Task 55: See Henning Wehn live on stage

Laughing is one of the greatest pleasures in life and including a task that focused on this was a no-brainer.  Although I've seen a number of stand-up comedians in South Africa over the years, I've never been to one in the UK, so that was an easy decision.  Deciding who to go and see was equally simple as Peter and I both find Henning Wehn very funny when we listen to him on The Unbelievable Truth and see him on Would I Lie to You, so he was my top choice.  Luckily when I googled him last December I found he had a show in London in early April, just after we were due to return from South Africa, so I booked tickets straight away.  It's as well I did it then, as most of his shows for the first half of this year are sold out.

For anyone who hasn't already come across him, Henning is the self-styled German Comedy Ambassador in London.  As his website points out, "This is not the easiest of jobs because Germans allegedly do not have a sense of humour.  Henning does not find that funny".  He moved to the UK in 2002, originally planning to stay for a year to improve his English, but "the good weather, the tasty food and the classy women made me stay". In 2003 he went to an open mic night and decided to try his hand at stand-up comedy. He's now well established and lives permanently in London - at least, for the next two years....

The show was at the Leicester Square Theatre, 7-9pm with an interval.  We arrived early to soak in the atmosphere and were interested to see that the queue, which was snaking around the corner, included people of all ages, with at least as many men as women. 

Some were a bit slow to take their seats, so the show started about 2 minutes late with an announcement from Henning apologising to any Germans in the audience for the delay, which was due to British tardiness.  At one point he asked whether there were any Germans in the audience.  One woman put her hand up and he then talked to her in German for quite some time.  Eventually he turned round to the rest of us and explained he was simply doing what the British do when we're abroad - talk in our own language and ignore the locals - except he wasn't shouting.

Musing on the implications of Brexit, he pondered whether he should be termed an immigrant.  On balance he thought not, as the word implied suffering and he really hadn't suffered that much making the journey to the UK.  Admittedly he had had to get to Dortmund airport early and hang around for the flight to Luton, and then at Luton he found it didn't connect to any trains, and when he got to the railway stations none of the fast trains stopped there, but still at least he'd had a seat on the plane rather than hanging on to one of the landing wheels. 

The British reliance on self deprecation and humour to get away with incompetence, compared with German precision and exactitude, came in for some witty observations. For immigrants, the UK is seen as a land of opportunity, where you can realise your dreams. If, for example, your dream is to become a plumber, you can simply set up and start the next day. As you stand there in pools of water and muck, you can explain to the customer that it didn't work too well this time and maybe plumbing isn't your strongest suit. The same approach isn't to be recommended in Germany.

Our unwillingness to address the issue of colour was also examined. He held up some boards with photos of famous footballers and musicians, asking which was the odd one out. In each case only one was either white or black, but no-one in the audience gave that answer. Instead there was "the only blonde", "the only one born overseas", etc.  No-one wanted to state the obvious. In the end he held up a board with seven red squares and one green, and asked the same question.  Um...

What I like most about his humour is that he really thinks about issues and human behaviour, and often bases his satire - which is witty rather than abrasive - on perceptions of foibles or illogicalities.  He sees an aspect that wouldn't strike most people but when he draws it out, it seems true if slightly weird.  Are we really like that? Well, yes, probably we are.  It's just we'd never noticed it before.

A couple of days before the show, it occurred to me that it would make the blog more interesting if I could include a photo of me with Henning (and to be honest, I was excited at the possibility).  His website has the option of emailing him, so I sent him a short email, explaining why I was doing the blog and asking if I could meet him for just a minute or two after the show and have a photo taken of us together.  To my surprise and delight, he replied instantly and said that would be fine, as he'd be in the foyer anyway. He also wished me luck with the blog.

After the encore, I lurked around until the crowd had cleared and then explained who I was. He immediately obliged while Peter took a few photos, and commented on my post about the Dickens Museum - so, unlike many of my friends, he's actually read some of the blog!! Here we are, with him sporting an English Heritage flag (you had to be there to get the joke):

If you have the chance, I'd urge you to go to one of his shows.  Humour is a very personal thing and I've found it impossible to capture his style here, but I think you'd have a great time.

Task 59: Take part in a whist drive

Although I'm not very good at them, I love playing card games and have long wanted to take part in a whist drive - without really knowing what it is.  When I was considering putting go-karting on my list (which I dropped when I realised my back wouldn't stand it), I noticed that the Surbiton Raceway also has a Sports Club, which offers whist drives every Tuesday afternoon.  No experience required and it's open to all, and reasonably local, so it sounded just the ticket.

