All that jazz around Cape Town

Reminiscing and Remembering

I returned from a short holiday in Cape Town just over five weeks ago, where Brian and I had a wonderful seaside apartment in Bloubergstrand with amazing views of Table Mountain and Robben Island.

The last time we were in this area was probably about six years ago, when we boarded a tour bus to visit wine estates in Paarl and Franschhoek. Bloubergstrand presents one of the best views of Table Mountain; you see the table as it is, which is why an area of Bloubergstrand is called Table View.

On one of the beautiful long walks on the beach, I did get sunburnt on my lips, the front edges of my hands on the side of my thumbs and forefingers, and the tips of my big toes. I could not believe that at barely 19° Celsius, as winter was coming to an end, I could be that susceptible, but there I was.

All That Jazz

Cape Town city centre is about 15 kilometres from Bloubergstrand. We could have ventured onto the MyCiTi buses but stuck with Uber rides. For church, we found a multicultural, international Pentecostal church that was both welcoming and exciting. The coffee makers exhibited skills on a par with, or even better than, Starbucks quality.

One of the many highlights of our time together was discovering that Chicago, the musical, was playing at ArtScape. We booked tickets and attended, where we were feted for our dressing and some patrons asked to take pictures either of us or with us.

During the performance, a gay couple behind us were the better part of a nuisance, singing along to the songs to the point of irritation. We did not complain, but at the end, they both came to say hello, apologised for being noisy, and then gave us their programmes on noticing we had not bought one. You never know what comes from keeping your cool.

Essential Snobbery 101: Attend for the experience or stay at home

Acrobats from Africa

On Wednesday, I had the pleasure of attending the Kalabanté Productions: Afrique En Cirque performance at the Aviva Studios, Factory International venue bordering Manchester to the northwest, courtesy of tickets from George House Trust.

This troupe from Guinea in West Africa brought to life the typical everyday life in West Africa, even though they represented themselves more as ambassadors of Africa than from a specific region.

The performance was full of African percussion and the versatility of the kora, a 21-stringed instrument common to West Africa, beyond which were dances and lots of acrobatics. Amongst the performers were two contortionists with freakish abilities that just astounded us with awe.

For me, it was a lovely, entertaining night; the innate African in me could not sit still as the percussion beats resonated, so you just had to move or rock in rhythm in your seat.

Arriving on African time

With everything African, certain African traits were presented with a surprising coincidence of our row of 16 seats in a section being populated by people seemingly of African origin.

However, my pique was with certain on my row who arrived over 30 minutes after the performance started, meaning we had to get up for them to get to their seats. The seat beside me was vacant for about an hour before the lady arrived, and the performance had hardly ended before she was the first to literally push her way through to leave. She probably should have just stayed home.

I do have my concerns about concert etiquette, though. I would attend a performance for the experience, in the moment. I might at times take notes, but I rarely do, except when I am attending for the second time, if the opportunity comes up.

The disruption of mobile phones

It has become the bane of live attendance to see many holding up their phones and recording the performance, obviously to relay to others that they were there, but I feel the quality of the experience is diminished by the distraction or concentration on their phones to ensure they get the somewhat essential elements of the performance.

The amateur recording of a performance would never meet the professional standards of a licensed recording of a performance with cameras at strategic locations and all the elements of zooming in on certain sections of the stage to highlight critical must-see actions.

Besides, in a dark theatre, the light or glare of the mobile phone recording events is both a distraction and an irritation to other members of the audience. Some concerts literally look like candlelight vigils, all phones aglow and in the line of sight of those behind trying to catch what is going on.

Come for the experience

In my view, this should be banned, you either have come for a live performance or you want to watch it on television at home. If indeed you need to encourage others to see the show, your word of mouth about the experience should suffice. If snippets of the show are necessary, the production company would probably have a professionally curated trailer of their performance to highlight what to expect; it is unlikely you can do better than them.

It might serve a purpose for you, and the best is to seek a photo opportunity with the performers after the show; that would be more unique and special than a bootlegged sneaky recording of a performance, whilst being an irritation to others. Thank you.

Coronavirus streets in Manchester - LX

Out in the cold of the city

Then I eventually stepped out to do some shopping for dinner, something simple for something nice and fast, I thought as I looked at my smartwatch to see how cool it was before braving the wintry conditions of England’s northwest.

It was just six above zero, I did not need to dress for Tundra, I was already in my walking gear, grabbed a shopping bag and out for a brisk walk to the end of the road and it was impeded on the pavement by family groups walking four abreast holding hands that I had to mutter, Excuse me!

My funny walking gait is like a tiptoeing catwalk speeded up, imagine a less clumsy Charlie Chaplin in a silent film. Then I could be quite observant of how people walk or run, the expectation is putting one foot almost directly in front of the other as best as possible, a dawdle is as upsetting as to seem out of place, and so was it as a lady appearing to jog towards me sent dread to my thoughts.

