With The Goslings
The Egyptian geese are doing well with their goslings; they still have five. They spend a lot of time near the Harrow Road, well away from Canada geese or swans, who are known to have murderous inclinations to other birds' offspring. Actually there is a pair of swans with cygnets as well, but they don't seem to be resident locally. The Egyptian geese collaborate in the childminding, one sits alongside the goslings while the other scans the towpath for trouble, and honks loudly if trouble comes along. Some very perplexed dogs find themselves being dragged past a very noisy goose.
RIP JJN Part Two
My neighbour very kindly allowed me to assist him at John Julius Norwich's funeral last Monday, at St Mary's, Paddington Green. The church is a late Georgian preaching-box with galleries, which was completely furnished anew, in repro-Georgian, by Raymond Erith and Quinlan Terry around 1970; it's all in the best possible taste. Fr Gary wore a black and gold cope of appropriately Venetian brocade. The church was packed, and I was amused to learn afterwards how little most people could see. The box pews are not very high-sided, but they do cut down vision, and if you weren't at the front of the galleries you could see nothing up there. That's the idea; that layout was designed for you to listen to a sermon, not participate in a liturgy.
Oddly, there was no sermon, nor even a eulogy. In fact, I was struck by how much the service had in common with funerals I have done with unchurched families here on the Warwick Estate. John Julius had professional musicians playing Schubert, instead of CDs playing hip hop, but the religious content was equally slim. Frankly, recognisably Anglican content was very scarce. The hymns were sung with great gusto: we had Crimond (Scottish), and Cwm Rhondda (Welsh), and the English offering was "I Vow to thee My Country", Sir Cecil Spring Rice's First World War recruiting song, set to Holst's "Jupiter", which isn't in most modern hymnbooks. Altogether a very public-school selection. We had readings from Shakespeare and Dryden's paraphrase of Horace, as well as Canon Scott Holland's "Death is Nothing at All". We also had two Schubert songs, and the "In Paradisum" from Faure's Requiem (which obviously any right-thinking person would want), and we went out to the Widor Toccata (which didn't really suit the organ). So, it was a very full service, with lots of lovely things in it, but some would say more like a memorial service than a funeral.
The church was full of the great and the good. One of the reasons people couldn't see was that there were so many tall, distinguished-looking men in dark suits (not so much like the Warwick Estate). Among the mourners I spotted Simon Schama, Simon Jenkins, and David Attenborough, but no doubt there were loads more I failed to recognise.
St Mary's has a neo-Georgian church hall, also designed by Quinlan Terry, but this is let to a nursery school, and so the post-funeral refreshments were served inside the church. The vestry was full of sandwiches, and when I stood up to do the prayers, the reverential silence was punctuated by the clink of bottle and glass (which frankly would have amused JJN). After the service, the problem was one of circulation, especially since those in the galleries had to descend by one staircase which deposited them into the tiny lobby immediately inside the main door, so as they fought their way in to get a drink they met those already provided who were trying to get out to condole with the family in the graveyard. The phrase "fire regulations" leapt unbidden into my mind. You will understand that in our building and refurbishment works at St Mary Mags these questions have become very familiar to me.
Slowest on the Road
I always expect to be pretty much the slowest cyclist on any given road. Normally, the only people I will automatically overtake are those riding Boris bikes or Bromptons (and sometimes you meet a pimped Brompton, ridden by an enthusiast who can make it go very fast). Anyone in proper shorts, on a proper road bike, must be assumed to be faster than me. Anyone wearing a club jersey can be guaranteed to ride away from me. I reassure myself with the mantra that I am twice the age of many of them (certainly not all, though). On the last two occasions I have been out, though, I have been passed by small children, of about 10 or 11, riding small road bikes, alongside their fathers (in club jerseys). This is a bit tough to take, though I rationalise that they're shifting a lot less weight than me. Today, to cap it, I was passed by a father on a road bike towing a cart in which his small daughter sat.
Late Goals and VAR
I remember Helen saying, in despair, "But you don't like football," each time the World Cup came round; she didn't understand. At least Nigeria put in a performance worthy of their shirt against Iceland (is their mystique finally fading?) and there were two fine kits on display today. The Belgian gold and black with red details was classically fine, and I did like Mexico's change strip, white shirts with one maroon and one bottle green hoop, and maroon shorts. Pleasingly reminiscent of the classic West Ham sky blue with two claret hoops (though that was worn with pale shorts, which I think on balance is nicer). There was no need for the green detail on the shoulders, though. You have to keep watching to the end, though, because there are so many late goals (both of Brazil's against Costa Rica came after 90 minutes, for instance, and Son's lovely goal for South Korea today). I thought VAR was meant to stop arguments, but it clearly doesn't, because so many obvious infringements don't get referred. Great piece of punditry (a week ago) from Slaven Bilic, when asked to comment on some VAR decision, he shrugged his shoulders and said, deadpan, "Really, I don't care."