When I asked Peter if he'd be interested in joining me, he said definitely not as he's not that keen on card games and thought it would be full of elderly people (he's 77 himself, though he doesn't look it).  I rang first to make sure it wouldn't cause any problems if I came along and was reassured when the person I spoke to sounded cheerful, friendly and youngish.  He then explained that he'd introduce me to his grandfather Reg, who'd be running it.  No problem, I decided - it's attitude not age that matters.

Getting there should have been a doddle as it's two simple bus journeys from adjacent stops and then a half mile walk.  I could have driven, but I was in Kingston anyway so it was simpler to go by bus.  Given my abysmal sense of direction, I took the precaution of printing off a Google map with directions and set off in plenty of time.  That was just as well, as I got thoroughly lost and ended up in an estate agent's to ask the way.  In my defence I'd point out that the directions were thoroughly misleading, as they said "continue along the Kingston Road and after 65 metres turn right".  I was surprised there was no right turning in sight for at least 250 metres, but carried on towards the major road junction in the distance. What I hadn't realised was that they should have said "turn back along the Kingston Road". Clearly I need to get on with Task 13, mastering the Google map app.

Anyway I arrived with 15 minutes to spare and met Reg and his wife Ines.  They were very welcoming and stressed that no-one took the game seriously, they were just there to enjoy themselves.  If anyone started commenting on the way I was playing, I should simply ignore them.  This sounded promising.  Also my eye was caught by some plates of jam tarts, so this was beginning to look like my kind of place.

As everyone turned up, I realised that Peter was right about the age profile.  He would have been regarded as a bit of a lad.  After all the introductions and the latest news on everyone's health, we moved over to the card tables and began the first game.  Reg had thoughtfully placed me with him, which was especially kind as I hadn't realised we would be playing in mixed pairs, four people per table.  I had visions of upsetting a whole succession of partners, as it was clear that everyone else was a regular (they typically have up to 20 players at a time). 

Apart from briefly forgetting what was trumps and not having a clue whose turn it was to start, the first game went quite well and I began to relax.  Then Reg  rang a large bell and people started moving around, but I couldn't see a pattern behind it and no-one seemed to expect me to move, so I stayed put.  The same thing happened for the next few games until my luck broke.  Faced with a choice between playing the ace or the king of diamonds, I decided to play the king, figuring that that would sow some doubt as to whether or not I had the ace - forgetting that the uncertainty would include my partner. He explained to me afterwards that I should have played the ace, as otherwise if he had had a void in a suit, he might have trumped me.  It took me several hours to work out why he might have trumped such a high card of mine, but eventually the penny dropped.  

I sat there pondering this until I noticed that I seemed to be expected to move.  Had my partner indicated he'd had enough?  It was explained that we were playing progressive whist, which meant that at the end of every game, the losing woman would move clockwise to the next table, while the losing man would move anticlockwise to his next table. The winning man would partner the losing woman, which means everyone plays with different people.  I found that confusing and simply ambled along until I found a seat where someone seemed to be expecting me.  

It didn't help that every now and then, someone would say to a woman "Are you a man or a woman?" and depending on the answer, hand them a pack of cards.  After a while I realised that a few women were playing as men, to even up the numbers, and only men (and women posing as men) were allowed to deal and to pick up the tricks made by their pair.

Throughout the afternoon there was background music which reminded me very much of the tapes I'd put together during my university years.  At one point it got stuck, but only those wearing their hearing aids (and me) spotted this, so it was some time before it got jogged along.  Apparently this happens every week, at exactly the same point ("You Can't Hurry Love"), to a muted chorus of "here we go again" and "I don't know why we have to have music".  I didn't really see why they were bothered either way, since most of them were chatting while they were playing.  I assumed that meant they weren't watching the cards, so I heaved a sigh of relief and stopped trying, humming happily along to the tunes instead. Wrong.

As someone was telling me about a centre in North Cheam where you can apparently learn how to play whist properly - the second person to mention this - I noticed that everyone else had disappeared.  Tea break!  Ines and Reg generously provide tea and cakes every week, including yummy chocolate and coconut macaroons.  After that there were only two more games to complete the set of 12, and then came the grand reckoning of the score cards. Astonishingly I had come second, so just missed out on a prize (one each for the highest and lowest scoring man and woman):

If you want a sociable afternoon and aren't up to playing bridge, a whist drive is fun - and you will feel extremely young!

Task 51: Visit 5 museums I've never been to before - 5th post

For some years I've been meaning to visit the Dickens Museum in London, but have never got around to it, despite having been to a couple of museums about him in Rochester with my friend Linda who lives there.  The impetus provided by the 60 challenges was just what I needed and on a sunny spring afternoon, Peter and I pitched up at 48 Doughty Street in Bloomsbury to have a look around.

