Pirates Day - and it's more dressing up

Pirates taking a break over a latte

Dressing-up has never really done it for me.  I usually think of it as the last refuge of the bored, like Marie-Antoinette dressing up as a shepherdess at Versailles.  My heart sinks at the thought of those parties of Vicars and Tarts or invitations accompanied by a note that the theme of the evening is Donald Duck.  

But it's difficult to be curmudgeonly on Pirates Day in Hastings, where all and sundry dress as if they're to be auditioned by Johnny Depp for a starring role beside his swashbuckling persona.  Last year we made a firm resolution to make a bit more of an effort this year, but alas the day came upon us without our having acquired even a bandanna, let alone a parrot on the shoulder.

We strolled down George Street for a coffee on Sunday morning, and there was already a good sprinkling of people in three-cornered hats - if you're being serious about the costume, men are expected to wear a hat, a frock-coat sort of garment, breeches and boots with big floppy tops, and above all a belt adorned with pewter mug and various pieces of weaponry.  Parrots on the shoulder are optional.  Women also go in for the three-cornered hat, but after that it's all bodices and boobs bubbling over the top.  As for accessories - sashes, cummerbunds and a plentiful mixture of skulls and crossbones.

A man with a wooden leg came into his own, and pegged his way up and down George Street very convincingly.  Then the drummers came along - I'm not sure what's piratical about drummers, but there are a number of drumming groups in the town who emerge on most civic occasions, so they have to be included.  Buxom wenches with drums are a tad odd, but then the whole day's pretty odd.  It's best to think of cuddly cinema stars rather than Somali thugs boarding oil tankers and holding people to ransom.  And, of course, dressing-up is only part of the deal.  The other element is alcohol.  After the initial appearance and mutual admiration of costumes the serious drinking gets under way.  We had fled by that point, but our painter, whose hangover the following day was so bad that he failed to appear on site, said that "things got messy".  

We'll make more of an effort next year, folks.  Honest we will.

Antony Mair 

Learning about scaffolding

Scaffolding at No. 7

We've been living with workmen for the past few weeks.  The flank wall of the house has been needing attention.  The building is timber-framed on two sides, and brick faced with render on the other two.  This means that it sways slightly in a gale - and last winter we had those in spades.  Timber can sway, of course, but brick and render is rigid - as a result, we had cracks down the flank wall.  During the winter storms the rain found its way in and damp patches appeared on the new lath and plaster inside.

So repairs had to be undertaken, and preventive measures to stop the damage recurring.  First, though, came the question of scaffolding.  Our previous experiences with scaffolders hasn't been great.  Cheeky Cockney types have thrown poles and boards around with wild abandon and asked for cash in the hand.  More like the dark side of the building trade than a business transaction.

But that's all changed.  With our new scaffolders I've learnt how tricky the job is, and how important for the people working high above ground.  It's not an easy task in this case, since the road is narrow, and large trucks need room to turn left into Tackleway, so you can't encroach on the pavement at the top.  The first time we put scaffolding up we succeeded in preventing the bin lorries from collecting from the entire street for several weeks, which doesn't make you popular.  

Enter new master scaffolder Paul Bond, with his newly-formed business Tubetech.  The scaffolding is pinned to the wall with drill holes at regular intervals, and cantilevered at one end to allow trucks to get past.  The projecting poles have been cut short so that they don't project into the street.  The whole structure is so firm that I've lost all fear about going up to the top of it - and at forty feet above ground I can tell you it's a long way up.  Most fascinating of all is speaking to Paul about the technicalities of scaffolding as he looks at other structures round the area - and there's a lot around at the moment, since everyone's repairing damage from the winter storms.  I now understand the extent to which scaffolding needs to be rigid and properly braced so that it provides a safe working environment for the series of builders and painters we've had working on the wall for several weeks.  

The best moment, of course, is when the scaffolding comes down and we're back to normal.  But that's going to take a few days yet.

Antony Mair

Rain doesn't stop play at Fairlight Hall

Concert-goers undeterred by the weather

Glyndebourne has a lot to answer for.  It has spawned the English fashion of summer musical events in the countryside at which stoical Brits are encouraged to defy the vagaries of the weather and listen to music in the open air, with a picnic before or after the event, or in the interval.  Earlier this summer we experienced the best way in which it can work out, with an idyllic evening at Glyndebourne.  Yesterday we had the other end of the scale at Fairlight Hall.

Not that you could blame either the music or the organisers.  The occasion was a recital by the South Korean pianist Taek Gi Lee, winner of the Hastings International Piano Concerto Competition earlier this year.  The main patrons of the Competition, David and Sarah Kowitz, generously host a recital given by the winner each year.  It takes place in a former stable block at the Kowitzes' home, Fairlight Hall.  The horses' quarters have been converted into a music room with the courtyard wall glazed and folding back on itself so that those sitting in the courtyard have the full benefit of the sound, while the musicians are under cover.  A degree of shelter is given to those in the courtyard, by three giant parasols.

All seemed fine to begin with - the mesmerising Taek Gi played a Bach Prelude and Fugue rather mechanically, limbered up with a Haydn piano sonata and then gave us the full percussive works with some Prokofiev.  In the interval we stood around in the beautiful grounds of Fairlight Hall, admiring the view and sipping Pimm's, before returning to the courtyard for Rachmaninoff, Schubert and Lowell Liebermann.

The Rachmaninoff - Variations on a Theme of Corelli - was great, but when it came to a Schubert Impromptu the rain began and the music was drowned out for those in the courtyard by the drumming of rain on the parasols.  Brits being Brits, there was a bit of shuffling of seats to get under the parasols, but no protests.  The Great and the Good were safely banked under cover in the music room, but Sarah Kowitz had elected to place herself in an exposed position in the courtyard.  As a result, some of us felt a tad uncomfortable at seeing her get wetter and wetter as the Schubert proceeded.  

The Lowell Liebermann piece was appropriately titled Gargoyles.  You may recollect that gargoyles are grotesque figures with spouts, designed to convey rain from a rooftop without it touching the walls.  The full irony of this piece was clear when I looked up at the parasols, where each prong was illustrating the music's theme with total success.  Our hostess was now sitting with a waterproof on her knees, though she had managed to ease her head under the parasol.

We all enjoyed it, needless to say, and trudged back with a degree of self-satisfaction through the magnificent grounds of Fairlight Hall to the inevitable field where our cars were parked.  The picnic-goers had done their best to pretend we live beside the Mediterranean.  No gain without pain, as the saying goes - particularly when it comes to culture in the countryside.

Antony Mair