Have you ever had a dream come true that you didn’t even realise was a dream until you were living it? That’s exactly how I felt watching the Rocky Horror Show at New Wimbledon Theatre last night. There was nothing I would’ve changed – it was perfect. It was exactly the kind of party I’d always imagined taking place at midnight screenings of the Rocky Horror Picture Show.
From the honey-voiced Brad and Janet, to the charming academic – played by Britain’s fourth most popular Liz Truss impersonator, I’ll have you know – and to the exquisite staging, Rocky Horror Show is going to go down as one of my favourite theatre experiences of all time.
The audience was equally receptive – people in costume, hecklers teasing the academic into some standup improvisation, everyone standing up and dancing the Time Warp. It was definitely a night to remember. I had brought along a friend who had never seen Rocky Horror Show, but I think this baptism through fire has ensured she’ll be a fan forever more.
Richard O’Brien’s Rocky Horror Show is at New Wimbledon Theatre until 26 November.
I’m building up a backlog again, but nothing seems important enough to warrant a standalone post, so I figured I’d combine everything into a book review. It’s a bit of a stretch, but I did spend a lot of time this weekend reading Money Men, so there’s a connection, however tenuous.
Two weeks ago, I met a girl I know from the park at the gym. I was practising my splits, she mentioned she was an aerialist and a stretching instructor, we bonded over both owning border collies, she invited me to come along to her next class. On Saturday, I followed through on my promise and headed to Stronger Fitness.
Turns out, her stretching class is hosted at a martial arts gym tucked away on the second floor of a warehouse of some kind. I made my way through building sites and car repairs – followed, bizarrely enough, by the smell of cinnamon rolls. The class was eight muscular men and me. Which would be intimidating in normal circumstances, but at least I was the most flexible in the group.
The stretching, unsurprisingly, was quite intense. I was already sore from my running club trainings the previous week, but whenever we were asked to strain before relaxing into the stretch, I could feel my muscles scream. On the bright side, it was clearly effective – I left the class feeling lighter and more limber than before. Who knows, maybe I’ll even be back.
The rest of the weekend was spent walking around. The weather was surprisingly decent, given the rainy November we’ve been having. Two colleagues I’ve befriended came over on Saturday to meet my dog and we spent hours in the park, throwing him endless balls and frisbees. The next day, I saw a former colleague for a coffee and ended up walking back home – a trek of nearly 8 kilometres on top of the 5 we’d already done.
And here’s where I tie it all together. When I came home, I read. And, of course, reflected on all the books that I’d read this year – the 12 described in my previous post back in April and 17 I’ll review below. Flawless finish, right?
Happy by Derren Brown
I don’t know anything about Derren Brown as a performer, so his personality didn’t in any way affect my perception of the book. That being said, his personality did seep through, as well as his scepticism regarding some of his contemporaries. I enjoyed the overview of philosophical thought, but didn’t really
The Lean Startup by Eric Ries
There’s a reason this book is considered a classic in the startup world. Taking learnings from global brands, Eric Ries offers insight into the process of innovation. The book encourages readers to cultivate a growth mindset, prioritising experimentation, fast turnaround, and, ultimately, customer centricity. 4/5
My Grandmother Sends Her Regards and Apologises by Fredrik Backman
I’ve read a few Backman books and they always have a similar effect on me – I start out disliking the characters and then slowly warm to them. By the end, I’ve bought into them entirely. It’s worked to various degrees with his previous novels, but this one was exceptionally good. 4/5
Cynics by Anatoly Mariengof
I love Mariengof. I love him as a poet, and now, having read Cynics, I love him as an author. This was so beautifully written, so recognisable in its depiction of human nature, despite the century that separates us from Russia in the post-revolutionary years. And, perhaps sadly, I could understand the behaviour of both doomed protagonists. 5/5
The No Show by Beth O’Leary
Perhaps because her first two books were so unique, I have high expectations for Beth O’Leary. But ever since The Flatshare and The Switch, I can’t seem to get into them. This one was a slight improvement on the abysmal The Road Trip, and had a nice twist towards the end, but even so. 2/5