We started by having lunch in the pleasant basement cafe, followed by a wander through the small and attractive back yard/garden.  Then it was time to tackle the other four floors.  

It was in this house, where he and his young wife Catherine and their growing family lived from 1837 for nearly three years, that he wrote Oliver Twist, The Pickwick Papers and Nicholas Nickleby.  It was also where his pretty and much-loved sister-in-law, Mary Hogarth, died unexpectedly aged only seventeen. She was living with them and had become like a little sister to Charles.  The three of them went to the theatre on the evening of 6 May 1837 and retired to bed late.  Shortly afterwards the couple apparently heard a cry from Mary's room and it was clear she was ill.  Despite being tended by a doctor, she died the next day. Dickens, who at the time was writing two serialised novels at once - Oliver Twist and The Pickwick Papers - was devastated.  For the first and only time in his life, he missed the deadlines on both.

Apart from this tragedy, their time at Doughty Street seems to have been happy and fulfilling. There are a number of Dickens' personal possessions throughout the house and the dining room in particular gives the impression that he has just stepped outside, ready to greet his guests, whose names are beside each place setting.  He thoroughly enjoyed entertaining and although the table is set for six, he managed at times to squeeze in as many as fourteen:

In his study you can see the desk and chair from his home - Gad's Hill Place - at which he wrote many of his later works, including A Tale of Two Cities, Great Expectations and Our Mutual Friend:

I hadn't realised that Catherine also published a book, under the pseudonym Lady Maria Clutterbuck.  It was essentially a recipe book, entitled What Shall We Have for Dinner, and was published in 1851.  This was a difficult year for her, as their baby daughter Dora died and she suffered a nervous collapse.  Dickens also suffered the death of his father John, with whom he appears to have had a warm and affectionate relationship despite the problems caused by John's inability to manage his finances.

One of the items that caught my eye in the basement was a note that hedgehogs were sometimes kept in Victorian kitchens to eat insects.  Beetles, cockroaches and other bugs were a constant nuisance and as well as using insect traps, hedgehogs were seen as a useful extra line of defence (or attack).  A dirty house was regarded as producing dishonest people, so keeping one's kitchen clean was seen as both a matter of hygiene and a moral duty.  Yet another reason for not living in the past....

One unusual aspect of the museum, which spans both 48 Doughty Street and the house next door, is that neither the rooms nor the accompanying guidebook give you much information at all about key events in Dickens' life and times.  The emphasis is on immersing yourself in the atmosphere of the house and imagining the life he and his young family had there.  It is only when you move into the adjacent linked house that you find a room with detailed timelines, enabling you to set it all in context.  As it happens, I already knew a fair amount about Dickens, having ploughed through the 1,000+ page biography by Peter Ackroyd a few years ago, but on balance I think I would have preferred to have had the benefit of the timelines first.  There's nothing to stop you going back into the main house again afterwards, though.

I'd recommend visiting the museum, especially if it's warm enough to sit outside in the bricked garden and have lunch there.  Two hours - not counting lunch - would be ample, even for someone like me who reads every single label and tests the patience of their companions, especially as we all know I'll have forgotten most of it by the time I get home.

 

Task 50: Read all 37 of Shakespeare's plays, apart from the 10 I read years ago

Task 50:  Read all 37 of Shakespeare’s plays, except for the 10 I read years ago

The question everyone seems to ask is "Why?".  Do I enjoy reading Shakespeare plays (seems a bit weird) or is it some sort of penance?  Well, my reason for choosing this was that I happened to be listening to Desert Island Discs and the section where the guest has to decide which book he or she will take to the island, in addition to the Bible and the complete works of Shakespeare.  I realised that although these are regarded as fundamental to much of British culture, I’d never fully read either.  At school, particularly doing A and S level English, I had read a number of Shakespeare’s plays, along with numerous others by fellow Elizabethan and Jacobean dramatists, and I’d also seen films of a few more.  However when I counted the ones I had actually read, it was only 10 of the 37 in the Oxford edition of his complete works.  So, this seemed a natural choice for my list of challenges.

In prospect, I thought the comedies would be reasonably entertaining, the tragedies full of wonderful imagery and the histories a bit tedious.  Reading History at university, it was perhaps surprising that the only Shakespeare play I’d read as a student was Richard III.  I had thoroughly enjoyed it but the others were not tempting – and surely Henry VI couldn’t possibly need three whole Parts?  There was a large wodge of them and I anticipated a hard grind ahead.  This was going to be compounded by my decision not to look at summaries of any of the plays, so I would have to grapple with the language if I wanted to understand what was going on.

