deja vu all over again

Warren Street, Oval and Shepherd's Bush evacuated; reports of smoke coming from the stations. Sirens outside (I'm next to Warren street)

Kings Cross : Two Days On

So what does Kings Cross look like this morning? The first thing you notice is the media scrum (and it was literally a scrum as I came past - I think someone was giving a statement) which from the other side of the road to the main station obscures the flowers which have been building up since yesterday. There being no obvious focal point for a disaster which happened underground they are being placed in front of the WH Smiths newsagents - as good a place as any, I suppose.

Then you notice the firemen standing around, taking a break from whatever is going on underneath. The descriptions in the papers this morning are harrowing to say the least, and the death toll is going to climb from where it is now at around 50. Do I still think we got off lightly? Obviously, we didn't, but this is still much better than I feared when I began blogging with bombs seemingly going off all around us.

Finally, you notice that Kings Cross tube is open, albeit just for the Metropolitan line, but even so that's impressively quick work.

The rest of town feels equally strange - in contrast to yesterday this is a really quiet Saturday. Whereas yesterday everyone had an aim in getting to work and getting home, there doesn't seem much enthusiasm for travelling for fun. (Although went out for a curry last night and Upper Street was as packed as ever). Am planning to head into Soho for lunch, so will get a better feel then but B. reports south london tube as completely deserted this morning.

Finally - please comment! I'd like to know what my readers are thinking, and what you want to hear over the next couple of days.

Take back the streets

"I will at the earliest opportunity, assemble in London in a public demonstration of respect to the victims of the July 7 atrocity, defiance of the murderers who carried it out and solidarity with the people of London but only if 100 other people will too."

www.pledgebank.com/solidarity

text to 60022 : pledge solidarity
(Charged at normal text rate)

A criminal act

Something which was, I think, lost sight of after September 11th was that terrorist attacks like yesterday's are criminal acts. That sounds obvious, but I mean that the best response is via a police investigation and, ideally, a trial of those responsible rather than a military response. When the IRA were bombing the mainland politicians were very, very careful never to refer to a 'war', something which was thrown out of the window with the 'war on terror' rhetoric. They may want a war against us, but they can't have one unless we say they can and for now I'm happy to hunt them down and put them on trial, thank you.

London Bombings : One Day On

I'm sure this post will not be long enough or reflective enough, but here's how I see the world a day on from yesterday's attacks.

1. I feel lucky. I survived - despite having Kings Cross as my local tube station. All those I care about survived (although frankly I now feel like murdering the friend who (a) commutes past Aldgate and Liverpool Street and (b) lost their mobile on Wednesday making it impossible to contact them), as did everyone I work with. The closest I came was a friend who saw the bus bomb blast, and another who heard it. Also, although obviously this won't be shared by anyone less fortunate, I feel lucky as a city today, too. Although the full scale has yet to emerge (police still reporting 38 dead, newspapers around 50) I think that most of us assumed when we heard what was going on that things were going to be a lot worse, and fortunately that hasn't proved to be the case. We've all been expecting something like this, and although it sounds stupid there's a 'is that all you've got?' feeling in the air.

2. I feel angry, and proud. The only purported statement claiming responsibility found, by the BBC, on a website states that 'Britain is now burning with fear'. This is patent balls judging by my walk in this morning. A few extra pedestrians, a couple of streets still closed and a little more traffic on the road, but I get the sense that everyone is getting back to work. (Apart from me, blogging away). The voxpops on the news say the same thing: 'We're here. They have not won', and it really does feel like that right now. As I said yesterday the less we react the more of a victory for us this is.

3. I feel grateful. The authorities were excellent. I shall make that tube journey later today - all the railway lines (with one exception) were open by 5pm yesterday, and today about 60% of the tube is operating normally too. Without the rapid and pre-planned response, things would have been a lot worse. Whoever took the immediate decision to stop tube trains in stations after the first blast probably saved several hundred lives.