I Still Dream About You by Fannie Flagg
I’ve read and loved Fannie Flagg ever since her classic Fried Green Tomatoes at the Whistle Stop Cafe. This isn’t one of her best, but it still felt like the book equivalent of slipping on warm, well-worn slippers. I enjoyed it, but I began noticing certain slightly problematic characterisations I hadn’t picked up on previously. 3/5
The Sense of an Ending by Julian Barnes
Julian Barnes has mastered that sort of accessible, unobtrusive, and yet deeply meaningful approach to literature so common among great English writers. Virginia Woolf and Kazuo Ishiguro spring to mind. The Sense of an Ending is one of his most popular works and for good reason – relatable, touching, and poignant. 5/5
Everyday Sexism by Laura Bates
Building on her Everyday Sexism project, where Laura Bates collects stories from the world over of how women are subjugated to misogynistic behaviour – from small microaggressions to extreme violence – this book was a painfully relatable read. Rather than just pointing to the problem, however, Bates proposes a way forward. 4/5
Against White Feminism by Rafia Zakaria
It was interesting to read this book immediately following Everyday Sexism, because I picked up on a lot of what Zakaria was critiquing in Bates’ work. While initially sceptical – the book’s introduction was very weak – the arguments became stronger and opened my eyes to lots of new feminist Marxist thought. 4/5
Happy Sexy Millionaire by Steven Bartlett
I have to admit, I picked this one for the title – and, of course, because I was keen to learn more about the man clogging up my LinkedIn feed. To my surprise, this was quite closely aligned to my own thoughts. I think of it as something akin to a poor man’s So Good They Can’t Ignore You, which is high praise indeed. 3/5
Roadside Picnic by Arkady and Boris Strugatsky
Famous as the inspiration for the Andrei Tarkovsky classic Stalker, the Strugatsky brothers took a philosophical approach to the human condition to create a true science fiction masterpiece. It’s still not my favourite of theirs – that honour belongs to Hard to be a God – but definitely a very close second. 5/5
Never Meant to Meet You by Alli Frank and Asha Youmans
Sometimes, I pick up lighthearted books like Never Meant to Meet You in order to relax. Unfortunately, I am very critical when it comes to literature, so I often struggle with allowing these books to serve their purpose. I’m happy to say that this one did – it’s a very enjoyable, easy read that leaves you feeling warm. 3/5
This Book Could Fix Your Life by Helen Thomson
Essentially a self-help book written by a scientist, This Book Could Fix Your Life was such a refreshing change of pace from all the other books in the genre. Helen Thomson looks at the data, challenges gaps in the data, and ultimately comes up with realistic suggestions for improving our health and happiness. 4/5
Why We Sleep by Matthew Walker
I wouldn’t have ever guessed that I’d be so enthralled by a book focussing entirely on sleep, but Why We Sleep is fascinating. It put into perspective so many of my own sleeping habits – both the good and the bad – and made me more conscious of how my decisions are affecting my health. I might even get a sleep tracker. 5/5
Ghosts by Dolly Alderton
This book started so well and ended so poorly. Some observations of women in their 30s were so apt that I couldn’t help but quote them to my friends, but then something went wrong. As soon as the characters began fixating on the idea of finding a man, it was as if I could no longer relate. Sorry, next. 1/5
Talking to My Daughter by Yanis Varoufakis
I’ve been surrounded by economists my entire adult life, but because I never studied economics myself, I was conscious of a significant knowledge gap. While I can’t provide a balanced assessment of whether Yanis Varoufakis’ position is accurate, it’s definitely accessible, and I came away knowing a lot more about how the world works. 4/5
What I Talk About When I Talk About Running by Haruki Murakami Maybe it’s a bit unfair of me to include this one – though I did, of course, read it – because I’ve actually read it before. In fact, I credit Murakami with getting me back into running following my 2018 marathon. There’s so many poignant observations of life and its meaning encompassed in a running memoir that I couldn’t help revisiting it. 5/5
It’s taken me all week to get this down on paper. Probably because I was so exhausted from the Battersea Park Half Marathon on the Saturday and the subsequent ice skating session at Glide Battersea Power Station on the Sunday. And since this weekend promises to be far quieter – and less labour-intensive – I can finally reflect.
