Hastings Phil rises to the occasion

Setting things up: Francis Rayner, pianist, in Christ Church

Saturday saw an excellent tea-time concert from the Hastings Philharmonic Choir in Christ Church, Saint Leonard's.  Lasting a mere hour and a quarter, it was mainly devoted to four hymns that originated in Gregorian chant but were subsequently elaborated into motets.  In each case a group of guest soloists, together with the musical director Marcio Da Silva, first sang the Gregorian chant original and this was then followed by one or two samples of subsequent treatment.  The choir seemed on good form, and guest soloists Sarah Rowley, Victor Soares, Phil O'Meara and Henry Bennett added some star quality.  

The group of hymns was followed by three other pieces: three brief songs by Marcio Da Silva and two pieces by Whitacre, the first of which - When David Heard - is a deeply moving expression of profound grief, based on the short passage in the Old Testament describing David's reaction to the death of his son Absalom.

The meditative nature of the programme was enhanced by the superb surroundings of Sir Arthur Blomfield's masterpiece of a church, completed in 1875 and still a bastion of so high a version of Anglicanism it virtually disappears into the Vatican.  On previous occasions I've found the accoustic somewhat erratic but this time I managed to get a seat near the front so got the full effect of both choir and soloists - particular mention should be made of Henry Bennett's superb bass voice, which resonated beautifully in the lower register.  

Lovely music, stunning surroundings.  I have only one quibble: each piece of music was introduced by a member of the choir, giving us some background.  It's a practice I dislike, and always makes me feel like a child in a classroom.  What's more, it interrupts the flow of the music.  Everything said could have been contained, far more efficiently, in notes on a photocopied sheet of A4, which we could have read at our leisure.    Less of the talking, more of the singing, please!

Antony Mair

Stonewalling at the Hilton

Those who survived to the end - back row, Chris Walters, Brie, Paula Stevens-Hoare, Darren Souch, Lucy Hards, Emma Whitby-Smith; front row, Paul McQuillan and Antony Mair

"Like your frock," I said to the bearded young man who was asking me if I knew which table I was on at the Stonewall Equality Dinner last Friday.  It was a sleeveless cotton number, more suited to a vicarage teaparty in the countryside than the plush surroundings of the Park Lane Hilton.  But one needs to celebrate diversity on an occasion like this.  "Like your waistcoat," he obligingly replied.  (I had wheeled out my old Tom Gilbey number for the occasion,)

Phil Price and Jane Milligan

680 of the country's more well-heeled gays, lesbians, bisexuals and trans had gathered to raise funds for the Stonewall cause, at a cost per ticket that was eye-watering.  But that was just the start.  Christopher Biggins, with a flair that revealed new dimensions of camp, conducted a live auction that raised £100k, with people bidding for items ranging from a trip to the theatre and visit backstage to tea with Joan Collins and Liz Hurley - for which someone on a table near us paid a mere £20,000.  (I did notice he put his head in his hands afterwards as if to say "What have I done?").  Raffle tickets were £20 apiece.  There was also a "silent auction" which was like our own Ebay, where bids were registered on tablets left on our tables.  I noticed that a KitchenAid mixer was going for something reasonable, so put in a few bids, but the lesbians put me firmly in my place and it rocketed to double the retail price.  Oh well.

Chris Walters, Darren Souch, Paul McQuillan and Martin Bikhit

There was a clutch of celebs, whom we all tried not to ogle excessively.  Graham Norton was sporting a beard.  "It's grey," people were muttering in shock.  Beside us was an all-male table of well-groomed David Beckham lookalikes.  I thought they were luvvies but learnt they were lawyers and estate agents.  We had a rousing speech from Ruth Hunt, the new CEO, about Stonewall's aims, both domestic and international.  The not-luvvies beside us leapt to their feet to applaud at the end.  Stella Duffy conducted the fundraising part, and news about the amount being pledged was flashed up on large screens on either side of the stage.

Paula Stevens-Hoare 

Clare Balding - who, by the way, is even more charming and svelte offscreen - and other glitterati  left discreetly before the drunken rabble took to the floor for the disco.  We left some time in the early hours, rather the worse for wear, and with distinctly depleted resources.

