A light in the Darkness

Now just a memory.

We have a Christmas tree. It's kept firmly indoors

Glorious in Summer, the lane weaves its way deep into the countryside meandering between England and Wales, Herefordshire and Monmouthshire. That same lane on a moonless winter’s night is as black as the devil’s armpit and very, very quiet. Take away that solitary light, and the dark is as dense as treacle.

It seems then both brave and apt that during the darkest period of the year, a small cul-de-sac at the bottom of our road becomes a flotsam of colour, a temporary blip in the immensity of night

It also makes it easy to give directions: drive into the country and turn left at Las Vegas. The road ascends in a steep hill and gloom at the top where we live...with our solitary tree.
A Happy New Year to one and all.

Absolution, but not from these poor buggers

The River Wye, Forest of Dean in the background

The Old Ferry inn four miles from Monmouth.

There is nothing better for the soul than a walk in the woods or alongside a river, followed by a log fire and a pint of good beer. Especially after the excesses of Christmas.  My particular sin was the impulse purchase of a Game pie that I ended up with neither the time nor inclination to eat. I managed three substantial slices and that was it. Throwing it away was a sin, along with the seven slices of stale roast rib of beef from my birthday meal. Absolution will come slowly, but I doubt I’ll be getting it from these poor buggers.

Even so the river calms the soul and the Old Ferry Inn has excellent beer.

And a warm fire

The Globe Theatre

James Burbage’s The Theatre was built in 1576 in Shoreditch but was forced to close when Giles Allen who owned the land came to the conclusion that theatre was little better than prostitution. Under growing Puritan pressure The Theatre was dismantled plank by plank, ferried across the Thames and reconstructed in Bankside or Southwark, the original ‘Sin City.' Being outside the ordinances of London, taverns, brothels, gambling dens and theatre flourished.

The Theatre - now The Globe, was completed in 1599 but was burnt to the ground in 1613 during an over ambitious production of Henry VIII. To announce the appearance of the king on stage, a cannon was fired and its sparks set the thatched roof ablaze. Rebuilt in 1614 – but without using thatch—the Globe lasted until 1642 when it was closed by the Puritans and razed to the ground in 1644.

It was over zealous Puritans that did for it, and a visionary American – Sam Wanamaker who saw its resurgence in the 1970s. Overcoming all opposition and using the plans of contemporary theatres, old engravings and the original foundations, Wanamaker built an almost exact replica using unseasoned green English oak and the technology of the time.

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Why am I rabbiting on about this? My daughter currently works there as a highly effective tour guide – one of a portfolio of jobs she has keeping body and soul together.

                                     

As we waited outside, I couldn't resist taking a photo of modern London, in the interests of comparison. And if the link works, you can only imagine what Southwark was like if this was the more respectable London.

Records show they could squeeze in a thousand 'groundlings' in the open space in front of the stage. Entry cost a penny (in old money) and there were no toilets. Your choice was to vacate the playhouse and wee outside before  spending another penny to re-enter - hence the term 'spending a penny'. A more popular alternative was to wee where you stood, (Rather like old Liverpool matches before they had seating)  adding to the rich mulch of pastries, nut kernels and occasionally something more substantial.

Above the stage is where the 'A listers' sat. In the foreground is the standing area where the 'groundlings' were crammed together. In this instance they would have been seeing a group of actors trudging around the stage making strange whooshing noises. A workshop that had hired the stage for the night.

This tiered seating allowed for a good view of the stage, if you could afford it. It also allowed a good view of the aristocracy who could afford to sit above and behind the stage. 

Above and behind the stage, on the face of it, seems slightly ridiculous. Why would aristocrats, gentry and men of means pay more to see less - ie the heads and backs of the actors?

The point of course was less to see the play and more to be seen - Tudor and Stuart Selfies if you will, the instagram experience of old England.

And this is my last post before the New Year. A Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year to everyone.

Food for thought

The Jacobeans had a sweet tooth. At one Jacobean banquet the food was dominated by sugar to the extent that even the crockery was made from it. This madness continued, reaching perhaps its zenith with iced cakes depicting ornate plaster ceilings and even a miniature Rococo palace, formal gardens included.

James II being a good Catholic was more of a trencherman. At his coronation banquet in 1685, the new king and his wife Maria di Modena dined alone in Westminster Hall, to a meal of 170 dishes.

If he’d reigned a little longer, he may have sampled the exotic pineapple. The first pineapple grown in England was ripened in Sir Matthew Decker’s Surrey garden. The process cost the equivalent of £9,000 in today’s money, but the craze took off. It became the ‘must have’ fruit – for those who could afford it, and then, as with most things, the price came down until it became a Christmas treat for the young Keytons of Liverpool, usually from a tin and served with evaporated milk.

I was thinking of all this when I read about the new luxury ‘must have’ – the truffle that tastes of beans on toast and sold by Fortnum and Mason. The chocolate is made with baked beans and sourdough toast. In it is a smooth tomato ganache enclosed by a white chocolate shell, which, in turn, is coated in toasted breadcrumbs for that ‘must have’ beans on toast taste. It’s yours for £26.95 for ten.

Enjoy.

And weep.