I had gone into the half marathon far too confident – I’d done an excellent job tackling a far more difficult half marathon back in September, after all. Followed by a PB in none other than Battersea Park just a few weeks ago. In other words, I was convinced I had it in the bag. But, as it turns out, I was gravely mistaken.
I was off to a poor start when I stepped in dog shit during the warm up and spent the initial countdown frantically trying to remove it from my shoes. But I convinced myself it could only be good luck. How naive.
The course was eight laps around the park. Halfway through, my right hip was giving in. Turns out, it’s not a fan of running at a barely noticeable slant for more than 10 kilometres. I was about to throw in the towel, but thinking of how it would look after I’d gone and told everyone my plans for the weekend, I persevered.
Unfortunately, I only got my second wind on the last lap – I had taken a quick glimpse at the clock and realised that if I wanted a sub two hour finish, I had to sprint the last two and a half kilometres. So I did. My time? No joke – 1:59:59.
The one good thing that’s come out of the experience is that I’ve decided to take my running more seriously. I joined my local running club – the Sutton Runners – and have been to two training sessions so far. It’s a new experience to be running with a big group, but I’m loving it. Now all that remains to be seen is whether it will have an effect on my race times.
On the Sunday, I made plans with a friend to visit the ice rink at the recently opened Battersea Power Station. We got there around midday and spent just as much time in queues as we did on the ice, but nevertheless the experience was enjoyable. I hadn’t been on ice for at least a year, so, as always happens when I return to the rink, I remembered how much I love ice skating and start thinking about signing up for classes.
My main objective? Landing an axel. Now, the last time I landed an axel was in 2013. The last time I attempted an axel was in 2013. Since then, I either haven’t had the right equipment (my skates were in Latvia until January 2020, and we all know what happened next) or the right environment (mass skating at landmark locations is not particularly conducive to attempting difficult jumps).
That said, I did manage a waltz jump – loop combination once the ice began clearing off towards the end of the session, so given the opportunity, I’m sure it would happen. And until I have that opportunity, I’ll keep believing.
With my usual impeccable sense of timing, I selected the one day of the week where there was a tube strike, shutting down the entire network, for seeing Peter Pan’s Labyrinth at The Vaults. Luckily, my friends were good sports about it – one even braved a three hour round trip bus ride to see a two hour show.
Luckily, it was worth it. I can only imagine how guilty I’d feel if the show was rubbish, so cheers to The Screaming Trees for not letting me down. But if I’m honest, there’s no possible way for Peter Pan’s Labyrinth to have not been amazing. A massively talented band, a creative mashup of beloved films, a stunning venue – what’s not to love?
It doesn’t make sense to attempt rehashing the plot, because honestly, the plot made very little sense. There was something about a grown-up Peter Pan needing to return to Neverland to stop Tinkerbell’s wedding to Captain Hook and needing David Bowie’s help. David Bowie, of course, lives in the Labyrinth. Hijinks ensue.
From running gags to cringeworthy puns to audience engagement, Peter Pan’s Labyrinth had it all. Classic hits were remade to fit the storyline, resulting in an unforgettable rendition of “we could have churros” to the melody of Heroes. And, of course, the finale was just as strong, ending with the audience on their feet for Let’s Dance.
Peter Pan’s Labyrinth is at The Vaults until 7 January.
I miss an awful lot of flights. I’m not sure whether that’s good for the planet or not, given that I’m still paying for a ticket, but I guess my weight isn’t contributing to carbon emissions – if that’s how it works? Luckily for my wallet, I don’t lose crazy amounts each time, but it does suck on an emotional level.
