Blue skies in Barcelona

Half term and we escaped the autumn wind and rain for a couple of days, taking a short break in Barcelona. In summer, Spain is too hot for us Celtic types with our fair skin;  however autumn sun and temperatures of 22-25 degrees suited us fine.  So we enjoyed exploring La Rambla, the Old Town and the Port area. Didn't really do museums - teenager not keen - or see any of the Gaudi buildings.  But lots of eating tapas, exploring the markets and people-watching.  And a guitar music concert in a building which was decorated like a wedding cake.  Will let the pictures do the talking today.

The Square near our hotel: slightly dodgy area.  Husband lagging behind us with bad ankle was approached by lady offering him a good time!

Walked to the beach.   Teenager soaked her sore feet in the sea.

Colourful market stalls.  So many varieties of mushrooms.

The ornate ceiling of the concert hall.

Rainey Endowed School 300th anniversary celebration: '50 Shillings and a New Suit of Clothes'

I returned to Northern Ireland at the weekend to attend a concert at the Grand Opera House in Belfast which celebrated 300 years of the Rainey, the school which I attended in

Magherafelt.   My sister, other members of my extended family; and some old acquaintances from my time there in the 70's were singing in the old pupils' choir.

It was a wonderful occasion.  The show was produced and directed by former pupil Ashley Fulton, a very talented young man: he also wrote four original songs for the production and came up with idea which provided a kind of story framework for what otherwise would have been a random collection of songs.   Other talented ex-pupils returned to take part: actress Laura Piper read Heaney's 'Station Island '; accomplished musician Rhoda Barfoot played the violin and Ian McLernon, who has been in West End shows, performed several of the solos.

The title for the performance comes from the will of Hugh Rainey who founded the school back at the beginning of the 18th century.  He wanted a school to be built to educate eight boys from the local community who would otherwise have few opportunities.  Their education was to be Christian its ethos but not linked to any particular creed.  (This has continued until the present day - the Rainey was an integrated school even in the 70's - there were many Catholic boys in my year, though few girls as they went to the local convent school).  When the 8 boys had completed their time at the school they would be given 50 shillings and a new suit of clothes before they were sent out into the world.  Ashley Fulton had seen a copy of the will displayed in the school and it gave him the ideas for the production. 

The songs he wrote and those he selected to be performed by current and old pupils' choirs shared the theme of love of home along with the desire to move on and make the most of the opportunities education offers.  There were a range of old favourites: 'Danny Boy', 'Bridge over Troubled Waters',  'To Feel the Rhythm of Life', 'Time to say Goodbye'.   And then that rather sentimental song from  Mamma Mia, 'Slipping Through my Fingers'.   I wasn't so sure about the bit where current pupils in uniform sat on stage with suitcases gazing wistfully into the distance while the choir sang.    Presumably they were meant to represent the boys leaving with their 50 shillings and new suit.   However, they looked a little uncomfortable and I am sure were suppressing giggles.

I gatecrashed the cast after-party so I could catch up with a few people I had not seen since I left school 35 years ago.  A very strange experience.  Those, like my sister,who were able to take part in the performance really enjoyed it, returning to the Johnson Hall for Saturday rehearsals and renewing old friendships.   A wonderful experience for all who took part and for the appreciative audience.  And a fitting tribute to a great school.

Chester Mystery Plays at Liverpool Cathedral

Saturday nights have been a touch dull recently.  Too much watching of 'Strictly' and 'X-Factor'.  'Strictly' just about tolerable, thought the formula is a little tired now, but 'X Factor' unbearable.  Especially with Nicole Schistherface.  So planned an outing this week - to Liverpool for a meal out and a bit of live theatre.

Other family members not terribly keen when I told them of my plans - a trip to the cathedral in Liverpool to see a revival of the Chester Mystery Plays which we missed in the summer.  It only comes round very five years and I was sorry to have missed it when it was on, because I wanted to support several of the amateur cast who I know, including the young actress who played Mary.  But atheist husband and wannabe cool teenager not desperately thrilled by idea of spending Saturday evening watching Bible stories, no matter how impressive the staging.  Bribed them by arranging a meal first.  Very good pre-theatre menu in Bistrot  Jaques. And so, full of Steak Chasseur, we headed for the cathedral.

I hadn't been in the cathedral for nearly 30 years when the grumpy one took me there when we were courting.  Perhaps his atheist views not so strong then.  Or was it just the architecture which impressed him? It is a beautiful building and provided a stunning backdrop for the production, with the steps and the upper level being used cleverly to show the route to heaven.  The audience were seated not in pews as I expected, but in rather uncomfortable folding chairs.  And I was sitting in close proximity to a man who had a rotten cold and kept sneezing revoltingly into his handkerchief. Yuck!

