psmv5: Cello

Ten days ago now, off to the Wigmore Hall for some cello (Ildikó Szabó) and piano (István Lajkó). Beethoven WoO.45 (for which number see reference 1). Op.69 and Op.102 No.2.

Overnight wind, then given the hip problem, elected to catch the train at Ewell West, which took us down Longmead Road, where at one place we had a small tree down and at another Thames Water in attendance by the stream. Must have been something fairly serious to get them out on a Sunday morning.

Slightly rocky start at the station, where we were successfully confused by the notice snapped above, spending several minutes trying to connect to Apcoa (bottom right) on my telephone before I realised that they really meant RingGo, which worked much better.

Confusion continued with the ticket machine, which had a slightly different layout to the ones at Epsom. A Southwestern machine rather than a Southern machine. But I got there in the end.

Enough wind left over for the poplars snapped above to be pushed over to the left in a striking way. Some bending visible in the snap above, but included more as an aide-memoire. Or souvenir?

On the train, a very pleasant foreign mum doing some complicated plaiting to her younger daughter's hair. Older daughter helping. All very striking when they were done.

On the tube, various interesting outfits on the ladies, some perhaps a bit OTT for mid Sunday morning, perhaps left over from the night before. Including one young lady with a lot of chestnut hair, fancy clothes and very fancy makeup. Not flashy, but very smart. BH thought perhaps some kind of model on her way to an assignment.

I managed the wrong buns yet again at Olle & Steen, but on the other hand we were treated to a remarkable bellow from the barista handing out the coffee when no-one heard her first call for this particular order. Would have done credit to a teacher in a school playground - although I dare say BH could have beaten her in the olden days, in a head-to-head. She still has quite a bellow on her when so moved.

No Brasso at the Cock & Lion on this occasion, and no suitable toe nail clippers at Bell & Croydon. They did have them, quite expensive from Germany or somewhere like that, but nothing which had longer handles - and so more cutting power - than the ones I already had. Not really the shop it used to be with serious medical stuff much diminished and expensive cosmetics much increased.

The keynote flowers in the arrangements at the front of the hall were shiny green anthuriums with pink tongues. Very effective when the light was on them. Something different in the Bechstein Room downstairs; something cheaper I dare say. Slightly let down by the audience with a programme fiddler in front of us and a chewer of the cud in front of her. Programme fiddler with sweets across the aisle.

But they did not distract much from what turned out to be an excellent concert - with BH really taken with the cello parts. A bigger distraction was a certain amount of clapping in the wrong places, unusual for the Wigmore Hall. And to think that I rely on the clapping to keep track of where we have got to.

One oddity at one point, when I had a strong mental image, perhaps two or three seconds in duration, of a lady putting on a plastic mac, white with a large red or pink floral pattern. Followed a little while later by two more sequences of the same sort. All very odd.

A lady putting up a notice on the door as we left: the evening concert was cancelled because of a tree on the runway or something. Not something that I recall happening before. Sickness and plague yes, weather no.

After the concert, off to Waterloo for a late lunch at the Archduke, a place we had not visited for a while. A member of the Black & Blue family. Kicked off with a spot of red, red for a change from white, and wine for a change from the beer I am mostly drinking just now. To be found at reference 4, on page 4 of the Bing search results, after all the people selling wine rather than making it.

Pea soup, which was quite good, but tasting to me more of blended frozen peas than split peas.

Over the soup, we pondered about the message on the back of the Festival Hall. Was it grafitti or was it authorised? I might add that, one of the benefits of having booked was that we were given good window seats, with a good view of the goings on both out and in.

Steak and chips for two to follow. A good piece of meat, well presented, but not quite as well cooked at the bone end as I would have liked. I suppose I could have sent it back for a bit more, but we were already well into by the time we found out and a break of that sort usually spoils the meal. Destroys the tempo of the occasion.

Started out all right.

Spot of sorbet - orange and passion fruit - to finish with, my taste for same continuing. Tasted good after the steak, even if they had not got it into the glass very neatly. Taken with Janneau armagnac rather than Calva. Forgot to take the lunchtime pills - but no matter. These particular pills will work just as well in the evening.

A cheerful and chatty lady, who reminded me of the cousin of a correspondent, offered to take our picture by the small Yamaha grand, previously captured more than five years ago, as noticed at reference 4.

The Festival Hall was busy with all kinds of community activity when we got there, but no-one complained when I moved a seat 30 metre so that I could sit where BH might find me after she had inspected the shops. But I got tired of waiting and fell for a spot of Monteverdi: Madrigals, Book 4. Queen Elizabeth Hall. A place we have not visited for quite some time. Search turns up reference 5, from four years ago, from which I learn that we comfortably managed two heavy Beethoven quartets in one evening sitting, which I do not think would be the case now, be the (performing) quartet ever so good.

A rather wintry shot of the branch of Côte by the RFH. Taken while BH was inspecting another of the retail opportunities.

Inspected the street food at the bottom of the steps. Plenty of that and plenty of customers, but no food for sale in the way that there used to be - having once bought some quite decent kabanosi there. All street food, mostly hot junk food (according to the HMG definition noticed earlier).