3. I feel confused. What were they trying to achieve? Obviously, it's beyond my comprehension why anyone things bombing commuters would help their cause, but even putting that to one side yesterday makes no sense. Both Aldgate and Edgware Road, as Guido and others note are areas associated with Arab or Muslim communities. But then to stir up hatred (which thankfully has yet to rear its ugly head) where better to aim? I am far from convinced we understand who is responsible yet (whoever you are - can't you even claim responsibility properly?) and this story has much further to go. Was the bus an accident, while aiming for somewhere else?

4. I feel ready for a fight. I reckon we have about a week before this government decides that it can now push through its legislation against freedom of speech, in favour of ID cards and much else besides. As Ian McEwan says in the Grauniad this morning, we must decide how much power to give Leviathan and I know my answer will differ from Mr Blair's.


This has been an odd new turn for this blog, but the need to talk and write about what was happening yesterday was strong enough to break through my feeble attempts to keep my politics out of the blog. I'll keep writing until next week and then make a decision about what to do long term.

Go and read Yesbutnobutyes for a blog roundup.

P.S. We won the cricket. Not everything is back to normal, then.

Cricket

Relieved to see that the cricket is still going on - some sense of normalcy and a pleasing lack of over-reaction. The less this attack changes things, the less of victory for the cowards behind it. The sun is now coming out over a still very quiet London, and I'm preparing to walk home - a day not to be forgotten. In the meantime, I promise a more reflective and longer post on this tomorrow when I can put my thoughts in some semblace of order.

The Numbers Game

So it seems now we have four confirmed explosions - one at Edgware Road, one between Kings Cross and Russell Square and one between Aldgate East and Liverpool Street, plus the bus on Tavistock Square (the photos of which are horrific). The death toll is already heading toward 50, and I don't think that counts the 'packed' bus. Personally, I'm down to two missing friends, one of whom I'm now very worried about.

I think most people have stopped working - several are in the bar. The general consensus seems to be that everyone will try to get home tonight, but I have no idea how feasible that is for people who live further away than I do (ten minute's walk). There is a horrible feeling that this is not over yet, though, and I think many people like me are calculating where the next strike could come from. However, as Europhobia notes there doesn't seem to be any panic.

God, us Brits are great. Hardly any panic - more just getting pissed off that it's going to be a bugger getting home. I love this country sometimes.

Army move in

We've just heard that the army have taken up positions around the City, and there are suspicions that there may be further, unexploded bombs in the transport network. Meanwhile, the BBC are reporting that the City bankers are drinking pints and talking about work. Wish I could!

A few hours on....

...and I can hear traffic outside the office again. The streets are still pretty empty, though, and the people clustered outside Euston are sheltering from the rain under umberellas. The ting which has hit home the hardest, bizarely, was the announcement that all roads into London are displaying signs which say 'London closed. Turn around.' It suddenly made me realise that all those of us inside are considered vunerable.

The Tube is to be closed for the whole of today. If it reopens tomorrow I shall deliberately go on it to show whoever did this that they haven't won, and I hope everyone else does the same. This was a really happy city yesterday, after the Olympic win - for once everyone seemed inclined to smile. It might be a while before that happens again.

Six attacks

Six attacks reported by Met police - one bus and five tube bombs. We're being told to stay where we are, and still sirens are echoing around the area by Euston. Just trying to contact everybody now...

Casulties at Aldgate

London police confirm there have been deaths, meanwhile I'm sitting here beginning to receive texts from friends. It's just gone very very quiet out there - I can still hear the helicopter but no sirens and very little traffic. Really wish I hadn't left B. at the flat this morning, but have managed to get through and all seems okay.

PA report : Explosion on Bus

Confirmation from Scotland Yard that a bus exploded at Tavistock Place, near Russell Square. National Grid say nothing at their end explains the tube power surges. The phone lines - at least here - and mobile networks aren't coping. The bus bomb reminds me of the feeling that I had when I saw the second attack on 9/11 - this is deliberate.

Explosion in London?

Just walked into work just off the Euston Road past a vast array of police and ambulances. The entire tube network is shut, and there are reports of explosions at Liverpool Street (BBC news says 'Power surge') and rumours of a bus bomb in Russell Square. Strange feeling walking into all of this - almost as if we'd been expecting this all along. Let's hope it's not as sinister as it feels, but with the constant police helicopters outside my window and BBC News down it's difficult to hold on to that.