What I’m trying to say is that I was meant to fly to Berlin this weekend and I didn’t. Much like the previous time I was meant to fly to Berlin back in July, it was called off due to Covid. If last time I was the one who succumbed, this time it was my friend. Hopefully, third time’s a charm?
In the meantime, I went to Cambridge with my husband instead.
It was a spur-of-the-moment thing, so I hadn’t had time to prepare by applying for an alumni card. Luckily, proof of the application itself was enough to confer the benefits – entrance to the colleges which charge for entry for both myself and one other person.
We started with King’s College. I immediately pointed out the tiny attic window overlooking the green from where my coursemates and I would wait for our notoriously late tutor to appear, striding across the grass. It was very clearly part of a performance, intended to draw attention to the fact that he, as a Fellow, was one of the privileged few allowed to tread upon the sacred Cambridge lawns.
The Chapel was closed, unfortunately, so we made our way to the river and out the other side. We looped around to see Queen’s College next, venturing across the “mathematical bridge” which, as it turns out, is just known as the Wooden Bridge. I don’t remember whether the version of the legend I heard included Newton as the architect or not, but I do recall learning that the bridge had been constructed without a single nail. Turns out, it’s all lies.
The next stop was Great Saint Mary’s, which I’d never been to before. As we’ve already established, we’re simple people – we see a tower, we have to climb it. It was only 130 steps or so, but much narrower than the towers of Pisa or Lucca, so there were CCTV cameras everywhere to monitor pedestrian traffic.
The views from the top were pleasing enough, but we had just had time for a few photos when the voice on the Intercom announced that if we didn’t go down with the current group, we’d be stuck up there for another ten minutes while the next group headed up. Deciding to cut our losses, we headed to the street market for some fresh falafel.
Our next – and final – stop was Trinity College. I told the story that was once relayed to me by a Cambridge native about Isaac Newton’s tree and the window he tried to jump out of, but I imagine these are about as true as the story of the mathematical bridge. The Trinity Chapel was open, and we caught the melodic notes of the local orchestra practising their repertoire.
The college was closed to the public, so we were lucky enough to see it without hordes of people wandering around. We even peered into the dining hall, which, while not as grand as Christ Church Oxford, still gave off Hogwarts vibes.
By this point, it was getting late and we knew the Bonfire Night fireworks would soon begin, so we rushed home to distract the dog. But strolling around Cambridge and reminiscing about my student years was nothing short of magical.
If a small soundbite from my review would be used to advertise A Dead Body in Taos, it would read something like “…sensational, thought-provoking…” or maybe “…enthralling, captivating…” or possibly other words to express equally high praise. In short, I found the “next play to blow me away”.
It sounds a bit macabre, but it’s actually a touching portrayal of interpersonal relationships and, ultimately, what it means to be human. The premise is that a dead body of an elderly woman is found in the desert and in her pocket is a note to her estranged daughter, saying “Do not grieve. I am not here.”
The mother’s recently changed will leaves her entire estate to a company called FutureLife. When the daughter – Sam – visits their facility, she meets a digital recreation of her mother, Kath. Shocked, she begins contesting the will with the help of the mother’s former lawyer.
A dual narrative of the mother’s youth reveals her backstory, from when she ran away from home at a young age to when she met and formed an intense relationship with an idealistic young man called Leo, getting caught up in the Kent State massacre and ultimately escaping to London to build a life as an advertising creative. But it was not to last, and Kath ultimately abandoned her daughter and husband to “follow the silence” to Taos.
Despite the ongoing legal proceedings, Sam is drawn to the facility to try to get answers for the painful causes of their estrangement. She discovers the ongoing relationship between her mother and the idealistic young man of her youth, realising that her mother continues to manipulate her from beyond the grave, trying to convince her to relinquish her inheritance so that Kath and Leo can finally be together.
The actors were mesmerising, even in their multiple role changes. I was hanging on to every word, feeling every emotion. My friend and I agreed – the one deciding factor was the voice. Kath in her digital reincarnation maintained a robotic voice, something FutureLife was “still working on”. Had it been a human voice, I suspect Sam’s decision would’ve been very different – something I’m sure author David Farr was very conscious of.