I'm still pants with my mobile and photos but had my dinosaur's camera with me so here are some clips of our crowd.  Are they on Facebook?  Is the Pope Catholic?  

Antony Mair

Ryan Elterman, Brie, Paula Stevens-Hoare

Emma Whitby-Smith, Ryan Elterman, Lucy Hards and Paul McQuillan

The scandal of Ecclesbourne Glen

View of "the bunker" from East Hill

When we bought our house in Hastings, we had a vague knowledge of the Country Park, which stretches from Hastings along the cliffs to the east.  Its discovery was a revelation to us. 

A long flight of about 180 steps starts opposite our house, climbing up to the top of East Hill, which is the beginning of the Park.  Views from here are spectacular, over Hastings Old Town, out to sea, and, when you climb a little further, across to the adjoining areas of grassland on top of the cliffs.  We weren't aware at the time that the Park is part of the High Weald Area of Outstanding Natural Beauty, and has been designated a Special Area of Conservation, a Site of Special Scientif Interest and a Local Nature Reserve.

Between the areas of high grassland and heath there are a number of deep gullies, or glens, which are areas of centuries old vegetation - gnarled trees and rare ferns.  It is a wonderful haven for wildlife and a very special area for walkers.  

Earlier this year a building suddenly intruded on the view eastwards from East Hill - an angular projection that is the upper storey of a newly-built edifice for which planning permission was unaccountably given by Hastings Borough Council in 2013.  It has become known as "the bunker", and can be seen in the picture above.  The building as erected was larger than that for which approval had been given, and the owners, who operate a caravan park on the other side of the building, which cannot be seen in the above picture, put in an application for retrospective planning permission.  The outcry in the local community was immense.  An action group was formed, a planning barrister was brought in to oppose the application on its hearing before the Planning Committee, and permission was refused.

There is now paralysis.  The building is illegal as it stands, but no enforcement notice has yet been served for it to be demolished.  Campaigners have formed an association, and matters are being closely monitored.  The Council is under pressure to enforce.  It remains to be seen whether they will have the good sense to do so.  Meanwhile the blot on the landscape continues to wreck the view and the natural beauty of the landscape, supposedly protected, is disfigured.

More information can be found on the campaigners' Facebook page.  You can help by joining the Association!

Antony Mair

Social media - participate or disappear

In Mallorca in June

I had a bit of a Facebook débâcle the other day.  Realising that my profile was somewhat incomplete, I added some further details - notably that I was in a civil partnership with Paul.  Now this event occurred in France (so it was a PACS, which is treated as a CP in the UK) almost six years ago.  I thought I was simply clarifying the record.  Little did I realise that it came across to the world as if we had just entered into a civil partnership here in the UK.  The result was not only a deluge of "likes" and messages of congratulation but furious phonecalls from Paul's sisters asking why they hadn't been informed.  

This taught me two things immediately.  First, I'm incompetent on Facebook.  Secondly, though, that masses of the people we know actually follow people on it.  As a result, if you don't participate at all you run the risk of disappearing.

This road to Damascus experience came at just the right moment.  I've been a little obsessed in recent months with my poetic efforts, and have as a result tended to retire into my little shell.  I should know at this advanced stage of life that I can become obsessive and that it's almost invariably a Bad Thing.  

In fact it's been a wonderful summer down here in Hastings - and although I've chosen a picture (not actually a selfie in the proper sense) from our holiday in Mallorca earlier this year, the sunny background could easily, with slight adjustment - insertion of fishing huts and shingle beach and fish and chip shops - be Hastings.  The poetry obsession got its grip with a week's summer school on campus at Lancaster University in July, and I then spent my time entering one competition after another - without winning even an honourable mention in any of them.  So a bit of retreating and regrouping has taken place, with the realisation that I personally don't write better through obsessing about it, because the writing becomes overly self-conscious.  Alas, that Nobel Prize is never going to land in my lap.  But I've got so much else to be thankful for and happy about that I can live with that degree of failure.

Also, I realised that I needed to get back to blogging, which is good fun.  I shall even have to improve my Facebook expertise.  And who knows, by being a little more in touch with everyone I might even improve on the poetry front.

Antony Mair    

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