Another siren goes past...

Want art? Go to a museum!

You want art? You want art?
Go to a museum. At the Globe we do life

So said Patrice Naiambana as Cerimon at the Globe a couple of hours. A production that seemed to owe much to Macello Magni of Complicite and the physical theatre that escapes the stage. Watching acrobats on ropes above the stage (and in the audience), a ship appear from nowhere and Diana descend from the heights was wonderful. Not everything was great - the young Pericles of Robert Luckay had a strong Hungarian accent which wouldn't have been a problem if it didn't destroy the verse, but this was an evening which reminded me that theatre is for fun. A serious tale with a happy ending, for once the dance which marks the end of all Globe productions seemed to make sense and the applause was amazing. That also reminded me why I go to the Globe; because just occasionally it's great to be in an audience that responds from the heart and cheers the play to the rafters. It must be an actor's dream.

Oh, and I can't mention the evening without giving huge credit to the actor (whose name I have forgotten and will add when I find out) who stepped into the shoes of Colin Redgrave, who suffered a heart attack three days after the opening night. 'This one's for Colin', Naiambana shouted. It was worth it.

A considered response, but reviews of Cosi at ENO (OK) and Verdi at Covent Garden (amazing) to follow over the weekend. For now, I had a night out that put a spring in my step and makes the world seem new. Even in London on the hottest night of the year.

Eliot and music

No, not Cats, but an excellent post over at Twang Twang Twang about Eliot's Four Quartets.

How I envy people with the time, talent and motivation to write thoughtful blog pieces. Much of my time is currently spent at No2ID which obviously you should also visit.

Old Red Lion : Sociable Plover

Free tickets to see new play 'sociable plover' at Angel's Old Red Lion theatre pub, wonderful venue that it is. Free tickets means a full, sensible review, so here goes :

This is an excellent, well thought out, wonderfully performed two man show, written by Tim Whitnall. He stars as Dave, an obviously dodgy character who has spent his life doing 'This and that' before stumbling out of the rain and into the hide being used by self-styled ornithologist (not twitcher) Roy (Alex Macqueen). Both characters are well written and believable even in the harsh glare of the ORL's tiny performance space. Whitnall's facial expressions in particular stand up to scrutiny and he convinces despite occasional flights of wordiness that sit oddly with the rest of his character. The heart of the play is the interaction between the two men, which leads to genuinely laugh-out-loud funny moments ('Drum and bass? Both are excellent...'). The publicity informs you that a secret is to be revealed and the revelation when it comes is both surprising and convincing - no mean feat. Although the last two minutes (for me - B. disagreed) felt too much like a staged ending, this only highlighted the excellent work that had gone into constructing a small, claustrophobic word so convincingly. Everyone should see this - and I look forward to their next project.

1984

I wanted to review the world premiere of '1984' at the Royal Opera but I couldn't find it in me to say anything balanced. I really did not enjoy the evening, although as usual with these things the cast, musicians and in this case the director did an excellent job. Jessica Duchen says more.

However, one thought; the piece used fragments of melody to represent the world of the proles, and hence freedom for Winston and Julia. As this was submerged in a sea of modern music, all of it forgettable, it did occur to me that the entire piece may have been a oh-so-knowing deliberate attempt at irony, but I think I've concluded that this would be a good joke in a five minute piece, not a four hour opera.

LSO and Pappano

I shall try and get around to updating this more often; I've been oscillating between work crisis and computer avoidance, and so the blog rather fell by the wayside. Although given that that actually seems to have increased traffic, perhaps this is a good thing.

Barbican for the LSO last night, under Pappano's baton. (Despite his comments on the recent documentary that he was getting RSI in his thumb by using one, he stuck to tradition throughout). Terribly dissapointed by Bernstein's 'On the Waterfront' suite; it just felt too orchestral to me, especially in the slow sections which should at least sound free and easy. Shostakovich Cello Concerto (with Han-Na Chang) was wonderful, although the spell was broken by a broken string near the end, which necessitated a break but probably added to the deserved applause. The loudest response, though, was saved for Rachmaninov's 2nd symphony, which drew me in completely. Papanno was moving fluidly around the podium (clinging onto it for support at points) and it became impossible to tell whether the orchestra was responding to him or vice versa.

