Stretched pictures solved.

I am aware that in the several posts to my blog whilst travelling in the last three weeks, that many of the photographs particularly those which were taken in portrait mode were inexplicably elongating to the point of being irritating and worthless to view! I think I have solved the problem and by redesigning the site and using a more simple template it would appear that the issue is resolved! Have a review and tell me if it has not rectified the problem. I’m now safely back in Australia and return to work with a vengeance! Summer swimming has ceased and so I will probably be cycling more frequently and perhaps getting to the gym once or twice a week.

Oklahoma

To my disappointment, a new production of one of my favourite musicals was about to open in London the week after I left! If it is in London now there is the possibility that hopefully it will appear in Australia in the next few months or at least during this year or possibly next. Many of my readers might be fascinated to learn or to see me playing the recorder especially as it seems to occupy a significant part of my blogs and whether I’m playing in the toilet or the gymnasium of the hotel, I think I’m slowly improving! Hopefully in the next few weeks I can upload a video of my musical endeavours! Now that I’m back in Australia unfortunately the frequency of my blogging will decrease but there is the tantalising prospect of further holidays in September when I will be going to Istanbul and then joining a swim trek around the Greek islands for a week! Then cycle down around the south of Italy!    If you want to join me, start training!

The one thing which was rather silly was I miscalculated the weather in Britain and I became seriously cold when visiting my cousin in Newcastle., Silly me I assume that as it was Spring……

A poster from WW I Part of the new display of Music of the Great War at the Royal Academy of Music

A poster from WW I Part of the new display of Music of the Great War at the Royal Academy of Music

My Last Night in London 

A night at the Opera


I met my niece Meg amongst the thousands of predominately young people in a frenzy of noise, alcohol and aimless meandering. One may question the juxtaposition of “frenzy” and “meandering”, yet to my mind that is the best way to describe it. 

Meg works as a physiotherapist at one of the London metropolitan hospitals in the acute assessment section of the Emergency Department.She has accepted a permanent position till 2018, so is committed to Britain for a few years. 

We had a memorable meal at a Peruvian Restaurant in Covent Garden a stone’s throw from what are arguably two of the main attractions of my materialistic existance: the Royal Opera House and the London Apple Store! Covent Garden is the centre of the Theatre world in London and on this evening, could well have been the centre of the universe. 

Several events took place today in London that drove crowds to fill the streets to capacity: the Annual Head of the River (women) and the release of the Apple watch. Finally there was the other quality that brings every Londoner out of the woods – the sun. I am reminded of the witty song about the English weather by Flanders and Swan “January brings the snow..” which describes weather conditions each month and that for July goes “In July the sun is hot, is it shining…….? No it’s not.”

The Apple Store is as packed as the Tokyo Underground. People are drawn like iron filings to a magnet by the Apple Watch. I have not worn a watch for almost 30 years. Can I resist the temptation?
Back to the Opera at Covent Garden and the Royal Opera House. I had a seat in the front row of the Grand Tier (left) for the opening night of that joyful Rossini opera buffo  ‘Il Turco in Italia”.  It was beautifully sung and the orchestra was more than a match but….. I had attended the same opera last year in Melbourne, the Australian Opera  production directed by Simon Phillips, his staging was  extraordinary, world class, beating the ROH offering by a country mile. The Australian singers not only sang their hearts out, but had been thoroughly coached in acting and had perfect timing in both singing and their comedy acting. The Melbourne  production was set in the 1950s on the beach in a bustling Italian trattoria and coffee shop. Vibrant primary colours and those blue, green and pink pastels so reminiscent of that time. The star was the dark handsome macho Salim the Turk who acted his high camp heart out. An outrageous and uproariously funny, unforgettable evening. In summary though the London experience was  not without its moments and as an opera tragic, I had a great night out.
 

part of Covent Garden market

  

the Crush Room at yhe Opera where you may eat your lobster and champagne at interval

  

the auditorium

  

the modern addition to the Opera house

 

