Salad Days

We went to see Salad Days in the Riverside Studios on Sunday. What a delightful warm confection of a show that was silly at times, slapstick, witty, funny and could make you laugh and cry, all in the one scene. The production was faultless - the choreography, the props, the singing and the acting. The cast were superb and really got close to the audience and the entire performance never flagged. It's running until 6th Feb. If you want to brighten up the New Year - then this is the show to go to.

Happy anniversary

It was our anniversary on Saturday and Alex asked me where I was going to take her. After some searching I came up with a plan and suggested that in a neat little corner in our end of London, we go to see the King’s Speech and follow this with a nice meal. We could round of the evening at an Irish session and a pint of Guinness. Is it your anniversary or ours Alex asked with raised eyebrows (she’s not that fond of sitting in darkened theatres watching a film in the company of strangers, you see). But she rallied and said it sounded good.
But on checking the address of the pub where the session was Alex discovered that the session finished its run the previous Saturday. Undeterred, we decided to go to a different corner of London to catch the movie and before long we were strolling down Upper Street, window shopping and eyeing the plethora of restaurants for later.

We bumped into my old friend, George and heard about his efforts to pin down who is actually responsible for restoring the clock tower at Highbury. It was so good to see him and be informed by him on a wide range of subjects. The time slipped by unnoticed as daylight gave way to darkness in his company. We missed the 4.20 showing of the film down at the Angel and it was a race against time in the queue for seat for the 5.20. By the time we got to the desk it was already on 8 minutes and the seats were gone anyway. The 6.20 was sold out as was the 7.20. Enough.

We elected to go the market pub in Camden Passage to plan the rest of our anniversary. We discussed cuisine and we both leant towards European as we watched the stall holders pack up. French or Italian Alex asked. I don’t mind. Then we discussed the status of Turkey. Is it European or Asian we debated stroking our chins. I know if George was with us the matter would have been cleared up in a flash. But by that stage he was tucked up at home penning an article for his local community news vis a vis the state of play regarding the clock tower. So we agreed to head to the The Mercury and as backup we would try Gallipoli At this stage backups were becoming essential. So we wrapped up and headed off into the chilly night in search of food. On our way to the Mercury we came upon a little Italian up a side street, took a chance and we got a table. Easy peasy.

It was a lovely anniversary. It was in fact the first one we celebrated in our six years together. It’s worthwhile taking the time out to mark these occasions.

Adieu to the Village

Occasional pauses from the treadmill of professional life such as Christmas holidays can result in life changes. Alex and I spent last Christmas cogitating about moving from her cottage and we ended up starting our house hunt last January. This resulted in the House Project which consumed us so much through 2010. This Christmas holiday gave us the opportunity to draw our breath and we agreed that any major decisions would be put on ice until our next Winter break.



The only decision firmly taken was by our dear Floridian friends – Cheri and Bobby who flew over to spend the holiday with their family in the Village. That decision was that we simply must visit them at Easter to help them celebrate 20 years of togetherness. This seems entirely noble to us and plans were drawn up.



Skype discussions in advance of their trip to the Village this Christmas made Cheri and Bobby realise that we were not going to have a Christmas tree in the Village house. But they came prepared and brought our very own interpretation of Christmas a la Florida in the form of our breasted, sunglassed all singing, all dancing Floridian palm tree.

We raked over the memories of our Christmas visit with them two years ago and worked on some new ones this trip. Such as kick starting the Irish economy. Night after night during the break we have been inclined to get into our PJs as early as possible and curl up in front of the fire. But we all agreed that such activity would not help the country get back on the road to recovery. So with that in mind we ventured out to the pub one night and hooked up with a few other like minded women friends. For a few brief moments early in the evening there was a slender gay majority in the Village pub. So we wondered if that makes it a gay friendly pub now, officially if unwittingly.



Keen to consolidate the bon vivieur we all agreed to go to the curry house in Town the next night. I laughed over dinner at Bernie’s account of the gay friendly coffee shop in her town. It would have been enough if it had been friendly, never mind being gay, she explained.

Otherwise the break has been taken up with walking Blue, meeting friends and intermittent skype reports from BF in Florida. The surprise hit this season has been the Angry Birds app on the i-phone. Alex in those in between moments has succeeded already making her way up through 20 levels or more. I enjoyed two things on the TV. One was Upstairs Downstairs and the other was Bas an Oilean about the evacuation of Inis Airc in 1960. A friend dropped by for lunch one of the days and informed us that the chat up line of the Christmas was – How was the water with you over the Christmas?

The only fly in the ointment over the Christmas break is that Alex’s dear grandmother continues to be fragile. It resulted in her doctor recommending her going to her local cottage hospital. We shall return to the Piccadilly Line via Alex’s Welsh village and check on how she’s doing. I spent the odd hour with the lively Helen in the Village. We have pored over photos of her family while she enlightened me about the Village of her youth. The i-phone has cone into its own in the hours I have spent with her as we sang along to the Percy French songs on the i-phone. We entreated Paddy Reilly to come home and felt homesick for the Mountains of Mourne. As we wrapped up the sing-song Helen asked if I had the Irish Emigrant on my i-phone. I did not … but I have it now. Downloaded in a flash for 99p. A small price to pay to make an older lady happy.



So the last day in the Village came upon us all of a sudden. We are resigned to going back to the Piccadilly Line. But as always, the worst thing about this is thinking about it. Once there, life tends to assume its welcome routine of familiarity. We cannot go on existing on Caitlin’s mince pies, or Cheri’s mum’s scones, the Thornton chocolates, the sausage sandwiches for breakfast. New Year – new opportunities. Bring it on…