There’s only a week left to catch this play at the wonderful Wilton’s Music Hall before its current run ends. A Dead Body in Taos is running until 12 November. Don’t miss out!
I’ve complained enough about the backlog, so this is the last post to bring us up to speed. Until the next cycle begins, in any case. And so, without further ado, a review of an action-packed weekend, starting with a 10k at Battersea and ending with group meditation within private ancient woodland in East Sussex.
After the success of our Victoria Park race, my husband and I decided to sign up for the Battersea Park Run Fest – he for 5k and I for 10k. Even better, my friend – and her dog! – decided to join him on the shorter route. Each of us set a personal best, with my husband completing his 5k in an astounding 22:34 and me managing to snag eighth place among women with a time of 47:07.
To be perfectly honest, I was eighth based on chip time. I actually came tenth based on gun time, which is the ranking metric SportSystems, for reasons unknown, continue to use. I decided to do some research, and it turns out that gun time is the preference for elite races, where they line up on the start line. Why this is used for amateur races escapes me. I’d even argue that the fact that I started further back and battled my way to a faster time than the two women ahead of me makes me more deserving of a higher place, but I digress.
That same evening, we met up with friends to attend the experimental new musical Cages, recently arrived from Los Angeles for its London debut. We absolutely loved the ingenuity with which the performance combined video and live stage acting, but everything else was too painful to bear.
The plot, the music, the constant strobe lights and distorted voice effects were horrible. It was almost as if the latter was trying to distract from the lack of the former. Unfortunately, even the creative staging was not enough to keep us engaged and we left at intermission. With a different premise, the concept could’ve been magnificent.
Our Sunday was devoted entirely to the experience my friend got us for our birthdays back in August. In an anecdote I’ve probably related to everyone and their mother by now, he asked “skydiving or forest bathing” and I, exhausted from intensive work days, picked the latter. On Sunday, we finally had the chance to discover whether I’d made the right choice.
Jury’s still out on this one. I’m not sure what skydiving – not real skydiving, but rather flying in a tube – would’ve felt like, but I can’t say anything negative about forest bathing. It was certainly an experience. We met as a group of thirteen – biblical, I thought – and ventured into the deciduous forest.
It had been raining heavily, so despite our many layers and a yoga mat provided by our guide with the lovely name of Helena Skoog, we were wet and cold pretty soon after our first meditation session. Still, there was something wonderful about being present in the forest without the need to rush anywhere.
After more exploration in the forest – at one stage, I found myself perched on a fallen tree overlooking the forest floor below – and a few more mindfulness exercises, we thanked the forest and Mother Earth for welcoming us and ventured back into civilisation. After a tea and biscuits with the rest of the forest bathing participants, we were fully relaxed and on our way home.
It was bound to happen sometime. My backlog has overtaken my publishing speed. I’ve had far too many exciting things happen in the past week, so I’ll be batching this past weekend into another post, but first – four days in Italy.
For our second wedding anniversary, my husband and I decided to go to Siena. We’d fly into Pisa, then spend a few days relaxing in a Tuscan vineyard. But, as you can see from the title, we can’t sit still. Instead of staying in one place, we explored more cities than we had days in the country. Typical.
But, as always, there’s an explanation for everything. Our tickets were for Friday morning to Monday evening, but the outbound flight was cancelled. No problem, I rebooked us on a Thursday evening flight instead, so we landed in Pisa just before midnight.
We intended to set out for Cinque Terre – Manarola, to be precise – as soon as we woke up, but luckily for us, the first train was sold out. Why luckily? Because it gave us the chance to climb up the Leaning Tower for a beautiful bird’s eye view of Pisa.
By the time we arrived in Manarola, it was time to check in. So we dropped our things at the hotel, looked around the village, and headed up the winding mountain paths via Volastra to Corniglia. I’d done the trek ten years prior, so I recognised certain parts of the route, but I certainly did not remember the endless steps higher and higher.