The reality was rather different.  The comedies tended to rely heavily on the use of disguises and scenes with rustic clowns, and some – particularly The Merry Wives of Windsor, The Comedy of Errors and Love’s Labour’s Lost – were little more than farces.  There were clearly a lot of “in” jokes which were lost on me.  The Taming of the Shrew was rather a disappointment, as it contained no striking language or imagery, and was redeemed mainly by the sheer vivacity of Petruchio.  I found Measure for Measure interesting, though, especially in the context of Shakespeare having married a woman quite a bit older than himself.  The two I most enjoyed were Much Ado About Nothing, set in Messina, and The Merchant of Venice.  The latter was an absolute gem – a well-balanced plot with beautiful language and penetrating observations of human behaviour.  These are the phrases and passages that particularly struck me, either because they have passed into common usage today and/or because they are so wonderfully written:

"it is a wise father that knows his own child ".

"in the end, truth will out ".

"in the twinkling of an eye ".

"All things that are, are with more spirit chased than enjoy'd."

"All that glisters is not gold".

"Hath not a Jew eyes?  hath not a Jew hands, organs, dimensions, senses, affections, passions?  fed with the same food, hurt with the same weapons, subject to the same diseases, healed by the same means, warmed and cooled by the same winter and summer, as a Christian is?  If you prick us, do we not bleed?  if you tickle us, do we not laugh?  if you poison us, do we not die?  and if you wrong us, shall we not revenge?  If we are like you in the rest, we will resemble you in that."

"green-ey'd jealousy "

"Do all men kill the things they do not love?" [Bassanio]

"Hates any man the thing he would not kill?" [Shylock]

"How shalt thou hope for mercy, rendering none?" [Duke]

"What judgment shall I dread, doing no wrong?" [Shylock]

"The quality of mercy is not strain'd,

It droppeth as the gentle rain from heaven 

Upon the place beneath; it is twice bless'd;

It blesseth him that gives and him that takes" [Portia, posing as a doctor of laws]

"A Daniel come to judgment!" [Shylock].

The histories were a pleasant surprise as they were nothing like as hard-going as I’d expected.  King John was the first and he was unlikely to get a good press but even so, his command that the young and entirely innocent Prince Arthur (arguably the true heir to the throne) should be killed by having his eyes burned out with a hot poker was rather a shock.  The sad tale of the weak and indecisive Richard II made much of the divine right of kings, which was poignant given that the English Civil War was to break out only about 50 years after it was written.

Henry IV Parts One and Two were lively as they portrayed at some length the dissolute youth of the future iconic Henry V – not just wine, women and song but theft and GBH too.  Part One has some genuinely laugh-out-loud moments, particularly when Hotspur is needling the Welsh arrogant windbag Owen Glendower (who fails to turn up for the fighting because he's had an unfavourable prophecy). Over the course of the two plays, Prince Henry matures into a wise, valiant and loyal young man, clearly destined for great things.
 
Part Two contains several well-known lines, including:

"He hath eaten me out of house and home."

"Uneasy lies the head that wears a crown."

Interestingly the Epilogue sounds as though it's to be read by Shakespeare himself.  It refers to his having had to appear before the audience at the end of a recent play which they were unhappy with, and having promised to come up with a better one.  He hopes this one meets with their - and his creditors' - approval and also says they will soon be able to see Henry V, in which Sir John Falstaff will feature again.

Henry V centres on how he defeated the French at Agincourt, despite his army being outnumbered five to one and his men and horses being tired and sick after the earlier battles in France.  He explains how sorry he is about the way his father, Henry IV, seized the English throne from Richard II and how he continues to do penance for it.  At the time the play was written, in about 1599, the issue of the succession was very much in people’s minds as Elizabeth clearly could not live too much longer and she had no children. It has some wonderfully stirring lines, particularly on the eve of battle, including:

"Once more unto the breach, dear friends, once more"

"Stiffen the sinews, summon up the blood"

"The game's afoot!"

"Cry, "God for Harry!  England and Saint George!""

"We few, we happy few, we band of brothers."

Unusually there is an epilogue which specifically looks ahead to the reign of his son, Henry VI, who lost much of what Henry V had achieved.

Henry VI Part One depicts a country plunging towards what will become the Wars of the Roses (although the phrase is never used in the play).  Henry has inherited the throne from his glorious father, Henry V, while only a child and reigns under the Protectorship of his uncle the Duke of Gloucester.  England is therefore vulnerable and although it eventually manages to defeat the French - who were aided by Joan of Arc, portrayed very unfavourably - internal dissensions between the major English factions are becoming all too clear.