Saturday 23 June 2018
Thursday 7 June 2018
FAREWELL, JOHN JULIUS
RIP JJN
It is with great sadness that I have to record the death of the patron of our development appeal, John Julius Norwich, who was a genuinely life-enhancing person. For people of my generation, he was one of those names you remembered from TV and radio in the seventies: I remember him on "Call My Bluff" and "My Music" on the television, and "Round Britain Quiz" and "My Word" on the radio, but the BBC also used him as a documentary presenter, and he was one of the first presenters on Classic FM. He also wrote dozens of books, mostly popular history, in fact the most recent one, a history of France "from Gaul to De Gaulle" only came out in the past year. I was going to say that he was a link with a more leisured age, except that gives the wrong impression, because John Julius worked extremely hard all his adult life, though he had the advantage of working at what he enjoyed. Perhaps what I mean is that he was a link with a literary and aristocratic world that has passed into history, but which retains a real glamour. His mother, you see, was Lady Diana Cooper, the quintessential "bright young thing" in the 1920s, daughter of the Duke of Rutland, and friend of Evelyn Waugh (who based characters on her). His father, Duff Cooper, was a bit of a rascal, who had been part of the Raymond Asquith set at Oxford before the First World War (the rest were mostly killed, he survived), and as an MP was Churchill's great ally in opposing the appeasement of Hitler before the outbreak of the Second World War. Duff Cooper ended the War as British Ambassador in Paris and was given the title of Viscount Norwich when he retired. So John Julius, who knew Churchill and De Gaulle (and heard Chaliapin sing when he was a boy) was a connection with that vanished world.
John Julius was also a friend of John Betjeman, and so for us at Mary Mags was a link with that great enthusiast for our church (who spoke at the centenary celebrations back in the sixties) and so we were delighted when he agreed to be our patron. What I didn't realise, though, was just how jolly he was, and how much he would bring to our appeal, even in his mid-eighties. When he agreed to be patron, he said, "Well, I'll do it, but you understand I'll just be a figurehead, I can't actually do anything." Nothing could have been further from the truth. Of course he presided merrily at our receptions, recalling that Betjeman had called the church "a corker!", and cheerfully wielded a spade alongside a bunch of primary schoolchildren in hard hats and hi-vis at our groundbreaking ceremony, but he did more. Not only did he get involved with the fundraising by personally approaching elderly trustees whom he knew to empty out a couple of trusts for us, but he actually performed for the benefit of Mary Mags; we had a marvellous evening of anecdotes, recitations and songs, at which he accompanied himself on the piano. He was a real trouper, as they say.
John Julius moved last year from his house in Blomfield Road into a flat in Bayswater, having been a fixture in Little Venice for decades, but the point was that he moved there long before it was smart. When he moved in it was still a louche, rackety, rather bohemian area, with actors and artists, and not at all the home of pop stars and hedge funders that it has become. He may have been an aristocrat, but he was a bohemian by temperament, and had a fine sense of self-awareness; I remember him saying that he'd never had an original historical thought in his life, however many books he'd written. Above all, though, he was great fun, and was a great enthusiast. He loved beauty, and always wanted others to share his enthusiasm. We were lucky to be one of the last beneficiaries of that enthusiasm.
On the Canal
More happily, I have to record that the Egyptian geese now have five goslings, cute little brown and white fluffballs. The whole family sit on the towpath and the parents honk aggressively at cyclists, dogs, and indeed anyone passing. I hope the little ones survive and thrive.
On the Pitch (part 1)
It's a very good story that the entire production run of Nigeria's World Cup shirt was pre-ordered within hours of their match at Wembley the other day. The odd thing is that the shirt is apparently the only one in the whole tournament with a really outrageous design, the hangover-troubling zigzags, green and white on the body and black and white on the sleeves. The shirt manufacturers seem to have invested a lot in texture this year, so there are lots of what would traditionally be called "self" patterns, designs that appear only in the texture of the fabric (there's one that is white and white diagonal halves, for instance, wow!) but I can't help feeling that this rather misses the point that the shirt needs to work on television. I've studied the full array (admittedly only on a computer screen) and couldn't really discern some of the alleged designs at all. Perhaps they are designed for vast TV screens in pubs, and will work on that scale, but I'm not convinced. Lots of very weak collar details, though.
On the Pitch (part 2)
In the barber's last week, I got involved in a very heated discussion about Raheem Sterling and his tattoo. This was before he (allegedly) took a dive in the Nigeria game and turned up late for the training camp; two stories that illustrate how much copy he generates. It's odd, because I don't quite understand why he attracts so much negative press. I did make the point that he knows how much he's under the microscope, so it was pretty stupid to have the tattoo done, if he didn't want a fuss.The haircut took a long time, as Dwayne the barber defended Raheem's right to put whatever he wants on his own body at great length and with much emphasis. A barber gesticulating with an open razor is my friend at all times!