A Musician in the Gym

An American woman, I would estimate in her early 50’s (although Botulinum is not known as a ‘toxin’ for nothing) enters the hotel gym. I was until then alone, saddled on a cycle machine, with my sheet music on the computer screen, an excellent music stand. Rather than climbing the virtual Pyrenees, I am scaling C major. The America, with rather tight leotards and face to boot, encourages me to continue. I decide that it would be better to attempt a recognisable tune, rather than scales, and launch into ‘Greensleeves’.  I finish with a flourish and I do confess with a slight degree of satisfaction as I played it rather well. This was confirmed by the sole member of my captive audience who exclaimed breathlessly “that was beauooooootiful!” Pausing to take a mouthful of Spring Water, she enquired if I was a “professional musician?” No, she was serious! Demurely I said no I was simply learning to keep my brain active. I was on a roll here so I said of course that was “Greensleeves”.  Yes she said……. its a wonderful Christmas Carol. Feeling rather Peter Sellarish, I then ventured that it was composed by King Henry V111. Now that you mention it she said, as she picked up speed, I do recall that. He was very talented wasn’t he. This being more of a statement than a question. By now I quickly realised that I could safely return to my scales, the Adagio from the Mozart Clarinet concerto, my signature piece, would fall on deaf ears.


The Last Day in London

It is Saturday. The morning newspapers describe an episode of road rage, appropriately outside the Waterloo Underground station. A male pedestrian attempted to punch and beat up a driver through his car window. The driver accelerated away and knocked over another 2 pedestrians and collided with 3 other cars as he sped away. The headlines attributed the temper tantrum to the ‘heat wave’. The maximum temperature yesterday was 17 degrees centigrade!
This, the final day of my symposium, promises such stimulating topics as “Systemic mechanisms of anti-epilpetic protection” which is the opening lecture at 8am. It can only get better. The highlight of Thursday was ‘Animal models of status epilepticus: persectives on predictability and translation”. Surely I can be forgiven for heading to the Royal Academy of Music on Friday? I made sure that I arrived back in time for the plenary session on “Intramuscular and rectal therapies of acute seizures”.
The opening lecture today was, if possible, worse than I anticipated. The blameless Professor was from Russia with an accent so thick as to be unintelligible. Obviously aware of this impediment to audience understanding, his talk was completely subtitled in English as PowerPoint slides. This attempt at improving communication was sadly negated by content. All the studies he presented were from the 1980s and I have a strong suspicion were the results of his own endeavours when he was an enthusiastic young researcher in the Siberian hinterland 3 generations ago.
By contrast I could quite easily have spent three full days dipping into an amazing summer programme of free recitals, lectures and masterclasses at the Royal Academy of Music. A simply stunning London musical institution. Visit their web site.
In summary and to be brutally frank and truthful, I would have gained much more if I had stayed at home and taken a week to read UpToDate. So what were the take home messages? Firstly that status epilepsy is VERY bad for the brain. The genesis of prolonged seizures is basically still unknown and finally that midazalam is the drug of choice squirted into the nose rather than the rectum.  All points that were not exactly revelations to me.
A few observations on shopping in London. Don’t bother! Windows is better, and I am not talking computers. Bargains don’t exist especially since the fall in the value of the dollar. That said all the iconic streets and shops crawl with consumers. More numerous than date palms in the Sahara, black burkha clad women cut a swathe through their scantily clad young western equivalents, heading to Harrods where they hover around haberdashery before a furtive dash to lingerie. A whole wall of delicate lace G strings confronts  them. They snap them up and like a Model T Ford, they can have any colour they like, so long as it is black.
I am on a never ending quest to buy some “grandpa collar”shirts. I enter one of those shops with loud music playing, bright Hawaii surf shirts, acres of designer sunglasses and board shorts. The alarm to detect shop lifters as they leave in these stores is inavriably camouflaged in wood that is dressed up to look like so much shipwrecked  timber, flotsam washed up on a sandy island.
A young woman sales assistant at the entrance asks me “Can I help you Sir?” The tone of the voice and inflection is not in anyway taken as an offer to help me choose. No it is definitely more of an oblique reference to the fact that I am at least two generations past the profile of their average shopper. Indeed  it is a kindly way of paraphrasing “Good morning, sir, you are obviously rather lost and confused and I am here to help and show you the way out and point you in the direction of Marks and Spencer’s.” 
  

Unashamed iPhone food photos

Birthday coming up?