In Part Two, Henry VI has developed into a pious and worthy man who would make a good priest but is unsuited to be a king, especially when civil unrest is brewing and finally flares up across the country.  The key women don’t come across well, especially the Protector’s wife, who ends up having to do three days’ public penance for her sins, walking barefoot on the sharp flints and filth of London’s streets, before being banished to the Isle of Man.  The focus of the play is on the widespread fighting and intrigue, emphasising the need for a strong and resolute monarch – a message that would have been very favourably received by Queen Elizabeth I.  The only quote which stuck in my mind was the memorable:

"The first thing we do, let's kill all the lawyers."

Part Three zips along, with further civil strife between the houses of York and Lancaster.  This, coupled with the weak kingship of Henry VI, leads to Edward Duke of York - an opportunist and generally bad egg - seizing the throne and proclaiming himself King Edward IV.  He causes instant uproar by marrying a relative commoner, who has come to him as a widow and a petitioner for her late husband’s lands.  At first Edward says she can only have the lands if she'll sleep with him, but when she refuses, he is so determined to satisfy his lust that he marries her instead - even though he has just sent the Earl of Warwick (who helped him get the throne) as an ambassador to secure a marriage to the King of France's sister.  Not surprisingly Warwick is furious, as is King Louis, and they launch an attack on England. 

The fortunes of each side vary, and we see Richard Duke of Gloucester - brother to King Edward IV, and the future Richard III - start his scheming to become King in due course.  He seizes the opportunity of Edward's eventual triumph to go to the Tower where Henry VI has been imprisoned and murder him, having already killed Henry's son.  Edward has a son, so Richard knows he'll have to get rid of Edward and his son, and his own older brother the Duke of Clarence if he wants to become King, but he's starting to lay his plans.

The last of the histories is Henry VIII, which Shakespeare wrote in collaboration with John Fletcher, probably in about 1613.  It is rather lacklustre and is pretty much a hymn of praise to the glory of the Elizabeth I and her parents, Henry VIII and Anne Boleyn (spelled Bullen in the play).  Anne is shown as virtuous and pious, and Henry as being genuinely troubled about whether his marriage to Katherine was legitimate - although it's also clear he is smitten with Anne.  This paeon of praise to them is not, however, at the expense of Katherine, who is greatly praised and portrayed as a virtuous woman and loyal wife who has been wholly wronged.  It is Cardinal Wolsey who is the villain, although interestingly he is portrayed as being a much happier and better man once he is cast aside and in disgrace.  Relieved of the burden of office, he can lead a far simpler and more spiritual life.  It makes one wonder whether Shakespeare was wishing he could spend more time in Stratford, enjoying the last few years of his life in relative peace and comfort.

Having finished the histories, I took a break for a few days before starting on the tragedies.  Coriolanus, Titus Andronicus, Timon of Athens and Troilus and Cressida were frankly all rather tedious, although Titus had the dubious distinction of being an absolute bloodbath from start to finish – rape, beheadings, entrails and tongue ripped out, cannibalism, hands being chopped off, etc.  Unlike Shakespeare's other Roman plays, Titus is fictional and may have been written to be in the same vein as the popular revenge tragedies of the period.  Although it was apparently popular at the time, its graphic violence was considered distasteful in later periods and it fell out of favour.  During a recent revival at the Globe, five members of the audience fainted as they watched one especially gory scene and first aiders had to be on hand throughout.

Luckily the next play was Othello – a superb portrayal of insidious jealousy and the destruction it can wreak, both on the person who is the object of the jealousy and on the person who is jealous.  Iago appears as almost pure evil, but he does at least have a motive of sorts: he has been passed over for promotion by Othello, who has appointed Cassio as his Lieutenant (who has no practical knowledge or experience of warfare, unlike Iago); and he suspects - probably wrongly - that Othello has at some point slept with his wife, Emilia. 

Othello too is not as gullible and unreasonable as he might seem.  He is susceptible to believing that Desdemona is unfaithful and lying to him because she did keep secret from her father her growing love for and then elopement with Othello; and also because despite her innocence and apparent naivety, she did behave with some cunning during their early days and gave him all the encouragement he needed to propose to her.  That's obviously no excuse for killing her, but it does help to explain why Othello is so quick to believe Iago's blackening of her character.

The language and imagery are outstanding: 

"Trifles light as air 

Are to the jealous confirmations strong 

As proofs of holy writ"

"I will wear my heart upon my sleeve."

"thereby hangs a tale"

"...  he that filches from me my good name 

Robs me of that which not enriches him

And makes me poor indeed."

[of jealousy] "It is the green-ey'd monster"

"...then must you speak 

Of one that loved not wisely, but too well".