It is with great sadness that I have to record the death of the patron of our development appeal, John Julius Norwich, who was a genuinely life-enhancing person. For people of my generation, he was one of those names you remembered from TV and radio in the seventies: I remember him on "Call My Bluff" and "My Music" on the television, and "Round Britain Quiz" and "My Word" on the radio, but the BBC also used him as a documentary presenter, and he was one of the first presenters on Classic FM. He also wrote dozens of books, mostly popular history, in fact the most recent one, a history of France "from Gaul to De Gaulle" only came out in the past year. I was going to say that he was a link with a more leisured age, except that gives the wrong impression, because John Julius worked extremely hard all his adult life, though he had the advantage of working at what he enjoyed. Perhaps what I mean is that he was a link with a literary and aristocratic world that has passed into history, but which retains a real glamour. His mother, you see, was Lady Diana Cooper, the quintessential "bright young thing" in the 1920s, daughter of the Duke of Rutland, and friend of Evelyn Waugh (who based characters on her). His father, Duff Cooper, was a bit of a rascal, who had been part of the Raymond Asquith set at Oxford before the First World War (the rest were mostly killed, he survived), and as an MP was Churchill's great ally in opposing the appeasement of Hitler before the outbreak of the Second World War. Duff Cooper ended the War as British Ambassador in Paris and was given the title of Viscount Norwich when he retired. So John Julius, who knew Churchill and De Gaulle (and heard Chaliapin sing when he was a boy) was a connection with that vanished world.
John Julius was also a friend of John Betjeman, and so for us at Mary Mags was a link with that great enthusiast for our church (who spoke at the centenary celebrations back in the sixties) and so we were delighted when he agreed to be our patron. What I didn't realise, though, was just how jolly he was, and how much he would bring to our appeal, even in his mid-eighties. When he agreed to be patron, he said, "Well, I'll do it, but you understand I'll just be a figurehead, I can't actually do anything." Nothing could have been further from the truth. Of course he presided merrily at our receptions, recalling that Betjeman had called the church "a corker!", and cheerfully wielded a spade alongside a bunch of primary schoolchildren in hard hats and hi-vis at our groundbreaking ceremony, but he did more. Not only did he get involved with the fundraising by personally approaching elderly trustees whom he knew to empty out a couple of trusts for us, but he actually performed for the benefit of Mary Mags; we had a marvellous evening of anecdotes, recitations and songs, at which he accompanied himself on the piano. He was a real trouper, as they say.
John Julius moved last year from his house in Blomfield Road into a flat in Bayswater, having been a fixture in Little Venice for decades, but the point was that he moved there long before it was smart. When he moved in it was still a louche, rackety, rather bohemian area, with actors and artists, and not at all the home of pop stars and hedge funders that it has become. He may have been an aristocrat, but he was a bohemian by temperament, and had a fine sense of self-awareness; I remember him saying that he'd never had an original historical thought in his life, however many books he'd written. Above all, though, he was great fun, and was a great enthusiast. He loved beauty, and always wanted others to share his enthusiasm. We were lucky to be one of the last beneficiaries of that enthusiasm.
On the Canal
More happily, I have to record that the Egyptian geese now have five goslings, cute little brown and white fluffballs. The whole family sit on the towpath and the parents honk aggressively at cyclists, dogs, and indeed anyone passing. I hope the little ones survive and thrive.
On the Pitch (part 1)
It's a very good story that the entire production run of Nigeria's World Cup shirt was pre-ordered within hours of their match at Wembley the other day. The odd thing is that the shirt is apparently the only one in the whole tournament with a really outrageous design, the hangover-troubling zigzags, green and white on the body and black and white on the sleeves. The shirt manufacturers seem to have invested a lot in texture this year, so there are lots of what would traditionally be called "self" patterns, designs that appear only in the texture of the fabric (there's one that is white and white diagonal halves, for instance, wow!) but I can't help feeling that this rather misses the point that the shirt needs to work on television. I've studied the full array (admittedly only on a computer screen) and couldn't really discern some of the alleged designs at all. Perhaps they are designed for vast TV screens in pubs, and will work on that scale, but I'm not convinced. Lots of very weak collar details, though.
On the Pitch (part 2)
In the barber's last week, I got involved in a very heated discussion about Raheem Sterling and his tattoo. This was before he (allegedly) took a dive in the Nigeria game and turned up late for the training camp; two stories that illustrate how much copy he generates. It's odd, because I don't quite understand why he attracts so much negative press. I did make the point that he knows how much he's under the microscope, so it was pretty stupid to have the tattoo done, if he didn't want a fuss.The haircut took a long time, as Dwayne the barber defended Raheem's right to put whatever he wants on his own body at great length and with much emphasis. A barber gesticulating with an open razor is my friend at all times!
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