As an actor I notice the recession possibly more than some. Spring may have arrived, but the dramatic arts have remained in hibernation and there's no sign of a thaw. The work scene is frozen solid and there's nary a paid job in sight. There is, though, the sound of gutless bleating as local authorities and government cut arts funding. Is Maynard Keynes' creation of the Council for Encouragement of Music and the Arts completely forgotten? A reminder then! CEMA was founded in WW2 to ensure that the arts survived and provided the population with much needed relief in hard times. The existence of CEMA was the spur to the creation of the Arts Council of Great Britain (as it was then called) after the war. Now is NOT the time to back away from supporting the arts, but rather to redouble efforts to ensure that the UK continues to do what it does better than any other nation in the world.
On a wholly different topic, I'm delighted to learn from this evening's television news that the Commons have given Prime Minister Brown a smack in the kisser for his mealy mouthed, pusillanimous attitude to the Gurkhas and their right to settle in this country. If anybody offers to put their life on the line to help defend this country and its values, and we accept that offer, it is then utterly inexcusable to drive them away once they have performed that duty.
Wednesday, 29 April 2009
Sunday, 19 April 2009
A good day, a bad day.
Today is Easter Sunday in the Greek Orthodox calendar, and is always a great joy. Corfu is a marvellous place to witness the festivities, starting on Saturday with a great procession which winds through Corfu Town displaying Corfu's patron saint, Agios Spiridon for all to see. The head of the procession is one gorgeously apparelled brass band and the tail is another such. In between come dignitaries, politicians, school children, police, firemen, all marching in a relaxed, informal slow march.The procession ends in St Spiridon's church in the centre of town. Then on the dot of 11.00am, beware! All the church bells of all the churches sound out across street, square and alley, and from first floor windows come earthernware pitchers, some really large, filled with water, to crash on to the ground below. This ritual is unique to Corfu, and no one can agree on its origin.
In the evening there are more processions in every village, and an open air service is held in every village square, the whole population attending, holding candles. As midnight chimes, the cry goes up Krystos anesti! Christ is risen! and everyone greets all those around with the same words. Even for those not seriously religious such as me, or of no faith, it is an inspiring moment of warm community.
Easter Sunday itself is a day of eating and feasting. A whole lamb is cooked and consumed along with its intestines and offal which have been extracted, wound round a long skewer, and roasted along side their erstwhile home -- gorgeous! And it is to such a celebration that I have been today, not in Corfu, but at the home in Oxford of a great friend who was the first to introduce me to Corfu. Jan is endlessly generous and always prepares more than an army of feasters could eat -- a whole cookbook of cold mezes on groaning tables and, yes, a whole lamb on a spit, innards and all. The sun shone and the garden was filled with many friends of Jan's generation, most of whom I've known for years, and many friends of her two sons', many of whom I've also known, some since they were babies. A truly joyous day!
Not so happy a day for Man U supporters who unexpectedly went down to Everton on a penalty shoot out in their FA Cup semi-final. I'm not a great football fan, leastways not of the round ball game (I prefer my footballs egg shaped), but I would have liked to watch yesterday's Chelsea - Arsenal semi-final in the pub. Unfortunately someone in the world of soccer sold the rights to this match to Setanta, which neither my local, nor any nearby pub, has. Do I not remember a promise from erstwhile UK Prime Minister Blair that all important sports events would be made available on free-to-air channels? Another broken promise from that slimy liar! I spoke to the guv'nor of my local about installing Setanta, and he says the pub simply couldn't afford it. He already pays £12,ooo a year for Sky, for which he needs to take £24,000 simply to cover that cost. Setanta would be a further £4,000 per annum (needing a take of £8,000 to cover it) and it just isn't viable. Pubs are considerably under the cosh currently. The government speaks of its concern for this. So why are so many prevented from watching a major event in the footie calendar? And helping their local's profit margin thereby?
Today is Easter Sunday in the Greek Orthodox calendar, and is always a great joy. Corfu is a marvellous place to witness the festivities, starting on Saturday with a great procession which winds through Corfu Town displaying Corfu's patron saint, Agios Spiridon for all to see. The head of the procession is one gorgeously apparelled brass band and the tail is another such. In between come dignitaries, politicians, school children, police, firemen, all marching in a relaxed, informal slow march.The procession ends in St Spiridon's church in the centre of town. Then on the dot of 11.00am, beware! All the church bells of all the churches sound out across street, square and alley, and from first floor windows come earthernware pitchers, some really large, filled with water, to crash on to the ground below. This ritual is unique to Corfu, and no one can agree on its origin.
In the evening there are more processions in every village, and an open air service is held in every village square, the whole population attending, holding candles. As midnight chimes, the cry goes up Krystos anesti! Christ is risen! and everyone greets all those around with the same words. Even for those not seriously religious such as me, or of no faith, it is an inspiring moment of warm community.
Easter Sunday itself is a day of eating and feasting. A whole lamb is cooked and consumed along with its intestines and offal which have been extracted, wound round a long skewer, and roasted along side their erstwhile home -- gorgeous! And it is to such a celebration that I have been today, not in Corfu, but at the home in Oxford of a great friend who was the first to introduce me to Corfu. Jan is endlessly generous and always prepares more than an army of feasters could eat -- a whole cookbook of cold mezes on groaning tables and, yes, a whole lamb on a spit, innards and all. The sun shone and the garden was filled with many friends of Jan's generation, most of whom I've known for years, and many friends of her two sons', many of whom I've also known, some since they were babies. A truly joyous day!
