went wrong with our women's four.
Cheers
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