Also finally identified the 'Bravo' man who has been driving me mad at concerts for years - you know the type - who shouts 'Bravo' on the last note, presumably to demonstrate that he knows when the piece finishes. One of these characters with obviously similar tastes to me has been at many concerts and the occasional opera with me, but I'd never seen him (I recognise the sound, though, with a distinctive uplift on the 'O') until yesterday. He turns out to be short, fat, mustachioed and to consider himself important enough to give a standing ovation after moving into the aisle so that the orchestra had a better chance of seeing him (in the balcony).

The Milk Man was there too. Although without his milk. I'm beginning to believe he's a figment of my heat o'pressed brain.

Road to Perdition

Ok, so I'm not exactly giving the impression of being the cultural whirlwind I like to think I am, ferreting into hidden corners for you. But work's been tough, so you can live with it.

B. and I have been trying out LoveFilm and they seem rather efficient. Watched, finally, Road to Perdition last night which confirmed that Sam Mendes is an amazing director. I think in the hands of anyone else I would have been throwing things at the screen and shouting that I didn't care what happened (particularly to the child. Has there ever been a film with a child part that isn't infuriatingly cute/capable?) but I just sat and watched the parade of amazing shots.

I noticed this in American Beauty, too - he seems to have a thing for viewing through things. Everything is seen through a window, or in a mirror, or through a doorway. My personal theory is that having started as a theatre director he's still revelling in being able to control the shot.

Rain was good too. Does it ever drizzle in films?

You can go through wacky...

...and straight back into self-assured. Sighted on Gower Street this morning, a man in pinstripe suit, bowler hat and carrying a guitar case. Damn fine.

Fitzroy and a curry

Got no closer to the National Gallery than here and then here. But it was a good evening, quiz machines excepted.

OU Crisis

The first assessed essay of the year for my OU course, A207 : From Enlightenment to Romanticism and it's late, partly due to the family crisis and partly due to my disorganisation. I was way ahead of the course timetable, and now I'm way behind. This one was a slightly odd mix of writing about Don Giovanni and Hume's Of Suicide. (Which I keep wanting to call On Suicide, due to my belief that you've only made it as an academic when you write an essay 'on' something).


As usual, the tiny word limits were not enough to say everything I wanted to, but let's just say that I'm amazed at Hume's chutzpah. The course texts emphasised that the great trick in this essay is that he manages to argue against prohibition of suicide without rejecting/revealing his rejection of the Christian god, but to me (and surely to his contempory readers) his beliefs must have shone through. Perhaps that's part of why this had to be published posthumously.

Anyway - Caravaggio tonight, Strindberg tomorrow, more at the weekend. It's nice to be back in London.

Elgar at the Barbican

It was good to get back to London after all of the family-orientated mess of the funeral, and an Elgar concert courtesy of the LSO was just what was required by way of a relaxing warm bath. This was music (for once - I have a terrible musical memory) that I know well but it managed to be an interesting as well as an entertaining evening.

On stage : Violin concerto with Tasmin Little . Like all solo violinists incredibly distracting to watch, so I fixed my gaze on the look of envy the like of which I have never seen which was focused on her by one of the second violins. Not just the soloists love the spotlight, then.

And then Elgar's 1st; I know this from the LSO recording, but at the Royal Festival Hall last year I'd heard the LPO give an amazing performance of it which managed to unify all the ideas floating around in the finale. This was the exact opposite; there was a real sense of combat about the closing movement. I expected the drums, or the brass to break in any moment right up until the end. Incredibly powerful stuff, and sent me home with a 'what's next' feeling instead of blissful contemplation. Which is a nice change.

In the Programme (And I still prefer writing Program) was a quote from Neville Cardus. Is this the same Cardus that's revered in cricketing circles?