Despite this I enjoyed the performance.  There was a huge cast of local people from Chester, from children of about five or six, to pensioners.   All the musicians were amateurs too.  The whole thing was put together by Mr Chester Theatre, Matt Baker, who I think also wrote the score.  If I wasn't such a lazy blogger, I'd link to his Theatre in the Quarter Company and check this.  But I am lazy and  inept at such technicalities. He appeared on stage too on a couple of occasions, playing a piano accordion with gusto in the pub scene.  A very talented man who contributes hugely to cultural life in Chester.

My favourite scene was the arrival of the animals onto Noah's Ark, with the children in masks; the crocodile looked about 5 and snapped his jaws with great enthusiasm.  The children also made an excellent job of recreating the Garden of Eden, complete with bird song and animal noises.  I also liked  the scene where Mary, dressed as a waitress, admits to Joseph that she's in a bit of trouble.  Mary sang beautifully, but unfortunately the huge space meant that we didn't hear her so well.  I was surprised she didn't have an individual mic like the Angel Gabriel, dapper in white suit, who performed a Sinatra Style number when telling Mary of his plans for her. Another scene recreated the Chester Races effectively: children in racing silks riding on shoulders while hidden by the roaring crowd.  And lots of  girls in posh dresses rather worse for wear, just like in town after race day. No surprise then when quite a few of them end up heading for hell in the next Judgement Day scene.  I was a bit bothered that Eve was led off to hell while Adam makes it to heaven.  Is that what happens in the Bible?  Blame the woman then.

There were also some very moving scenes, such as the one pictured above where Herod kills all the children. The tiny bundles were unfurled to show flags: a message for a world where tyrants are still killing children.  I was also close to tears in the scene where Jesus's body is taken down off the cross.  The music was very powerful at this point and added to the poignancy of Mary's grief.

So what was the verdict from my companions?  Teenager quite impressed with the staging and she recognised a few of the cast from various drama productions she's been involved in so she was quite happy. Husband less so.  But then I haven't always been that keen to stand drinking lager from a plastic glass in venues which smell of stale beer and sick to watch some of the bands he likes to see.  So it's payback time.

To Autumn - Seasons of mist....

Hasn't it been a glorious autumn?  Spent yesterday in the garden, raking leaves, doing a final pre-winter tidy up and enjoying the late sunshine.  And a long dog walk with a friend down a local road lined with old oak trees.  I've never seen so many acorns - and such large ones. And berries and glorious shiny conkers.  So instead of words (too weary) here are a few autumn images for the record.

This blog is turning into a kind of country diary - hard to believe I started writing about fashion in January. So it'd be Country Diary of a Poo Bag lady then as that's what I'm usually carrying on my walks.

'Live' Theatre on a Shoestring: National Theatre's 'Othello' at Cheshire Oaks

 

On Thursday evening I went with a couple of colleagues and our A Level English Literature group of 9 to see the production of of 'Othello' which was playing at the NationalTheatre in London, but also being broadcast live in cinemas around the country and abroad.  We gathered at the local Vue cinema, where the usual cinema-going audience seemed to have disappeared to be replaced by a rather older, more sedate group of people.  Few sales of buckets of popcorn or gallons of coke, though Ben and Jerry's did well.  Our group reduced the average age of the audience significantly. (Well maybe not me!).  The event was hugely popular - they sold two full screens, it seems, and we had to rush to find a seat when doors opened.

I have to admit my expectations were not high: televised theatre productions I'd seen in the past had often been disappointing - static camera pointed at the stage mostly.  But this was a fantastic experience as they have improved the way they film the productions so that you can see the actors up close in some scenes but then aerial shots allowed a view of the full set.  And presumably this was done in a way which did not distract the live audience. We could hear the reaction at the National and at times the cinema audience responded in a slightly different way, laughing, perhaps, because we could see a character's facial expression in more detail.  One of our student's boyfriend, who is at drama school in London, was in the audience there and she felt her experience was as good as his as he was in the cheap seats, far from the stage. It didn't feel like film and the only time the illusion was shattered was when it came to the end and the audience in London reacted with applause.  Some of us did too even though there was no one but the Vue ice-cream sellers there to receive it.

And the production of 'Othello' itself was excellent. It was set in a modern day army garrison with one scene showing a drunken brawl between the soldiers. I liked Rory Kinnear as Iago, sounding a bit like Phil from East Enders, in contrast to posh Cassio, who was a kind of Prince Harry figure getting into trouble by drinking with his men.  The scene where Othello (Adrian Lester) overhears Cassio talking of the hankerchief is set in a toilet: he hides in a cubicle.  All of this worked well and showed how the play remains relevant today.  Adrian Lester was a strong Othello though I feel his descent from self-control and love for Desdemona to totally irrational behaviour and murder just happens too fast.  But that's the play I suppose.

I've never seen the play before, but I had read it and taught extracts.  So I knew what was coming and remained dry-eyed at Desdemona's demise.  Behind us someone was sobbing: one of the grey-haired theatre buffs we'd seen queuing up, I assumed.

