Wednesday, September 17, 2008
A human bean with a sense of humour
Started the evening's proceedings at an interesting establishment, near the Elephant and Castle, which I had never visited before, called the 'Hampton Court Palace'. A very grand establishment which also functioned as a hotel, rather after the fashion of the 'Mitre' in Tooting, this last being best known as one of the southern endpoints of the 88 bus route. HCP ran to a very decent pint of London Pride, despite its probably being the first that had been pulled for a while. Lager joint really. Then on to the Globe, of which more shortly.
Getting a bit late after the theatre, so hoof it towards Waterloo. Spurning the Youngs' establishment on the river, try two establishments en-route, both of which were doing a bit of trade but with only one very tired person behind the jump. A very tired person who was not going to run around for anyone. So got tired of waiting and moved on. Quick one in the 'Fire Station' then onto the platform where, having forgotten the detail of the recent Boris ruling on this or a like matter, I enquire of a blue clad station trusty (the human bean with a sense of humour) whether it is permitted to drink on National Rail premises in this good year of our Lord, 2008. He peers at me doubtfully. Well sir, sezzee. There will be a problem if you drink on the platform because there are no litter bins in which you can dispose of the empties. Pause. On the other hand, sezzee, I know it for a fact that there be people who do drink on the platform. He continues to peer at me doubtfully. I take this as a no but yes and head off to the off-license at the top of platform 1. 2 tinnies for £4 or 4 tinnies for £6. Weakly, I settle for 2 and by Raynes Park wish I had gone for the more economical option. Various other people (some fresh from the 4 nil thrashing of Bordeaux by Chelsea. I learn that you can do Stamford Bridge to Chesssington in under an hour on a good day) peered at me doubtfully during the proceedings but no-one challenged me for illicit boozing.
I also learn that my projection powers are returning. Starting to get visions on the white and light blue spots on a dark blue ground. Didn't do so well on the adjacent panel with dark blue and white spots on a light blue ground. See above.
At the Globe for 'Timon of Athens', a play of doubtful parentage of which I had known nothing previously. I think I turned down an option on an old Arden edition when last in Ryde. Pity. It turns out that the play was a very suitable text for the day, it being, amongst other things, a tirade about the corrupting power of filthy lucre - or rather gold in this story. Freud and his lot could no doubt have a fine time poking around in the filth and gold: this production, at any rate, making the connection very explicit. It was also a tirade about false friends. Perhaps in the early 17th century people still believed in signing up to things for life. They read and believed stories about Harold's thegns who stood and fell for him at Hastings: death before dishonour. Stories of Romans who went in for much the same sort of thing on behalf of their res publica. And romances about all those knights in armour who went in for much the same thing on behalf of their king, or perhaps their loves. But maybe the early 17th centurians knew that those sort of certainties had all been smashed up by the Wars of the Roses. Another sort of certainty, that in the Lord, had been smashed up by the defection of Luther and his gang. Perhaps those early 17th centurians were trying to replace those lost certainties with trust in love and friendship - at an individual rather than corporate level - without really believing that it would work. Hence the great wealth of material on the subject of fidelity and the sad lack of it.
A four sentence summary might also describe Lear: "Old fool gives away his substance. Recipients behave badly. Old fool goes nuts in the wilderness where he has visitors. Old fool dies". The differance might be that this old fool is merely a misfit rather than tragic.
The stage manager clearly had the shout for the production as a whole, which was extensively larded up with song, dance, music and circus stunts. From where we were sitting, up and to the far left as you face the stage, we had a fine view of the heavy duty netting which had been hung up in the roof for the acrobats to bound around in and to jump from. Being occasionally distracted by the noises arising from the acrobats hooking and unhooking their various safety contraptions. Two such were needed, for example, to descend the not very high ladder from the net to the stage. But no smoking: I had thought it was de rigeur for luvvies to exploit the exemption which allows smoking in charectar on the stage to the full. And it would certainly be in charactar to smoke at an orgy, although perhaps anachronistic. Taken as a whole though, far too much of this sort of thing. Plus an explicit coarseness which I would have preferred to be a bit more implicit. The words are enough: no need to act it out. A bit of son-et-lumiere to set off the poetry is all very well for a play like this - but it should not become the main business. I shall make a point of going again - but maybe not to this production.
On exit we pass the large shop, an essential feature of any modern tourist attraction, which this place is, I suspect, in large part. I must tell the Qualifications and Carriculums Authority (www.qca.org.uk) about my new idea for an A level sociology project. Visit lots of visitor attractions at school expense. Catalogue the contents of their shops. Compare and contrast the catalogues. What things occur in every shop? What things mark the customers of that particular attraction? And so on. Graduates of this type of project will know the drill.
One last thought for the day of the lemon. Perhaps appropriate that some twat should think it worth paying £10m for a pickled pig. And that the price of some other art object should collapse in the face of doubts about whether its manufacturer had a proper contract - or even a memorandum of understanding - with Warhol Inc.