What we ignore is here

Meanwhile, I pressed on, dodging the crowds that massed around Palace Theatre and the little voices in a long line across the road chatting to each other was as long as I would only have expected at a school. The dark belied the sense that theatre was open a bit early as the children waited for the lights to cross the road chaperoned by a stand-in lollipop man, probably a teacher.

Not a mask in sight, I in my sock balaclava face mask wondering if I had time-travelled to no memory of an ever-present pandemic, even Prince Charles has tested positive and on the phone to one of my dearest, she suffered quietly as I prayed for a full recovery to strength and verve.

To the warren they burrow

The security man at our local supermarket recognises me and greets me as I enter, I would sometimes ask how he was doing, he is unassuming though never dare to determine what store security would do when called to a situation. Soon, they are in a swarm and the person is overwhelmed, it is uncomfortable to watch what I witnessed at the train station local store a few days ago.

After my shopping, the queue in the front of the theatre was as long as it was raucous, the excited kids on probably their first cultural event out in years. Falling down the rabbit hole of my curiosity, I see that Alice in Wonderland in pantomime has come to town on the community programme of Pricewaterhouse Coopers, the accounting house. Breathe, you’ll soon be home and far from the milling crowd to make another stir fry whilst Brian watches on the phone.

Coronavirus streets in Manchester - XLIV

 Now, we are talking about Jamie

You could only wonder what would get me out of my hermitage in the centre of Manchester to participate in a new world during this pandemic. A chance viewing of a poster that the coming-of-age musical, Everybody’s talking about Jamie gave me some inspiration.

The star of the cast, Layton Williams as Jamie who I read about over a year ago, had piqued my interest, drop-dead gorgeous as he is though still not a match on my Brian, one can just admire from a distance. What is not revealed anywhere but in the brochure is that Jamie is an adaption of the real-life story of Jamie Campbell from Bishop Auckland in County Durham.

The musical is on a UK tour and now in Manchester for 12 days, that presented an opportunity.

Easy like a Sunday evening

I called my neighbours to determine if they will be interested in attending the show with me and so I booked three tickets for Sunday evening including pre-theatre dinner. That became my debutante outing for the year. Suffice it to say, I was last in a theatre in December 2019 with Brian in Cape Town.

We left at just a few minutes after 5:00 PM for The Lowry in Salford Quays, found a parking space in the Lowry Outlet, that was busier than usual, with cars queued up to exit the garage. Made for the restaurant to settle down to a 3-course meal before finding our seats in the rather expansive The Lyric Hall, up in the circle area to the far right.

To life, we knew and once knew

The music, choreography, and storyline was emotional, uproarious, and entertaining. The theatre was full and face masks were recommended at the seating. There was no social-distancing and the theatre did not appear to be air-conditioned. Whether we are in post-pandemic flight, I cannot tell, we all had a good time and on our exit from the car park, it was not as bad as we thought it would be.

Whether I should review Everybody’s talking about Jamie, I cannot say yet, who knows, I might consider another viewing because I could relate to the story, on a personal and many other levels; and I did enjoy the outing too. Heck! It’s on Amazon Prime – Press play.

Coronavirus streets in Manchester - XLI

Hermitude becomes I

Despite being fully vaccinated, I hear tales of people who have contracted the Coronavirus. It is possible they would not be hospitalised but finding out that you are CoVID-19 positive is not the kind of news you want to receive at any time.

It is strange that the last time I was out of my apartment block was 8 days ago. Not that I was in quarantine, but I was in one of my usual bouts of being a hermit. I did step out of my apartment to check my mailbox, met up with my neighbours for a drinks night and then my friend who sometimes comes into town was here a few times and on one occasion tidied up my living room and kitchen. I am always grateful for his ordering touch.

For fridge on dead freezer

Having emptied my freezer of all the defrosted food much of which I could not use that it unfortunately ended up in the bin, I logged a maintenance call with the letting agents to have someone give the freezer a look before it is decided whether it should be repaired or replaced.

Stepping out after work to the local supermarket to get some fruit and drinks, I had my mask on from home, you cannot be too careful. Most of the customers were donning face masks apart from one who was yapping away on his phone until he had to pay with the same phone, hence, terminating the call.

The theatre of fear

Opposite the supermarket is the legendary Palace Theatre, which first opened in 1891 and on my way to the shop there was a uniformed crowd outside that had disappeared after I finished shopping. Then I noticed there was a show on, The Woman Is Back, opening tonight for 4 nights. This is a sign of things coming back into a kind of normalcy, for the last show advertised, The Phantom of the Opera, to start on the 26^th of March 2020 to the 30^th of May 2020, never opened because of the pandemic lockdown and the theatre has been closed to audiences since then.