After that, almost any play would suffer by comparison but Anthony and Cleopatra also contains some striking passages, especially Enobarbus’ speech describing Cleopatra seated in her royal barge, which burned on the water “like a burnish’d throne”. Other memorable lines include:

"My salad days"

"Age cannot wither her, nor custom stale

Her infinite variety"

"Be a child o' the time."

Finally I came to Cymbeline, the last on my list.  It was quite a challenging read, as it's written in a sort of Middle English which reminded me of wrestling with Chaucer; there are very few stage directions so you don't realise at first that the scene has switched to a completely different country; "Enter" can mean either enter or exit, which makes it hard to fathom what’s going on; there aren't always full stops so you have to work out whether the language has become even more obscure or whether in fact a new sentence has started; and the spelling of names isn't consistent, which makes it harder to keep track of the numerous characters.

Set against the backdrop of a battle between the British and the Romans, in the reign of Augustus Caesar, it includes a wicked stepmother, banishments, disguises, troubled love and a beheading – but a happy ending.  I don’t think anyone will complain that this is a spoiler, as I’d be surprised if anyone wants to read it.  I was certainly happy to finish it:

Overall I enjoyed this challenge and definitely feel enriched by the experience.  Some of the social history aspects were interesting, for example the fact that it was considered unacceptable for a gentleman to hit his wife unless she had done something pretty extreme.  I was surprised by the very wide range of countries the plays are set in, and by the use of different languages, particularly Latin.  Most of all what struck me was the variation in quality between the plays, from the workaday to the absolutely sublime. 

Task 41: Make a nightdress

Ideally I would have used my own sewing machine for this, once I’d learned how to use it (Task 40), but it’s in the UK and I’m in Cape Town for quite a while.  Also, most importantly, my friend Rowena - aka the Domestic Goddess - is here too and as soon as she saw my list of tasks, she immediately bagged these two to help with.  Amongst her many talents, she is extremely skilled at sewing and makes nearly all her own clothes, as well as doing commissions for other people.  It’s such an important part of her life that she has a sewing machine and overlocker in her apartment in Cape Town, in addition to all her equipment at her house near Carlisle.

A nightdress may seem a slightly curious choice but at school I made several dresses and the obligatory apron, whereas I’ve never made a nightie before.  Also it seems almost impossible to find the type I like in the shops or online.  Surely there must be a market for ones which are full length with long sleeves and a mandarin collar, in an attractive light-weight cotton that doesn’t need ironing?  Doesn’t anyone else find they like a collar that sticks up, to keep their neck warm, and long sleeves so that they don’t wake themselves up by breathing on their arms?  (This latter point may sound strange, but I can’t believe I’m the only person who sleeps lightly enough for it to be an issue.)

For years I’ve been looking for just the right garment and eventually I found it - on a boat on the Nile.  We were on a river cruise and the night of the Egyptian fancy dress party was looming.  By a happy coincidence the boat stocked the appropriate gear and I bought a cotton robe in a lovely vibrant turquoise, complete with outer vestment and matching little scarf, all for the princely sum of £4.  Afterwards I was wondering what to do with it and realised the robe would make a perfect nightie.  Well, almost perfect as I discovered - too late - that it leached colour every time it was washed.

Anyway, it provided an excellent template and some years ago I asked Rowena if she would make me a stockpile, based on it (I insisted on paying a decent amount for this precious acquisition).  Now I had the challenge of making one myself, with Rowena on hand to provide expert advice and support - and the use of her machine.

The first step was to buy the fabric, which proved surprisingly difficult.  Cape Town has a wealth of fabric shops but they principally cater to the Indian and Cape Malay market, which favours highly coloured sequinned brocade and brushed nylon tartan.  Luckily Rowena had earlier spotted a light cotton in a deep shade of coral and in the end I opted for that, having reluctantly decided that I really couldn’t expect Peter to put up with sharing a bed with a full length version of Winnie the Pooh in technicolour glory.

It took about three sessions of a couple of hours each to cut out and sew the nightie, not helped by my accidentally pinning the incorrect sides of the shoulder and sleeve together.  Here is Rowena, still smiling despite the substantial demands on her patience and good nature:

She had decided I should stretch myself by adding three more sophisticated elements to the existing template: a yoke, a curved rather than a squared-off front piece, and top stitching over the curve, the collar, the yoke and some of the other seams.  The most difficult part by far was the collar, followed by trying to wrestle the front piece between the two sections of the yoke, together with the interfacing, so that all the seams matched up and were facing the right way.  I was taking detailed notes and realising why most nighties don’t have mandarin collars - it’s far too much work.  Once that stage was over, it became more straightforward and I enjoyed doing the long seams and the top stitching:

Things have moved on a lot since I last used a sewing machine - at university, to make a tennis dress - and Rowena introduced me to the options available if you don’t have an overlocker: a flat felled seam, a French seam or an ordinary seam but with zigzag stitching.  Interestingly she virtually never tacks anything, relying instead on finger pressing, ironing, and using long pins which you can safely machine over.

