Spotted: Miranda Sawyer

When: last night
Where: Ritzy, Brixton

Last night when I went to see An Education with CT and CB, Miranda Sawyer, ace journo and all-round brilliant person was seeing the same film.

I refrained from running up to her and shouting "I think you're fab" in her face, instead, pointed her out to the others. Short-sighted CB said she wasn't sure she knew what she looked like, altho she recognised the name. Some people just don't know their Smash Hits / Select / Time Out / Mixmag history. Cuh.

Miranda was on the Culture Show tonight, interviewing a frankly terrifying-seeming author from the States. I thought she did it all brilliantly as usual. It's all the more satisfying that she seems to live within walking distance of the Ritzy in Brixton, cos she and her blokey set off past my bus stop on their way home. Hurrah for this pocket of South London.

An Education was good, but not amazing, I guess. I liked it, but I didn't love it. It was a great snapshot of that moment, in that year (1962), definitely the 60s, but a pre-Beatles 60s. Dominic and Ros Pike were cool as the two mates of the slightly creepy David, and I think newbie Carey Mulligan was really good.

But there were a few things that jarred for me. I wasn't sure about the timeliness of cigarettes with filters (actually, a little research shows they are correct), Jenny's suddenly pierced ears, the flatness of Jenny's schoolmates - were none of them clever or interesting (I was horrified that bloody Ellie Kendrick might be in it a whole lot more), her caricature father played by Alfred Molina, and the English department of Oxford (?!) offering her a place...

And the final song? Man, as far as I'm aware, there were some pretty cool tunes recorded in the 60s, right? Some of them were even by women. And some of them were about being hurt by sleazy men. So why on earth, after all that period accuracy of cars, dresses, hats, sunglasses, tea-sets and the rest, did we have to listen to Duffy at the end? Please.

But it wasn't bad, and it was certainly nice going to the cinema again after all this time. (The torturous Disney's A Christmas Carol 3D effort really doesn't count.)

Reflections on Anish Kapoor @ the Royal Academy

OK, so that's just kind of a fnarr header to go with JC's clever image, but hey...

The fact is, we didn't get into Anish Kapoor at the Royal Academy on Saturday. We tried buying tickets in advance online, but for some reason, the booking website was down. We headed to town anyway, with other plans if we weren't able to see the show.

The queue for buying tickets spiralled past the funky silver bubble sculpture (an image of which now adorns the walls of JC's office, I'm told. "It's a metaphor," his super-brainy boss pointed out), and nearly out of that famous courtyard altogether.

We had some fun taking photos of the cool, funky, multiple mirrored surfaces, trying to get them reflected in windows (me: little success), and trying to get us reflected *in* them (JC: better). I'm sure if we had been queuing next to the thing for as long as some of the tourists there, we'd probably have enjoyed it a lot less...

So, note to the wise: probably best to wait for a mid-week opening to see this show, rather than attempting to enjoy what is surely (from the photos I've seen and what I've read) the kind of art that needs space and NOT crowds at the weekend.

It's great that it's a popular show; it's a shame if people pay the (quite high) admission fee and enjoy it less because it's too crowded.

Backstage at the National: Rehearsals for Nation

So, an exciting outing today, that began with meeting a lovely girl from the Guardian, and ended with me walking out of the National Theatre's Stage Door. As Some Might Say: squee.

I wasn't all that interested in the particular show that the rehearsal was for (Nation - Mark Ravenhill adaptation of a Terry Pratchett book I'd never heard of), more the fact that I was going to the National. Going backstage at the National. Going backstage to watch a rehearsal at the National. It's such an exciting theatre, I knew it'd be good.

So I was pleasantly surprised to find more than just the rehearsal itself to "get happy" about.

