How many holes it takes to fill the Albert Hall

Completely by coincidence, we found ourselves at the Royal Albert Hall twice in two weeks. The first visit was for one of the BBC Proms series - Prom 73 to be exact, which included a Vaughan Williams piece inspired by Antarctica, a percussion piece by Iannis Xenakis, and finally the full Planets Suite by Holst.

We didn't have a terribly auspicious start to that evening as I was about one minute late for the first piece. This being a proper classical music venue with humourless ushers (appalled at my gall in not being seated 20 minutes before the conductor walked on), I was not allowed in until the end of the first movement. Of course we were seated right in the middle of the cramped front row of one of the balconies, and as the usher was reluctant to have me push past the audience members already seated, I decided to wait until the first interval and miss the Williams. Meanwhile The Boyfriend had not even left work yet. Surely it is not possible to make it anywhere by 6.30pm on a weekday in London?

But we made it inside for the second piece, and what a piece it was. I won't go on too much, but I think the word 'experimental' would be the most fitting way to describe it, and one man in the audience felt so strongly about it that he obviously couldn't control his urge to scream "Nooo!!!!" several times, right in the middle of the second movement (there were six). There is a review here if you're really interested (and another very positive one here). And I actually quite enjoyed it, although The Planets was another level of excellent.


My previous impressions of the Albert Hall were almost entirely composed of hazy childhood memories of a book called The Great Jelly of London, in which the hall is used as the world's largest jelly mould. (I looked online for illustrations to pilfer but the book seems to be out of print and not well represented. A worn, second-hand copy seems to be going here for £85 so Mum and Dad, I hope your copy hasn't been thrown out/given away!) I was able to (mis)appropriate this quote though:

"Slowly, majestically, as the children cheered, the whole shell of the Albert Hall was lifted higher and higher till everyone could see the splendid orange jelly wobbling and gleaming in the sun. It came out perfectly. Hardly any of it stuck to the Albert Hall. You could see exactly where the organ had been."

(You can see the organ in the photo above - the pale blue section at the back.)

Anyway, the most interesting part of the trip (aside from the music, of course of course!) was contemplating the unusual measures implemented to deal with the terrible acoustics the Hall's unique shape results in. Hanging from the ceiling are these sort of up-side down flying saucer-like white things, which are made to look even more alien by being lit in different colours throughout the performance.






The second visit was rather different in tone and target market. Surrounded by serious, black-clad thirty-somethings clutching glasses of red wine, we saw Echo and the Bunnymen - one of The Boyfriend's favourite bands. This was something of a comeback/reunion show, with the band performing every song from what seems to be their most-loved album, Ocean Rain. This time our tickets were for the standing area aaallll the way at the top of the Hall, so while we would have liked to have been a bit closer, the spectacle from up there was pretty amazing.




Not being a diehard fan (although the title song was awesome) I spent a bit of time taking illicit photos around the back of the Hall. The lighting from the stage often hit the back wall, reflecting the audience in constantly moving and changing coloured patterns. The rest of the photos from both trips are up on flickr at the end of the Around London set here.

Progress (and rodents)

Well, the first week in my new group has not been so bad. I still feel like I'm trapped here doing something I don't want to do, and that it's a big step back after practising for 6 years in a different area. But the people have been very nice, and I finally got an actual positive comment about something I'd done. You won't believe me but that's the very, very first time that's happened in my current workplace in about 15 months. Also the job involves reviewing individual cases and reporting on their validity, which is more satisfying in the short term than my previous role because I actually get to finish things and move on quickly rather than working on projects that go on for months and even years and sometimes still don't actually reach completion in the end.

Also, not having to deal with property agents and surveyors makes a big difference. I think I can be fairly safe in the knowledge that no one working in those professions reads this blog so I'll push on without fear of causing any offence.

So the only thing I really have to complain about right now is all the mice in the new building I'm working in. They turn up every night, basically on the dot of 6pm, and wander around the office checking things out, searching for crumbs, and generally creeping me out. I've developed this weird almost-involuntary stomping dance that I do at my desk, out of an irrational fear that one is preparing to run up my leg.

The building I'm in now is a super-snazzy new one, younger than the average London office building by, oh, at least 150 years I'd say. How can it have a mouse problem already? A group email went around last week telling everyone to stop leaving food in the offices (including in the waste bins?!) because apparently the mice are so well fed, there is no incentive for them to eat the poison in the traps lining the walls. This email then got leaked to a legal news and business website, which gleefully published it in full. If that takes down the ego of a partner or two a couple of notches, the mice can stay.