Finally we were there and I was able to don the completed garment, which was further customised to provide extra-long sleeves, to allow for the fabric riding up when the arms aren’t straight:

And here is the detail of the front piece and collar, which required so much concentration:

I learned a lot, including tips from Rowena that only come with experience and flair.  In the process I realised just what skill goes into producing even quite simple garments.  Most importantly, perhaps, I have become smitten with the idea of taking this further and learning how to make more things for myself.  Already I’ve started looking at make up bags, tote bags, tea towels etc and thinking “I could do that”.  I’m really looking forward to getting to grips with my sewing machine at home and pursuing this new interest.

Task 51: Visit 5 museums I've never been to before - 4th post

The idea for this particular visit came from my friend Morag, whose work includes liaising with the Irma Stern Museum, which is governed by the University of Cape Town and the Irma Stern Trust. She very kindly offered to ask the Director, Christopher Peter, whether he might be willing to give me a private guided tour of the Museum and he equally kindly agreed - and said he would also provide coffee and cake.  Bliss!

The Museum was established in 1971 and aims to promote an understanding and appreciation of the life, work and travels of Irma Stern, a major South African artist, by displaying a collection of her art and artefacts in her home in Rosebank just outside the centre of Cape Town, where she lived for almost 40 years until her death in 1966.

Irma was born in 1894 to German Jewish parents in what was then the Transvaal (now the North West Province of South Africa).  Her father was interned during the Anglo Boer War (1899-1902) because of his pro-Boer sympathies.  Her mother took her and her younger brother to Cape Town and after her father was released, the family went to Germany, where they stayed until returning to settle in Cape Town in 1920.  During this period they travelled regularly between the two countries and in parts of Europe.  This pattern of frequent and extensive travel characterised the rest of Irma's life.

In 1912 she started formal art studies in Berlin and - through the support of the Expressionist, Max Pechstein - held her first solo exhibition there four years later.  Although successful in Europe, her work was initially derided as ugly when she returned to live in Cape Town and it wasn’t until the 1940s that she achieved success in South Africa too.  Much of her work was portraiture, with paintings generally completed in only one sitting.  Examples can be seen in the photo below, behind Christopher and me, in the dining room:

Irma was a very versatile artist, working in a wide range of media and producing ceramics and sculpture as well as paintings.  Some of her sculpture can be seen in the garden as well as inside the house:

She also, rather like the Bloomsbury artists, decorated many of her cupboards and other furniture:

Her studio includes a number of her ceramics and paintings, as well as artefacts in wood and fabric that she collected on her travels, particularly in the Congo, Zanzibar and southern Africa during the Second World War, when travel to Europe was difficult.  Some of these, including the striped plate which you can see on the second shelf of the cupboard on the left in the photo below, feature as props in her paintings:

Like most of the house, the studio gives the impression that Irma has only just left the room and there is an almost palpable feeling of her presence.  She had a powerful and vibrant personality, which is reflected throughout her home.  Everywhere, from floor to ceiling - not just in the rooms but in the passageways too - there are her vividly coloured paintings and African wooden carved objects collected by her.  Even her front door was picked up on one of her trips to Zanzibar:

Inevitably not all her work can be displayed and it was a particular pleasure to be shown some of the paintings that Kathy, a consultant working at the Museum for the Irma Stern Trust, is busy researching and listing.  Irma was a prolific artist, who held more than a hundred solo exhibitions, and it must feel at times like an almost endless challenge but it's clear that Kathy is undaunted.

Irma had a complex personality, which for me adds to the interest of seeing her work, particularly the portraits.  She was physically very large and seems to have expanded steadily over the years, assisted by copious quantities of sachertorte and regular entertaining.  She was unsparing in her comments on others, which perhaps accounts - as well as her skill - for the preponderance of single-sitting portraits.  Sadly her marriage in 1926 (ironically, on 1 April) to her former tutor was a disaster - not of her making - and ended in divorce a few years later.  She never married again. Fortunately, however, her zest for life remained undimmed.

After a wonderful time exploring the Museum, enjoying the extensive knowledge and expertise of Christopher and Kathy, we - Morag, my husband Peter and me - repaired with them to the dining room for coffee.  Christopher had excelled himself and provided not only the promised cake (caramel - yum!) but also egg sandwiches with the crusts removed and scones with delicious apricot jam.  Also with us, though not in the photo below, was the cat Clarissa.  She has recently decided to move in during the daytime and reclines on the settee, looking rather splendid.  