Getting a bit late after the theatre, so hoof it towards Waterloo. Spurning the Youngs' establishment on the river, try two establishments en-route, both of which were doing a bit of trade but with only one very tired person behind the jump. A very tired person who was not going to run around for anyone. So got tired of waiting and moved on. Quick one in the 'Fire Station' then onto the platform where, having forgotten the detail of the recent Boris ruling on this or a like matter, I enquire of a blue clad station trusty (the human bean with a sense of humour) whether it is permitted to drink on National Rail premises in this good year of our Lord, 2008. He peers at me doubtfully. Well sir, sezzee. There will be a problem if you drink on the platform because there are no litter bins in which you can dispose of the empties. Pause. On the other hand, sezzee, I know it for a fact that there be people who do drink on the platform. He continues to peer at me doubtfully. I take this as a no but yes and head off to the off-license at the top of platform 1. 2 tinnies for £4 or 4 tinnies for £6. Weakly, I settle for 2 and by Raynes Park wish I had gone for the more economical option. Various other people (some fresh from the 4 nil thrashing of Bordeaux by Chelsea. I learn that you can do Stamford Bridge to Chesssington in under an hour on a good day) peered at me doubtfully during the proceedings but no-one challenged me for illicit boozing.
I also learn that my projection powers are returning. Starting to get visions on the white and light blue spots on a dark blue ground. Didn't do so well on the adjacent panel with dark blue and white spots on a light blue ground. See above.
At the Globe for 'Timon of Athens', a play of doubtful parentage of which I had known nothing previously. I think I turned down an option on an old Arden edition when last in Ryde. Pity. It turns out that the play was a very suitable text for the day, it being, amongst other things, a tirade about the corrupting power of filthy lucre - or rather gold in this story. Freud and his lot could no doubt have a fine time poking around in the filth and gold: this production, at any rate, making the connection very explicit. It was also a tirade about false friends. Perhaps in the early 17th century people still believed in signing up to things for life. They read and believed stories about Harold's thegns who stood and fell for him at Hastings: death before dishonour. Stories of Romans who went in for much the same sort of thing on behalf of their res publica. And romances about all those knights in armour who went in for much the same thing on behalf of their king, or perhaps their loves. But maybe the early 17th centurians knew that those sort of certainties had all been smashed up by the Wars of the Roses. Another sort of certainty, that in the Lord, had been smashed up by the defection of Luther and his gang. Perhaps those early 17th centurians were trying to replace those lost certainties with trust in love and friendship - at an individual rather than corporate level - without really believing that it would work. Hence the great wealth of material on the subject of fidelity and the sad lack of it.
A four sentence summary might also describe Lear: "Old fool gives away his substance. Recipients behave badly. Old fool goes nuts in the wilderness where he has visitors. Old fool dies". The differance might be that this old fool is merely a misfit rather than tragic.
The stage manager clearly had the shout for the production as a whole, which was extensively larded up with song, dance, music and circus stunts. From where we were sitting, up and to the far left as you face the stage, we had a fine view of the heavy duty netting which had been hung up in the roof for the acrobats to bound around in and to jump from. Being occasionally distracted by the noises arising from the acrobats hooking and unhooking their various safety contraptions. Two such were needed, for example, to descend the not very high ladder from the net to the stage. But no smoking: I had thought it was de rigeur for luvvies to exploit the exemption which allows smoking in charectar on the stage to the full. And it would certainly be in charactar to smoke at an orgy, although perhaps anachronistic. Taken as a whole though, far too much of this sort of thing. Plus an explicit coarseness which I would have preferred to be a bit more implicit. The words are enough: no need to act it out. A bit of son-et-lumiere to set off the poetry is all very well for a play like this - but it should not become the main business. I shall make a point of going again - but maybe not to this production.
On exit we pass the large shop, an essential feature of any modern tourist attraction, which this place is, I suspect, in large part. I must tell the Qualifications and Carriculums Authority (www.qca.org.uk) about my new idea for an A level sociology project. Visit lots of visitor attractions at school expense. Catalogue the contents of their shops. Compare and contrast the catalogues. What things occur in every shop? What things mark the customers of that particular attraction? And so on. Graduates of this type of project will know the drill.
One last thought for the day of the lemon. Perhaps appropriate that some twat should think it worth paying £10m for a pickled pig. And that the price of some other art object should collapse in the face of doubts about whether its manufacturer had a proper contract - or even a memorandum of understanding - with Warhol Inc.
# posted by Jim @ 1:16 AM 
Comments:
<< Home
A few clicks with google establish that the day of the lemon at the end of this post was the day of the collapse of the once almighty Lehman Brothers. I suppose the feeble joke would have been clear enough at the time - but I did not have a clue today, despite having written it in the first place.
Post a Comment
<< Home