First, in the potentially awkward pre-event drinks, I was grinned at and talked into relaxation by a lovely girl called Sarah who worked at the Guardian. I managed to restrain myself from grabbing her lapels and screaming "take me with you!!" into her face, instead choosing to dwell on mutual friends (Hazel), the nice things about working at VL.com, and the coolness of seeing this rehearsal, before being accosted by brilliant aka girls doing their marketing thang.

(I now realise I should've asked her surname, but these things can't be helped...)

Sarah Guardianista as I'll now have to call her is responsible for this comp: let's hope it works.

Then, while going backstage and seeing the rehearsal itself was brilliant, I was also really drawn to the play, fascinated by Mark Ravenhill, and intruiged by Melly Still... I was expecting a director to be much more neurotic and stressed about however many journos and liggers sloping into her rehearsal. Instead, she was warm, witty and definitely interesting. Mark Ravenhill was also ready for a bit of a down-to-earth chat, rather than a performance of the tortured writer. Nine months of adapting a book you like into a play is kinda just a job when you're him, it turns out.

The one thing I'm less sure about now its later on and I've had "time" (ho ho) to read around the subject, is the humour in the play version of what's meant to be a very funny book: here's Frank Cottrell Boyce telling us what a comic masterpiece Nation is. From what I'd seen in that rehearsal room, comedy was the last thing I was expecting. MR himself quoted something from TP: "it's a book that deals with such serious themes, it could only be a book for children"

What I got from today was big issues, like death, paradise, morality, race, religion. Not funny. But then Frank says:

"Am I making it sound heavy-going? It really isn't. It's funny, exciting, lighthearted and, like all the best comedy, very serious."

All well and good. I just hope the Mark and Melly double-act haven't squashed the funny bits out in favour of drama, cos they might upset some of the big fans out there. We'll see...

Here's what I put together for the VL blog. I'm still looking for a better "voice" for that as well as this. Still unsure and sometimes feeling like I'm floundering in the dark with no / little professional / reader feedback, and all that.

Still, I think practice makes perfect, right? Eventually, at least.

In Praise Of: The Clapham North

A simple thing, and one that deserves a mention.

I organised a few mates to meet up on the evening of the 10 October, to celebrate the end of me being 29... I called The Clapham North a couple of days beforehand to ask for a table for about 8 friends, for about 8.30pm. Lovely.

After a really lovely meal at the always-brilliant San Marco's, we were, of course, running Italianately late.

The table I'd booked for half 8 seemed to have been moved to 8pm. As we got there at 9.15ish, I was greeted by something of a frown from the manager... Was my table ready? Well, we *were* very late, he pointed out. More than an hour late. I apologised. He walked off.

I worried. The theme of the entire turning-30 episode of my life seemed to be echoing through the pub. Unsuccessful.

But: he'd gone to move some people from a table in the window, and arrange a few chairs around it. Business-like, within a few minutes, he'd installed an area just for us, and with a nod, disappeared behind the bar again. We'd smiled at those moving for us, sat down and proceeded to have a really fun evening.

Nice bloke. Yes, pissed off at us not keeping time, but helpful enough to get us exactly what we wanted too.

Another reason to like this pub. The other: it will always make me think of JC's cardigan on that very early January date (#2?).

No, no, they can't take that away from me.

Absenteeism

Disappointing, I know.

Where the hell have I been all this time? Is this blog even still going?

Well, between work and londonist, and lots of other things, sadly writing stuff for Culture and the City has really slipped.

JC turned 30; I turned 30. The world and his wife celebrated birthdays (and not just people: even londonist was due a 5-candled birthday cake and some binge-drinking - can you make candle a verb?? I'm getting all inventive after seeing The Spanish Tragedy on Tues, where a characted "dewed" someone in his tears - beautiful language, our Kyd...) After the wedding-filled summer, it seems September and October are now full of more reasons to dress up and see friends. NOT that I'm complaining. Seeing people more is one of my old-age resolutions. Hence a dinner party planned for Monday night, and another for the first week in November.