In front of us were a couple who couldn't have been more nervous before their wedding. Lots of reassuring hand holding, and back stroking which proved a little distracting. I'd initially assumed she was the classical music fan and he had been dragged along; the nerves being from introducing a new partner to something that's very important to you (I've been more nervous taking somebody to the opera than to meet my mother, but then that's more a statement of what's important to me). At the end, though, he stopped her from applauding further, and, sternly intoning 'Brahms and Listz, Brahms and Listz', left. So much for that theory.

In my head for the second half was irrational guilt. The person next to me left at half time, which always ensures I spend the rest of the concert wandering what I've done wrong.

Returning to base

Going home today, and then will be there or working over the weekend. Today's discussion, though, kids, is as follows :

Contrast the recent statements, plucked from the Grauniad from the Royal Opera's chief exec.

He argued that strategic thinking in the arts should be done collectively. "Our competition is not English National Opera or the Barbican, it is about persuading people that it's worth coming out on an Edwardian or Victorian tube system rather than nipping out to a Wetherspoon's or putting on a DVD.

and from ENO's chief, commenting on their performance at Glastonbury last year

Speaking about the company's performance of Wagner's Valkyrie last summer, he said the audience had "never heard of or hardly knew how to spell opera.

Is it possible to tell from these statements alone which of the companies is having trouble finding an audience?

Family 2

Although, on second thoughts have time to note that my Grandmother died last night...peacefully, and in her sleep 'after a short illness', as they say. She was indirectly responsible for my theatre obsessions...she loved Gilbert and Sullivian, and as soon as I was old enough I was entrusted with the task of going to see the local (excellent) amateur productions by the Torbay G&S society with her. I loved them - perhaps impressed by the fact that what was now a Q&S quality store was once the bijou theatre, where Pirates of Penzance was premiered.

Anyway, Grandma's response was always the same.

'Wonderful; but where's Tit Willow'?

This reguardless of which operaetta was actually being performed. So I was excited to see what would happen when they performed Pirates, which actually includes the song Tit Willow. Grandma listened, with tears in her eyes. And then, having heard what she came for, left. Strong willed woman, my gran, and she'll be missed.

Family

Family crisis. No posts. No fun, either, and missing out on Ibsen tomorrow. Grr.

Before Sunrise and the PCC

The Prince Charles Cinema must be the oddest seating arrangement in London. You sit beneath the screen, with a rake so that you're below the row in front. I've often wondered why this was, but realised yesterday that it made it completely impossible to see into the row in front of you (the seats are large, plush - and incidently, the tickets are very cheap indeed) which must have come in handy in the cinema's previous life as a porn cinema...But it started as a West End theatre, so that probably isn't the explanation.

It reminds me of the cinema that I saw my first films in, the Torbay Picture House in Paignton, which always claimed to be Europe's first purpose-built cinema. (I don't think anything has changed since this article which means it's sadly still closed.) A balcony as well as a stalls - although in all my memories of going to the cinema either in Devon or at the PCC I've never managed to sit upstairs, adding mystery - and the kind of decoration on the walls you'd get in a second-string theatre. In the case of Torbay, this was plaster decorations and faux-torch decorations.

And now you'd expect the usual 'why have the multiplexes taken away the soul of cinema' rant, but at least now one can see whatever film one likes. Or wait, as now, for the films to turn up at the PCC to save money.

Oh, and 'Before Sunrise' - soppy, but with a few excellent scenes..and lines never to be forgotten.

Anti-religious hate bills

No culture today; slightly hungover after an accidental (should that be stealth?) dinner party last night. However, am pleased that my contributions to opendemocracy were selected to be mentioned in the weekly email, so will divert the purpose of this site briefly to point them out. This is the thread, but the article(s) are great.

Actually, thinking about it, an attempt to ban criticism of religion is culture. Especially when Rushdie is involved.

Mind you, Rushdie was in 'Bridget Jones' so perhaps this definition of culture needs refining.

P.S. This post begins the count until someone other than me reads this blog. What happened to the vast army of readers in the blogosphere?

The National Gallery's Caravaggio exhibition last night. Wednesday means that there's a bar in the entrance foyer, which delayed us slightly. At this point we made the exciting and wonderful discovery of free mozzarella cheese, which was enjoyed in what was, in retrospect, excessive quantities.