I also noticed that the theatre box office is not open to the public which I think means all tickets will be processed online alone with them presented as printouts or mobile phone scannable codes. Though I worry as friends have indicated on visiting theatres in London recently, CoVID-19 precautions are not that adhered to. That simply means I would be avoiding those enclosed entertainment places for a little while yet. However, we must celebrate the little changes we see around us.

Coronavirus streets in London - XXXVIII

We are not there yet

The pleasure of the walk is always fun. The discovery of London by foot and the surprise of finding strange and new places you have only heard of or driven past. It is the condemnation of the Tube to a loneliness it could never have thought could befall it. We are in the age of the pandemic, the Coronavirus has left us seeking the natural away from the superficial and we are the healthier for it.

English placenames are Shibboleths of possible embarrassment for I do remember playing the Monopoly board game thinking Angel Islington had the sound of the first syllable of island when in fact it began with the sound of is, for I began in Islington. Yet, I saw Angel, the London Underground station that is, danced by Sadler’s Wells and could have been a phantom of operatic earache in Shaftsbury Theatre.

The West End is alive

In the court of Palace Theatre were crowds gathered to watch Harry Potter and the Cursed Child, queued up in a press without spacing, their expectations of entertainment probably delivering them from the plague of COVID-19 or so they think. I pulled on my mask without a second thought.

Into Old Compton Street, I strutted, a haunt from the 90s, now fully pedestrianised and barely passable because of al fresco dining, raucous and gay like a summer camp of queens or drag that would make you blush. There is no pandemic here, and you are not invited to the masked ball, as we have come to live life, to die would be unfortunate, and those who passed on will be remembered after we have enjoyed ourselves, is the message on the streets of London.

Nay, be not one of the Les Misérables that is doing time with the butler in Arthur, and I really did like Sir John Gielgud, he died at 96 and a theatre is named for him. Les Mis as we know it, once did 19 years at the Palace, it is the West End, the world of theatre and spectacle. That was after Oxford Street and Carnaby Street much changed from what I remember, memory is not just a lane but a bustling city of dreams.

History and pageantry

Eros did try to smile on me and Haymarket I ignored at Piccadilly Circus and turned onto Regent Street St James’s and do not be bewildered, the possessive James peculiarly carries a full apostrophe S and The Court of St James’s is the royal court of the sovereign monarch where the Queen receives ambassadors to the Court of St James’s never to the United Kingdom of Great Britain and Northern Ireland.

Now in peak Establishment territory, I was at Waterloo Place with statues of famous Field Marshalls, kings and politicians making an avenue of the revered, Florence Nightingale even lights her lamp here in the day and the night, if you have the vision for such. Down the steps by the Duke of York Monument whose fame is recalled in the risible The Grand Old Duke of York nursery rhyme.

To the river and over

I cross The Mall to Horse Guards Road with Horse Guards Parade where the monarch’s official birthday is celebrated in June at the Trooping the Colour, to my left and St James’s Park to my right, I could have ventured a walk to Buckingham Palace to see it for the first time, but that would be another time, for I was pressed and the toilets closed.

The Palace of Westminster, the British Parliament with all the surrounding famous buildings including Westminster Hall, came into view, but I could barely see Big Ben, it was bedecked in scaffolding and I crossed the River Thames on Westminster Bridge onto the South Bank with the London Eye on its last rotation for the day, my sister called from America as I was lapping a soft ice cream on a black waffle cone after which the Tube took me back to Angel from Waterloo Station.

Coronavirus streets in Manchester - XXVI

People are outside

Out on my walk this evening, as I approached a bus stop, a lady with her mask on was frantically waving down the double-decker bus to stop, I am sure the driver saw her, but he did not stop, the driver had forgotten to change a sign on the destination indicator on the front of the bus, ‘Bus Full’, or something to that effect, it should have said.

Down at the park as dusk turned to dark that without lights or a reflection, you will not notice anything a few metres ahead of you, the sounds of revelling from all directions met my ears. People in groups of sometimes more than six, sitting on the grass chatting or chuntering away, oblivious of others and the pandemic that kept us sequestered for months.

Signs of change

The rubbish bins stacked and overflowing, empty bottles of all kinds of drinks standing on and around the bin. Bags of rubbish that did not fit in the bins strew around for others to clean up after the many who cannot keep their litter until they get home. I guess that is what our council tax goes towards.

The theatre down the road that has been closed since early March last year has become a beehive of activity, not that there are patrons or theatregoers about. The signs for The Phantom of the Opera that was to be playing this time last year have remained up, you wonder if things would take off from where they left off. Two long caboose trailers without their cabs are parked outside, I think they are preparing for an opening.

Some hotels that have been closed for months now have their lights on, someone or people should be there, for in these observations, you can feel that things are coming back to life, we might not return to normal, but we are setting ourselves up for a new normal and hopefully a better normal.