Since my excitement over An Inspector Calls (totally right to get enthusiastic about this - it was aces), I've seen a disappointing George Dawes in Prick Up Your Ears (followed by the poor fellow pulling out after his ex-husband killed himself... sad story), and been thoroughly pissed off by an entire evening at the Greenwich Theatre, seeing an averrrage School for Scandal. Here's what didn't make it into my review:

But perhaps Mr Billington, unlike us, doesn't venture down to Greenwich Theatre. If he did, he'd've witnessed several people getting mixed up with their tickets (the same seats having been sold to a number of people); our own tickets failed to exist - we were given one in row N, two empty rows separating us from the rest of the audience. Mr Billington could've been greeted into the auditorium by the most unenthusiastic staff in the world. It was cold back in row N. Mr B would've heard our neighbour continuing to send text messages throughout the first scene on a beeping blackberry, before leaving the theatre altogether halfway through the first half; Mr B could've taken advantage an over-indulgent half-hour interval, despite the actors being on stage and ready, presumably to make sure the cold audience could all be served a cup of hot water with a teabag floating in it (£2.50) by the slow, sulky staff; Mr B would've also been able to hear the stage directions coming across loud and clear in a dad-style stage whisper (pun intended) from the lighting box OVER the cast on stage.

Not a good show. I could barely concentrate on what was going on on stage, the whole surrounding "stuff" was so distracting.

I took a week off from going to the theatre after that.

Happily, Tuesday's Spanish Tragedy was very, very cool. I liked the Arcola, it was lovely going with Lindsey Londonist, the play was fantastic, the direction had hints of Goold (mad, bad, blood-coloured hints), and all the staff were really good. Was it simply because I was close enough to smell them?? Maybe a contributing factor, but there was so much good about this, it's hard to put it all into words. And over all the good things, a sprinkling of magic that means you can't quite put your finger on why it was you enjoyed it so much. You just do.

Inventive: that's all I want. Something that makes me smile, and think, "That's clever." Whether its a line of script, a piece of costume, a strain of music, some cool way of staging a scene. Something surprising and intelligent. Like my friends and the people that I admire.

Theatrical Excitement: An Inspector Calls

I've been excited about this for a while now: happily, I've just secured press tix for An Inspector Calls at the Novello Theatre for Thursday night.

And even better, I've been able to persuade JC to come along.

I have to admit, I know very little about the play: I've been trying to keep it that way, so I can actually see something with fresh eyes for a change. I know, I know: it's the sort of thing people (WG) study at school. My school? No sir. Let's not forget I studied Twelfth Night every (exam) year from the age of 11 to 18. A good play, of course, but a studying schedule that won't encourage breadth on the same scale as depth. There's something to be said for teachers that adhere to the National Curriculum, I think you'll find.

So aside from the rain; the awards; and a lead that comes from theatreland rather than celebland, I'm trying to remain in the dark about the play.

I did read this really interesting profile of Stephen Daldry in the Guardian in May. Sounds like a very interesting chap.

Am reviewing for londonist, so watch this space...

Spotted: Jamie Theakston and Johnny Vaughan

When: Ten to 10 this morning
Where: coming out of Leicester Square

On my way to the BFI London Film Festival launch in a sunny, slightly autumnal Leicester Square this morning, I spotted a familiar (if older) face: Mensa member Jamie Theakston leaving the Capital Radio builing, with a huge box under his arm...

"Oi, Theako!" shouted a voice from behind him. (I can't promise 100% that this is what he said, but it kinda sounded like it.) There was Mr Vaughan, looking balder than ever (sigh), trotting along to catch up with his colleague...

It's been a while since I've seen Johnny, what with no longer being his neighbour, and therefore able to spot him out walking his hound :-(

The BFI London Film Festival launch was as inspiring and frustrating as usual. I want to see more films. Not more films in 10-20 second clips; more WHOLE films.

Here's my write-up of the launch on londonist