A little later, and before we had started tucking in, we were joined by Lucinda (the Administrator) and Mary (the Curator).  In  the photo below, Kathy is at the head of the table, with Lucinda next to her, then Morag and Mary.  It was a very jolly gathering and I felt so lucky to be part of it.

The Museum is a real gem and I would urge anyone who has the opportunity, to visit it - even if cake is not an option.

Task 44: Go on a glass-making course

The idea for this came from a day at a bead fair with my friend Pauline, when we both spent ages choosing some hand-made glass beads and picked up a leaflet about glass-making courses offered by the artist.  I love glass and enjoy making beaded jewellery, so a short course that combined the two seemed perfect.

It occurred to me that it might be possible to do a similar course in Cape Town and if so, it was likely to be cheaper than in the UK.  After some googling, I found one that sounded exactly what I was after - a one-day course by Nicky Hayden in the Cape Town area. When I rang her, she was friendly and helpful, and suggested that rather than go to her studio in Durbanville, it might be more convenient for me to go to her other studio at the Biscuit Mill in the heart of Cape Town, where she works on Saturdays.  That suited me fine, as it's only about three miles from where we are renting an apartment, and is a really interesting location.  It's a lively food and high quality craft market which is open every Saturday, on the site of an old biscuit mill.

We agreed a date and Nicky very kindly offered to gear the course to my particular interests and (lack of) abilities.  It would be one-to-one and she would provide hot drinks - courtesy of her obliging husband Terry - and a sandwich lunch.

I arrived at 9.30am and after a safety briefing Nicky started by explaining about the properties of different types of glass and what they are used for.  The type most often used for bead making is Effetre glass, which is one of the softest and available in a wide range of colours.  It comes in long thin rods, which are heated to about 520 degrees until the glass begins to melt and can be moulded.  Safety glasses are needed to protect the eyes from the sodium flare.  They have the effect of making the flame appear a soft mauve, rather than a harsh white/orange.

My first task, following a demonstration by Nicky, was to make a simple round bead. Having heated a thin steel rod called a mandrel, which you hold horizontally in your left hand (if you are right-handed), you select a coloured glass rod and heat the tip in the flame, holding it like a pencil in your right hand, until it starts to melt.  You then slowly and evenly rotate the mandrel so that the molten glass forms a smooth circle around it.  If the edges start to get uneven, you use a metal paddle to firm and straighten them, while continuing to rotate the mandrel.

My first attempt was a complete failure.  It wasn't remotely round and it fractured:

After three more tries I improved, though you can see the huge gulf between my efforts - the blue glass blobs - and Nicky's.

Next came the making of a barrel bead, by forming two circles of molten glass on the mandrel and then in-filling the space between with more circles and finally fattening up this base layer, to create one smooth barrel-shaped bead.  My second attempt in turquoise opaque glass was an improvement on my first in clear blue glass, but neither bears comparison with Nicky's in dark green:

After a cup of tea we moved on to making stringers, which are extremely thin rods of glass used for adding little raised dots onto beads.  You heat the tip of a normal rod until it starts to form a molten ball.  Using tweezers, you then grasp that ball and quickly pull it out to form a long thin rod, or stringer, which you snip off with pliers:

That was relatively simple but I had problems using my stringers to make beads with raised dots.  In theory all I had to do was make a simple round bead and while it was still soft, heat the tip of the stringer and - out of the flame - place a tiny blob of it onto the surface of the bead, and then bring the bead up to the outer edge of the flame to cut the stringer.  This has to be repeated for each dot, which should be evenly sized and spaced around the bead.  I managed one reasonable dot, but the rest were a mess.  Nicky's, as you can see, were perfect:

After lunch, things improved as we moved on to creating beads with pressed-in dots.  The technique is the same as for raised dots, except that you keep the bead in the flame and gently press the molten stringer glass into the bead, so that the dot is absorbed flush into it. I enjoyed the process and my green and black bead at least bore some comparison to Nicky's blue and white one:

Finally, I had a go at making a similar style of bead but using tiny millefiori ("thousand flower") beads instead of a stringer.  The technique is similar except that you hold the millefiori bead with tweezers in the flame and push it into the round bead, using just enough heat and pressure without distorting the flower image.  I found it difficult not to overheat and/or squash the millefiori bead so that it entirely lost its flower image, and in trying to avoid this I forgot to keep the round "host" bead at a constant temperature, which meant it started to lose its shape.  Here is the end result, with my effort on the left and Nicky's on the right, with a collection of millefiori beads below which Nicky generously gave me:

I thoroughly enjoyed the whole experience and was delighted to receive a certificate at the end, which at least proves I was there!