Not so happy a day for Man U supporters who unexpectedly went down to Everton on a penalty shoot out in their FA Cup semi-final. I'm not a great football fan, leastways not of the round ball game (I prefer my footballs egg shaped), but I would have liked to watch yesterday's Chelsea - Arsenal semi-final in the pub. Unfortunately someone in the world of soccer sold the rights to this match to Setanta, which neither my local, nor any nearby pub, has. Do I not remember a promise from erstwhile UK Prime Minister Blair that all important sports events would be made available on free-to-air channels? Another broken promise from that slimy liar! I spoke to the guv'nor of my local about installing Setanta, and he says the pub simply couldn't afford it. He already pays £12,ooo a year for Sky, for which he needs to take £24,000 simply to cover that cost. Setanta would be a further £4,000 per annum (needing a take of £8,000 to cover it) and it just isn't viable. Pubs are considerably under the cosh currently. The government speaks of its concern for this. So why are so many prevented from watching a major event in the footie calendar? And helping their local's profit margin thereby?
Friday, 17 April 2009
To begin at the beginning
I'll start as I intend to continue, with a rant (and if my dearest friend A happens to read this, "I'm going into head to head ranting competition with you, darling". She, by the way, is a jolly good ranter!). And then a joy...
Suddenly the police are once again making spectacular fools of themselves, sometimes apparently vicious fools. I'm priveleged to count among my friends a number of serving coppers and I know that the vast majority of them do bloody good work on our behalf -- it's not an easy job! But the two violent uniforms at the G20 demos, should they prove guilty, (and the second post mortem has just shown that the newsvendor who died was killed not by a heart attack but by internal bleeding -- what might that indicate?) should be kicked straight out of the force with loss of all pension rights, as well as whatever a court of law might pass down to them. Such stinking apples can rot the whole barrel.
And what about the two "officers of the law" (a laughable description in the circumstances) who apparently stopped two tourists from Vienna, a father and son, because they were taking photos of buses and bus garages? They had to delete all their photos, because "photographing anything to do with transport was strictly forbidden". What next? Mass raids on assembled train spotters? Vielen Entschuldigungen, Herr Matzka! Ich hoffe, dass Sie und Seiner Sohn London wiederbesuchen werden. Nicht alle Londoner sind trottelhaftig!
And a joy... Or rather some joys. Yesterday I spent with darling A (see above) and others for a special day, and then in the evening with a good mate I went to the Princess of Wales in London's Primrose Hill, for good beer and trad jazz. Lovely! And this evening it's to "The Lion, The Witch and The Wardrobe" at the newly reopened St Stephen's Church in Hampstead. This dramatisation is by Adrian Mitchell, who sadly died recently and was unable to see this production.
Hours before he died, Adrian Mitchell wrote his last poem, and it's delightful:
As I prowled through Parentheses
I met an Robin and a Owl
My Grammarboots they thrilled like bees
My Vowelhat did gladly growl
Tis my delight each Friedegg Night
To chomp a Verbal Sandwich
Scots Consonants light up my Pants
And marinade my Heart in Language
Alphabet Soup was all my joy!
From Dreadfast up to Winnertime
I swam, a naked Pushkinboy
Up wodka vaterfalls of rhyme
And reached the summit of Blue Howl
To find a shining suit of words
And joined an Robin and a Owl
In good Duke Ellington's Band of Birds
Tonight's performance of The Lion... is in celebration of Adrian Mitchell, and is a fundraiser for the Anti-War Coalition. If you've enjoyed reading the poem above, why don't you make a donation?
Toodle-pip!
Suddenly the police are once again making spectacular fools of themselves, sometimes apparently vicious fools. I'm priveleged to count among my friends a number of serving coppers and I know that the vast majority of them do bloody good work on our behalf -- it's not an easy job! But the two violent uniforms at the G20 demos, should they prove guilty, (and the second post mortem has just shown that the newsvendor who died was killed not by a heart attack but by internal bleeding -- what might that indicate?) should be kicked straight out of the force with loss of all pension rights, as well as whatever a court of law might pass down to them. Such stinking apples can rot the whole barrel.
And what about the two "officers of the law" (a laughable description in the circumstances) who apparently stopped two tourists from Vienna, a father and son, because they were taking photos of buses and bus garages? They had to delete all their photos, because "photographing anything to do with transport was strictly forbidden". What next? Mass raids on assembled train spotters? Vielen Entschuldigungen, Herr Matzka! Ich hoffe, dass Sie und Seiner Sohn London wiederbesuchen werden. Nicht alle Londoner sind trottelhaftig!
And a joy... Or rather some joys. Yesterday I spent with darling A (see above) and others for a special day, and then in the evening with a good mate I went to the Princess of Wales in London's Primrose Hill, for good beer and trad jazz. Lovely! And this evening it's to "The Lion, The Witch and The Wardrobe" at the newly reopened St Stephen's Church in Hampstead. This dramatisation is by Adrian Mitchell, who sadly died recently and was unable to see this production.
Hours before he died, Adrian Mitchell wrote his last poem, and it's delightful:
As I prowled through Parentheses
I met an Robin and a Owl
My Grammarboots they thrilled like bees
My Vowelhat did gladly growl
Tis my delight each Friedegg Night
To chomp a Verbal Sandwich
Scots Consonants light up my Pants
And marinade my Heart in Language
Alphabet Soup was all my joy!
From Dreadfast up to Winnertime
I swam, a naked Pushkinboy
Up wodka vaterfalls of rhyme
And reached the summit of Blue Howl
To find a shining suit of words
And joined an Robin and a Owl
In good Duke Ellington's Band of Birds
Tonight's performance of The Lion... is in celebration of Adrian Mitchell, and is a fundraiser for the Anti-War Coalition. If you've enjoyed reading the poem above, why don't you make a donation?
Toodle-pip!
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