The exhibition was packed, and Wednesday nights are supposed to be the quiet time. Blessed with a season ticket, I was content to hang back and look from a distance for now. Which was just as well, because most of the paintings had a crowd three deep around them...The late crowd is much quieter than the day one, and you could really hear a hush upon entering a room - very cathedral like which is at least appropriate. I was expecting the exhibition to be impressive without being studying, but several of the images are still on my mind this morning. I suspect there will be more to say, but for now let us point out that at 8.15 or so the rooms emptied and I shall be back to share the space with a painting or two in relative solitude more than once in the next few months.

Seconds and the Dane

Further CoCo pickings (the device that lets you zoom in on the musicians during concerts). BBC Music Magazine mention the 'innovation' and refer to ogling the second violinist. Whereas the Guardian talk about the second cellist. Today's debate point, therefore, is if and why the seconds in any orchestra seem to rank first in attractiveness. Is this a view shared by the entire music press?

The Almeida's production of Macbeth is wonderful. Unlike the RSC's current effort, also in London at the moment, they make the text sing...The tiny, round stage is used well too, and Simon Russell Beale (despite uncomfortable echoes of his role in 'Jumpers' last year) is the most convincing Macbeth I've seen; a true depiction of an ordinary man, out of his depth and going steadily mad.

A couple of vignettes from the off-stage action. Firstly, attempting to get to the bar without being drizzled on in the interval we cut backstage. The 'backstage' in the Almeida is below the level of the stalls, and through the rather fetching spiral staircase we were treated to a Macbeth obviously desperate for a smoke. Well, you would be, wouldn't you?

Secondly, we looked down upon the front row before the play started and on one of the front benches (published capacity, four) there was a youngish girl - obviously dressed up - and a bloke about the same age, in crumpled green shirt. They sat, with an empty space between them and B. and I saw romance in the air. Was it too much to imagine that he was deliberately avoiding her gaze? He seemed a shy type, but was definitely catching her out of the corner of his eye, while she rummaged in her bag for nothing in particular. Then, after the interval, crushing disappointment. Their parents, obviously late, joined them and our perfect couple dissolved into silent siblings. So much for accurate people watching.

Read something else

Off filming today (work, work, work) but dashing back for Macbeth at the Almedia tonight. In the meantime, read this from the Guardian, and pray it never happens.

And yes, the cellists are always worth ogling.

Barbican, LSO, the Milk Man and other animals

At the Barbican for the LSO concert last night, under Colin Davies (the orchestra, not me) who looked to be having more fun than one would suspect was possible fully clothed while clutching a small white stick.

Program was Tippet - horn sonata which confirmed my prejuidice against these no doubt fine and wonderful instruments, the Rose Lake which was excellent and then the soft but rather nice soap of Beethoven's fourth.

However, as will become apparent in this blog I am not a music expert, and so I thought I'd start this as I mean to go on and devote this to talking about some of the strange characters that sit in the audience in London cultural events. Let's start with Milk man, shall we?

We first encountered this strange manifestation of humanity's wide variety at the Proms last year, when we sat down awaiting the first concert of the season, only to be shouted at by a man who believed that leaving a small carton of milk (semi-skimmed, I think) on the floor marked his spot. About 6 foot tall, with a haircut that would suit a BBC documentary about public school in the 50s (we're talking basins, here) and always the same ill-fitting suit. This man has the body odour of a unhygenic orangutan, which certainly added to the concert experience.

Further sightings have occurred, the most terrifying of which was my emergence from a cubicle in the small toilets next to the booking desk of the Royal Opera House (incidentally, much less busy and much less full of those perfecting their comb-overs than the main loos) to find our friend cooling his bottle of milk (2 pints, this time) in the only sink and refusing to let anyone else nearby. Anyway, he was at the Barbican last night and seemed to be enjoying himself rather. Further sightings welcome, and will be reported here.

Finally : a message to the man sitting next to me. If your watch ticks loudly enough for the person next to you to hear it, it's too loud. And the man behind me: tapping along with your feet is a sign that you're musically involved in the piece only if you manage to stay vaguely in time.