Perched on a cliff overlooking the Ligurian sea, Corniglia is my favourite village in Cinque Terre. We spent a few hours exploring the narrow alleys and enjoying the sweeping views, but soon, exhausted after our expedition, we took the train back to Manarola and headed straight for Trattoria dal Billy, where we tasted the local delicacies and drank the local wine.
Church bells woke us at the crack of dawn and, unable to fall back asleep, we decided to seek sunshine in Siena. The capital of Tuscany did not disappoint, welcoming us with the warmest weather of our entire trip. After a visit to the Piazza del Campo, we tried pici at Antica Trattoria L’Aquila and then, for dessert, a nearby gelateria served up a delicious mango flavour.
Our next step was the Duomo di Siena, where we explored the Cathedral, stopping to admire the Piccolomini library and the museum and finishing high above the city on the unique Panorama. Accommodation for the night was in Florence, so we set off for the station, amazed at how many escalators were required to get to the platform.
I must confess, I have an unpopular opinion about Florence. I don’t like it. I’ve been there twice, I’ve appreciated its beauty, but the amount of people is a dealbreaker for me. I simply can’t enjoy myself. While we had a marvellous dinner at Ristorante Braceria Auditore, we had booked ourselves a “glamping” tent outside the city and had to catch a bus out to hu Firenze.
We’ve agreed that this was the last time we would book any sort of camping. We’ve never had a good experience. There’s always a loud group who will ruin it for everyone, so only wild camping from hereon in. Our tent was positioned right opposite a German family in a caravan and they did not let us sleep. Nor did the campsite itself, which had an alarm go off sometime before 7 in the morning.
We were originally booked for two nights, but given that it was our anniversary weekend, I demanded we go elsewhere. We had plans to visit the Duomo and – what else – the Uffizi Gallery, but beyond that, I decided we’d go to Lucca. It was halfway between Florence and Pisa, where we’d be flying back from, and famous for its towers. In other words, why not?
The one magnificent Fiorentine experience we both enjoyed was a visit to Giotto’s Bell Tower just as the sun was rising. The Duomo itself was closed for Mass, but we climbed the bell tower for phenomenal views, and then headed over to the Opera del Duomo museum to learn about how the Duomo was constructed and view some classical sculpture.
The Uffizi Gallery was gorgeous. The works contained therein? Sublime. But the amount of people was simply torture. While I tried to block out the noise and cameras around me, it often proved difficult. Then again, spying on strangers’ conversations led to interesting discoveries – did you know, for instance, that it is alleged that da Vinci’s Annunciation casts doubt on immaculate conception by depicting a bedroom behind Mary?
After lunch, we made our way to Lucca, birthplace of Puccini. After checking in to the lovely Villa Romantica, we headed out to the equally lovely Antica Osteria for dinner. After dancing to a local busker playing The Black Keys, we grabbed a gelato in the last gelateria still open and wandered around the city hand-in-hand. It was our anniversary, after all.
The next day was our last in Italy, so we made the most of it. The morning began with a visit to the San Frediano Basilica, followed by a tour of the Puccini Museum. We then decided to climb our first tower – the Torre delle Ore.
The history of these towers is fascinating. They date back to the fourteenth century, when each family tried to show off their wealth by building the highest one. When we were on Torre delle Ore, we saw the Torre Guinigi in the distance and thought about climbing it, but witnessing the crowds made us reconsider.
Instead, we chose the Campanile del Duomo di San Martino. While the interwoven metal on the steps – through which you could see all the way down – made for a terrifying experience, the views from the top were worth it. Just as with the Torre delle Ore, we were entirely alone up there, overlooking the city below and basking in our solitude.
After an aperitivo on the nearby piazza, we caught the train back to Pisa. With a few hours left, we wandered around some more before making our way to the airport, located just a twenty minute walk from the city centre. And so, once again, I can proudly say that I’ve walked to the airport.
Swordfoosh 