Paris

I've posted a rather large set of photos from the bank holiday in Paris here.

Much of the trip was spent in the company of dead people - long dead in most cases. The Boyfriend bought me this book, Permanent Parisians - An Illustrated Guide to the cemeteries of Paris for my birthday. So we paid visits to the cemetery in Montmartre, the catacombs, and a return (for me) to Cimetière du Père-Lachaise. This time I made sure my camera battery was charged and after the obligatory stop at Jim Morrison's grave we headed straight for Oscar Wilde.




We also spent lots of time eating enormous, rich meals and alot of time walking, and walking, and walking. Seriously, The Boyfriend is a hard taskmaster. We walked to the Latin Quarter from Gare du Nord on Friday after taking the Eurostar from London. On Saturday we walked from our hotel in the Latin Quarter through the Jardin des Tuileries and up the Champs Elysees, past the Arc de Triompe and about another 2km out of our way before we realised we were further along the map than we thought, then back up the hill to Montmartre, and back down into the centre and over the river back to the hotel. (It took a lot of willpower for me to say "we" then when I meant "The Boyfriend".) Then all over the islands after dinner. On Sunday we walked south to the Catacombs, then a loooong way east to Pere Lachaise, back to the Bastille for dinner, and then back to the hotel. And Monday was laps of the Louvre, a fruitless trip to the Musee Rodin (which was closed), back along the Seine and up to Gare du Nord to leave for home. Given the amount of calories we consumed during the trip (steak (for The Boyfriend), oysters, fish, wine, croissants, french fries, cheese, everything with cream/salt/sugar and all absolutely delicious) I'm sure we probably broke just about even.

The hotel was the same one some of my family and I stayed in when we came to Europe in 1995 and it hadn't changed at all. The stairs are still sagging away from the wall on crazy angles. Climbing the staircase to the fourth floor after those long days of walking and a few wines with dinner was sometimes rather challenging.

This and that

On Monday I have to move into a new group at work for three months. The move is pointless because it's necessary in order for me to qualify as a lawyer in the UK, which I probably won't end up doing. But I have to do it anyway. The group I'm moving to seem very nice, but I'll be doing an extremely specialised, isolated role in an area I know absolutely nothing about, and the knowledge I build up will be of no use in any part of my life or career. It's going to be a steep learning curve, and I'll probably just be getting the hang of it when it's time for me to go back to my current group in three months' time. So, good times!

If it's not obvious I'm feeling apprehensive and a bit negative about the move. It's been hard enough getting across all the nuances and changes in the area of law I actually work in between Australia and the UK. And now I have to do it all again in an area I don't know or really care much about. Then again, it hasn't exactly been smooth sailing where I am at the moment either. Maybe things will be great in the new group. Hmmmm.

So, lately we've not done too much. We showed last week's houseguest around Oxford and parts of the Cotswolds, which meant lots of time on southern England's fabulous motorways. The Boyfriend's grandmother was very interested in seeing some cottages with thatched roofs so we found ourselves in Chipping Camden, driving around the backstreets like stalkers, looking for suitably photogenic thatched roofs. My overall impression was that only wealthy people must be able to afford a house with a thatched roof, as all the ones we saw were absolutely immaculately maintained - and covered with a protective layer of chicken-wire. Sadly, the unsightly wire really stands out in photos. Ah well. Perhaps these people prioritise a weatherproof roof over picturesque scenes.

We also saw The Breeders during the week at Shepherd's Bush Empire, which was a nice interlude in the general slog of work and rain we've enjoyed lately. Seriously, I know it's an internationally-held stereotype that English people talk about the weather all the time, but I find it's hard not to when it governs your entire existence. Every move you make involves a whole new set of planning about equipment -decisions re: umbrella vs coat, something warm enough to brave the wind and rain but cool enough or involving enough layers so that the cramped 40-minute tube trip is as low in sweat as possible, suitably waterproof shoes that are also robust enough to withstand the perilous hundred-year-old footpaths but go with your suit for work, the necessity of sunglasses (rarely required), on it goes...

I fully intend to post some photos this weekend. We have no specific plans and will be at home, so I'm sure I'll be fitting in some solid time with flickr. There are also some exhibitions I'd like to see: Mark Rothko at the Tate Modern, Francis Bacon at the Tate Britain, this one with old Indian painted portraits, and also London Through A Lens, a collection of images of London over the last 100 years or so. It might be a question of which of these The Boyfriend is in the mood for.