No - it was one of our students.  You see they've only just started studying the play and they didn't know what would happen.  And this 17 year old girl was deeply shocked by the way Othello treated Desdemona, from the first casual slap to the bedroom scene when he murders her despite her desperate pleas.  She was still crying as we left the cinema; others in the group admitted they'd also been close to tears.  Although sorry to see her so upset, in some ways I was pleased that she's been moved so much.  She'd responded to the play as Shakespeare had wanted his audience to respond the first time it was shown. She'll remember this, probably the first live Shakespeare she has seen, for a long time.

All this for £10 a head.  Thank you, National Theatre.  I want to see their production of 'War Horse'.  It's coming to The Lowry in Salford at Christmas.  Tried booking tickets last week - husband Christmas present I thought.  £50 a head.  Too much.  So I am now waiting to book tickets for the 'live' cinema performance on 27th February.

Longing for the 'sleep that knits up the ravell'd sleeve of care'

4am and insomnia again.  At least this time I've taken the advice given in all the books and got up after half an hour of sleeplessness instead doing what I did this time last week: lying there making mental lists of things to do.  I'm drinking tea though, not milk or any of the other vile concoctions that are supposed to aid restful sleep.  And instead of writing this I should be doing something repetitive and boring until I feel tired again.  Like knitting.  But I haven't got the patience for knitting.  There's always the ironing.....

I've tried all the remedies for this middle of the night wake up which leaves me zombie-like and grumpy the next day.  I've had some success with herbal remedies - valerian, hops and passion flower tablets from Boots.  But last night's red wine probably spoiled their effect.   Could try the Paul McKenna hypnosis tape, I suppose.  (You will follow the rules of sleep....). Hasn't worked for me as I don't follow the rules.  No wine, no tea, no reading in bed - no fun.

One remedy that does work is Nytol - not the herbal one,  the one you have to ask for at the pharmacy which is basically anti-histamine.  The full dose of two tablets taken at bedtime does the trick.  But then I wake up with a dry mouth feeling dreadful even after a full night's sleep.   Even half a tablet  works.  Or a Piriton has the same effect.

I used to worry about not sleeping but recently have learned to live with it.  More time for reading and middle of the night blogging.  Off to bed to try some alternate nostril breathing now.  Or other yoga relaxation techniques.  More nonsense which doesn't work.  Only an hour or so left before teenager starts banging around anyway.  Takes her two hours to get ready for school.  Madness.  Like Macbeth I'll probably 'sleep no more' tonight.  My 'ravell'd sleeve' will remain unknitted.

One year on from our 9/11

8.10 Tuesday morning; 11th September 2012.  In PJs, my day off and Kate getting ready to leave for school.  The phone rang...a voice I didn't recognise, a stranger. He'd barely said a sentence before fear gripped me.  Husband; accident, on the road to Whitchurch. Did I want to come down there? Asked could I speak to him.  Not at the moment...  Confused. Kate had picked up what was happening and was crying. I didn't know what to do next.  This wasn't the way these things happen on TV.  No police or ambulance drivers to tell me what to do.  Just this stranger.  I asked his name - Matt. It struck me then why he wasn't waiting for the professionals.  He thought Paul wouldn't make it.

 Looking at the car you can see why he thought that.  A heavy metal crate had fallen onto it from a lorry.

I was shaky after the call but put on a brave face for Kate. Phoned a good friend and neighbour to drive me. The phone rang again.  Matt.  Better news. Ambulance was there and fire brigade- they were cutting him out and taking him to hospital.  Sent Kate to school and went to the local hospital to wait.  And wait.  Staff in A&E unhelpful and uninformed and lacking in any empathy.  Said they were expecting a 'RTA', though. Could I take a seat?  Sat there among the sprained ankles and minor injuries.  It all felt unreal. Felt detached, watching myself as if in a soap opera.  Tried not to think about how life might change but my mind running away visualising future scenarios.  How he said he wanted the Hipsway song at his funeral.  Waited and waited.  My wonderful friend still there. 40 minutes passed and then we heard the ambulance outside.

Swung from terror to near elation in seconds.  Ambulance driver smiling and saying it looks worse than it is; Paul talking to me saying he was OK.  In contrast to those in the front desk, staff on the A&E ward were wonderful.  They let me hold his hand as they picked bits of metal from the huge gash on his head and then sewed it up.  23 stitches and a scar which beats Harry Potter.  Scans and X rays revealed no life threatening injuries but there were compressed discs in his spine.  Not much fun, but he'd be OK - eventually.

 Last week, one year on from the accident I was very proud to see him achieve the goal he set himself a month or so later.  He completed a charity cycle ride from London to Brussels for the Alzheimer's Society, raising over £900.  It wasn't easy and his back injury continues to cause him problems, but he did it.

Writing this meant reliving the experience.  But it's good to remember.  I stared into the void but then got my life back.  And it's precious.  I remember too the kindness of that stranger Matt.  I'm not sure I'd have been brave enough to make that call.