Financial times

On By Conversations with StrangersIn Art, Entertainment, Fashion, Food and drinks, Life, London4 Comments

From Wagu burgers to AI, Jesse Armstrong to Neil Jordan, the FT Weekend Festival catered to the one percent and the curious, and more often than not a mixture of both.  

Potentially the last remaining Broadsheet (certainly in the UK) to give a damn about as-objective-as-it-gets journalism, I was chomping at the bit to hear what the line-up of erudite speakers and their interviewers had to say. 

Immediately after Tim Harford’s ‘Why smart people believe silly things’ (guilty, I think), I hot footed it to the Food and Drink Tent to get the lowdown on what the point is of restaurant critics.  After 45 minutes with Tim Hayward, Jimi Famurewa and Jay Rayner, and some incisive questioning by Harriet Fitch-Little, the answer was clear: entertainment. Jay confirmed “Ours is a writing job… As long as readers want to turn the page…”

Jesse Armstrong on Succession followed, immediately after what the FT considers to be the biggest issue of the day:  America and China’s relationship, or lack of. The latter’s tricky we pretty much all agreed, however cultural collaboration could be a way forward, Gillian Tett suggested. That garnered a round of applause, but was as nothing compared to the one Mr Armstrong received shortly afterwards.

Jesse’s spot was the hottest ticket in the grounds of Kenwood House that day: queues round the block and up to the Literature Tent told us so.  And, it was hardly surprising.  A blockbuster production virtually the entire audience that day had watched – demonstrated by a show of hands early on. 

I struggled to curb my question: Who wrote Tom’s lines?  Was it just one person?  If so, please please can you give me their phone number, in fact all their contact details, because I want to marry him, her, them.

I restrained myself.  Instead, a member of the audience asked “Who is cousin Greg modelled on?”  Jesse’s reply was straight and sweet: “A lot of me” or words to that effect. 

Already a pastel de nata and sharp coffee down, the brain needed further nourishment.  The Wagu burger got my money, but the variety of vittles on offer was wide. 

A more relaxed afternoon followed, with my attention taken by a ‘How to style it Q&A’ and Neil Jordan on novel ideas. 

By 5.30pm ish I’d earned a break.  Sitting on a straw bale with tea and a melting brownie, I got chatting to L and G – a junior doctor and media professional respectively. We talked pre-loved and vintage fashion, style, and getting dressed in the morning – as is my wont. 

“What do you think is missing in media coverage of fashion/vintage shopping?” asked G. I didn’t hesitate: “The intellectual aspect” I replied.  “The media focus on the apparent trend for shopping pre-loved and vintage. I think it would be interesting to delve deeper into that. What’s really driving our current shopping habits? Has that changed forever? Is it about money? Is it about climate change? Do we still care? And, if not why not?”

I looked around at my fellow FT Weekend Festival goers: a uniformity of casual verging on careless style proliferated. Money didn’t appear to be an issue here – but then how the one percent and the curious dress is a whole other story. 

Thanks to the Financial Times for a thought-provoking day.

Cat and mouse

On By Conversations with StrangersIn Entertainment, Food and drinks, Health, Ibiza, Life, Travel/vacations1 Comment

“Tiene café aqui?” I asked.

“Of course we do!” came the surprised response.  

I looked at Fifi whose eyebrows had travelled sceptically northwards: “Well, that’s news to me” she suggested.   “I’ve never had a coffee here – I just didn’t think they did it.”

“Sure, I mean, where’s the machine after all?” I said looking around.  Nada.

I asked for a descafeinado. “But” I said, “Will it really be descafeinado?” 

“D’jes – of course!” replied our lovely waiter; “I will make it myself!”

Unsure whether that would be the difference between up all night and just pleasantly sleepy, I threw caution to the winds: “Okay” I said, “Let’s do it!”

The Cortado arrived.  The arresting image of a mouse’s face, or was it a cat, stared up at me.  He was smiling, but the shape of his eyebrows suggested he had something on his mind, indeed that he was concerned, perhaps even worried. Spots where there could be whiskers – but weren’t – surrounded his dot of a nose, and his eyes – two circles surrounding pupils which wandered in alternative directions.  To be fair, this arresting apparition looked like he’d had a late night, or perhaps, not even slept at all. 

“Ooooh, he’s sooooo cute!” I exclaimed to our man.  “Do you have a maquina to make him?”

“Yo!…Yo! He grinned. “I am the maquina, the machine!”

We all laughed.  A laugh fortified by a bottle of Juve Y Camps and insightful conversation with my lovely chum in our favourite place to eat.

I sipped the Cortado: delicious.  In fact the best I’d had so far five days into my break from urban living. 

Declining postres, we paid up and made our way to the carpark. 

“You know, considering I’ve had a fair amount of Cava, I just don’t feel tiddly at all – must have been the steak.  Wow. I really needed some red meat.” I said, sliding the door shut with maybe more vigour than required. 

Arriving back home, we were met by A who slowly walked with me towards my cabin in the woods. We talked of astrology, science and Human Insight. “I will look it up tomorrow” I said to A, “It sounds fascinating!”

My head hit the pillow and I was out like the proverbial light. 

Two hours later, I woke with a start.  What was that shuffling noise?  Was it my bicycle moving? Was it a mouse? Were the Balearics home to Badgers? I didn’t think so.  

Eyes wide open, I stared up into my eye mask. They remained that way until the cocks started crowing and the peacocks screeched their greeting to another day under the pines. I looked at my phone: 6am.

My head was buzzing with astrological conundrums; the rights and wrongs in life; the things to do and not do; energies flowing and not flowing; musings on my generation – and most particularly on our shortcomings.

Usually slow to rise, I leapt out of bed two hours later, completely wired.  

Descafeinados on holiday, it turns out, continue to escape me. 

I texted Fifi: “No wonder that ‘mouse’ looked worried. It’s true – our restaurant doesn’t do coffees; they do rocket fuel: I should get five chapters written this morning.”  

I made breakfast in five seconds, and started to write. 

A Neighbourhood Special

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fullsizeoutput_30adI was beginning to wonder what, if anything, would coax me out of ‘retirement’ for this blog.  Turns out the intimate film viewing booth at the ‘hood’s newest addition to cafe culture has done just that.

Boca Cha Cha’s has been a long time coming to W9. We thought we had it made when Da Daniella’s appeared, but Cha Chas (as its regulars fondly call it) finally says: ‘Maida Vale – we think you’re cool enough to handle us, and by blatantly offering you a menu that offers Chia porridge we’re acknowledging just that.’

The first time I stumbled in, the day after a sunny sojourn in my perennial favourite place in the world, a film crew were noisily taking over the large window seats. ‘NO! NO! That just won’t do at ALL.  I told you when we get to LA we don’t have time for that.  You need to get back to me and come up with an alternative ASAP!’ barked the baseball hat wearing 6ft 5” tall drink of Kombucha mixed with something potentially more serious. One thing was for sure he hadn’t chosen the ‘Green Cuddle’ from the menu. 

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An Afternoon at the Library

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fullsizeoutput_29cdA consistent low snore broke the sound of a quiet occasional rustle that is the local library.  As I walked beyond the steps of North Kensington’s fine example of Victorian architecture, past Information with a view towards row upon row of ruthlessly alphabetised books, I tried to figure out where the afternoon nap was coming from.

I was on a quest for my next read.

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