“An Enemy of the People” at the Crucible was absolutely first rate. Anthony Sher as Dr Stockmann – an endearing and somewhat naive enthusiastic idealist – quite unworldly in lots of ways. His brother quite sinister as the politician. A parable about climate change in a way. Even some laughs – not Ibsen as the common prejudice goes at all.
A standing ovation magnificently deserved. Jan Gabarek, Rainer Bruninghaus, Yuri Dniel and Trilok Gurtu in a stunning single 2 1/4 hour set of enormous variety with Bruninghaus and Gurtu in particular getting a very fair share of solos. As well as the trademark ethereal nordic mysteries there were some really upbeat numbers, also some with what seemed like very unusual time signatures plus some rare glimpses of a Gabarek sense of humour in a duel with Gurtu, Garbarek on flute and Gurtu on voice percussion.
Whereas the York Theatre Royal Pantomime is the highest quality load of old rubbish you could ever hope to see in your lifetime. It just gets more outrageous every year – more costume changes, more elaborate sets, more ad libbing, less plot, and, in this case, Humpty Dumpty humpty dumptied after the first scene. Berwick Kaler has made this his gift to the people of York for over thirty years, aided and abetted by Martin Barrass, Suzy Cooper, and David Leonard and it is just wonderful – I hope to keep going as long as Berwick does.
Actually, it’s not, it’s rubbish. Enjoyable rubbish, true, but it’s not Meryl Streep at her best and it’s all about rich people in Californication. I was actually rooting for the creep ex-husband but we should have been hoping she got off with the utterly boring architect. Add to “Films I should Never Have Bothered Going to See>”
The Edinburgh Arms is quite friendly and cosy in an expansive sort of way, though it doesn’t really do half-pints. We explained that we’d been to 18 pubs already, and were due to visit 18 more. Out the back and 20 yards to the Sea Horse, a Sam Smith’s pub with the usual restricted choice, though the layout is nice, with separate rooms and well laid out and comfortable seating. But the star of the evening was the recently re-opened Phoenix. Three decent beers, a friendly welcome, an open fire, and a decor which invited you to just sink in and enjoy (though no cushions or soft furnishings in sight). And that was just the front bar. They also do a wine list and a small selection of single malt whiskeys. Vaut le detour.
Train to Darlington through extremely wet countryside – the Ouse at York well over the Ings and the riverside footpaths and every stream and small river north wards full to overflowing. At times the train on its embankment was crossing lakes, from which at intervals sprouted the tops of fences, or trees, or a half-submerged shed. Bus from Darlington to Richmond – confusingly altered to pass Darlington station in the reverse direction (where there is no bus shelter). At Richmond a quick change to a local bus through dripping countryside and flooded lanes to Ravensworth, a village set round a large green with at the top a magnificently ruined and jagged castle. No shop, and the pub not open yet (still only 11.30) so off up the 1 in 4 road masquerading as a stream bed to Kirby Hill. True to its name, there was a large parish church in a very commanding position atop a ridge, overlooking a magnificent series of hills and valleys to the North. Behind the Church cluster cottages and farms round a small green, off the through road. More of this in a subsequent blog, I hope. A fine pub, but also closed because it was Monday. A quick sally on the faithful Brompton to the villages on either side showed picturesque wetness, more stream/roads and one other closed pub. Must come back when it’s not Monday. And so back to Richmond – the ford I’d been warned about now thankfully only an inch or two deep. Richmond seemed to have at least one excellent butcher, at which I bought an excellent haggis.
The rain, which had mostly kept off all day, fell heavily on the b us to Darlington, but that was OK.
Apart from the fact that the patter to songs ratio is too heavily weighted onto the patter, what a superb entertainer ! Humorous songs and deadly serious ones – like the one about the shooting of Jean Charles de Menezes which makes the stalkers sound like gangsters from the start.. Liked his description of the then Mrs Thatcher as a “vicious old spiv.” The band, this time, included a cellist, a trombone player, and a drummer. Nice sound – including the trombone as a Spitfire.
What is really the best thing about canal boating, apart from being in a cosy floating shoebox, is being in a boat and looking down on the countryside. And nowhere better than on the Leeds and Liverpool canal above Gargrave, where the canal climbs onto nearly its top level through the Pennines and winds along the contours in a most spectacular fashion.
And you can moor just about anywhere for the night, in the depths of the countryside, far from any roads or rails or airports, andclose to sheep and cows and birds and other noisy nocturnal critters.
Can you believe main city streets with wide cycle tracks at each side and delivery lorries unloading and not parking on the cycle track ? Can you believe streets lined with full cycle racks all day and well into the evening. Can you believe none of the thousands of cyclists wearing lycra, or cycle helmets, and just sailing about their business with elegant ease ? Can you believe traffic light phases specifically for bikes ?
Copenhagen.
One of the more irritating effects of the recession or credit crunch or bankers’ toilet or whatever we are going through is the axing of pleasant ways to travel in favour of less pleasant ones. One used to be able to travel to Norway by ferry from Newcastle. In 1966 it was Fred Olsen lines to Oslo, then there was Fjord Line and Color Line and latterly DFDS to Kristiansand and then Stavanger or Bergen. But no more. An historic link severed.
Second choice, given that one is starting from the North of England, was to fly to Oslo from Manchester. One landed conveniently in mid afternoon, without having to get a train to Manchester at 4 in t he morning. Indeed, now you can get a train mid-afternoon, in order to get the one flight a day which drops you in Oslo Gardemoen at quarter to eleven at night.
Third choice would really be train, via London, Cologne, Copenhagen and Gothenberg, but one doesn’t always have the two days it takes.
So it’s Hobson’s choice – Hobsonair from Stansted to Oslo Torp. Now, like most of Hobsonair’s airports, Torp is not actually at all close to Oslo, but it is quite handy for where we are going.
I will spare you an extended rant about the practice of Cross Country trains of putting a two-coach train on its Stansted service – effectively discouraging those who like to get a seat if they are spending a couple of hours on a train, and move on to Stansted itself. It is a zoo . Hobsonair doesn’t provide any helpful signs, which would be cheap, nor or course enquiry staff, which would be a cost. The staff they do provide all look thoroughly unhappy, and tired and cross, which more or less means that 100% of the people on both sides of the counter are unhappy and tired and cross because they are in the wrong queue or have 1kg too much baggage or a £40 fine for smiling or still 4 hours to go to their next loo break.
Hobsonair more or less has you filing onto the front of the plane while the passengers from the previous flight are still getting out the back. Not actually a problem, they seem to be able to refuel and refill the trolleys in 20 minutes and reset the inflight commercials to interrupt your contemplation of the clouds, if of course you can move your head in the position you are in crushed between two merely average size human beings who are overflowing their ridiculously narrow seats. We of course arrive on time at Torp, file past the passengers waiting to get on (it’s a bit like the Underground) and find that Torp is relatively calm and quiet, possibly because only Hobsonair and some of its continental pals drop in 2 or 3 times a day.
It’s not really that I object to flying being cheap, it’s having it appear cheap – and only if you abide by the rules, don’t want to take any luggage, and have a computer to check-in on-line.
We came back from Copenhagen to Manchester on SAS – really quite civilised. Copenhagen Airport was extremely elegant.
One day, I’m going to take the train, or investigate the freight ferry from Immingham.