Happy to organise a cake or two from Selfridges, given sufficient warning 

 I acknowledge that some of you may find these “over the top”. I agree and certainly the little cup cakes on the top of the large cake is taking things a little too far.

Finally 

The Entree at the Kensington hotel restaurant 

 

The Royal Academy of Music

The Academy was founded in 1822 and is the oldest musical conservatoire in Britain. It is devoted to educating and training some of the world’s greatest musicians. The museum is an outstanding and fascinating collection for anyone with an interest in music. It has had bequeathed some remarkable and unique collections including those of Sir Arthur Sullivan and Yehudi Menuhin. The original score for ‘Three Little Maids from School’ is showcased as is a picture of an adolescent Menuhin with Sir Edward Elgar – of ‘Land of Hope and Glory’ fame.

The inaugural Professor of Singing was one Manuel Garcia, also the longest serving from 1848 to 1895. He taught Jenny Lind. In fact she was Swedish and as a soprano was world renowned, known as the ‘Swedish Nightingale’. She was self  taught  and blessed with a natural talent, but without guidance had a vocal breakdown. Apparently her vocal cords were severely scared.  She was taken under the wing of Professor Garcia who as a consequence of his insight and talent, invented the first laryngoscope all the more to peer down Ms Lind’s throat. So the laryngoscope was not originally a medical device but rather a sort of musical instrument, usurped by the medical profession, skillfully played by them to make millions.  Apparently Hans Christian Anderson fell hopelessly in love with Ms Lind. The Danish writer,  I had a preconceived notion that he was a bit of a fairy, wrote children’s tales. Obviously I got this around the wrong way?
The founding Principal of the Music school was one William Crutch. A child prodigy himself he took under his wing gifted children from age 10 to 15 and mandated that they all boarded. A typical school day was from 7am to 9pm each day beginning  and ending with prayers. I shall send a memo to the Hon Christopher Pyne MP Minister for Education suggesting, respectfully of course, that he could consider and adopt this regimen. Rumour has it that Mr Pyne already practices this and is indeed at work from 7 am to 9pm and as well is on his knees on a daily basis. If only I could somehow weave Mr Crutch, the teacher, into my memo.
The Museum has two floors of priceless musical instruments, one floor devoted to string and one to the piano family, which is of course technically part of the string family, by string I mean the violin, viola, cello and lute etc. There is a Stradivari violin played by Queen Marie Antoinette. I guess she was the French equivalent of the Emperor Nero who fiddled whilst Rome burnt. Marie Antoinette on the other hand fiddled whilst the peasants ate cake.
The piano section had amongst other things a polygonal virginal.The juxtaposition of these two words absolutely stumped me.
The museum has a changing  temporary exhibition and at present it is a delightful nostalgic look at the Music of the First World War. The songs of the era and sheet music were cleverly displayed and there is no doubt in my mind of the delicious inneundo and double entendre of some of the songs.
Here are some pictures of what I mean.
 

So what do the bad boys love?

  

 

More than he bargained for I will wager

London – St Pancras Station

In retrospect a conference on the rather specific subject of Status epilepsy (in other words a seizure which persists and does not spontaneously abort) lasting 3 whole days, was not surprisingly, confusing and far too esoteric. It was for the most part very research based with lots of complex slides showing the histology of various brain cells from slaughtered rats or cats. There was much talk on nerve cell channels involving sodium, chloride and calcium.  Again there were multiple mind numbing histological slides of nerve cells. The only fascinating aspect for me, is  that on this occasion, the sacrificial beast apparently was a wombat, specifically the nerve cells and synapses of the wombat epididymus. ( part of one’s testicle) . If only someone could inform these scientists in their ivory towers, that there woud be much less flak from the anti animal vivsectionists if they were to switch to possums.

The Imperial College is an University complex in Kensington and is surrounded by imposing buildings housing museums of every sort. There is a Royal College of Music behind the Royal Albert Hall. The College of Music has a Museum of Musical Instruments. To my grief it was closed for Easter! I was dumbstruck as Easter had passed a week ago. I am far too British to argue or question this explanation and meekly left. 
There is a Royal Academy of Music as well with a Museum and it is open! I looked up their syllabus and to my delight found that I could enroll in “period historical instruments” (the Recorder). As well I could have also taken lessons in the SACKBUT! It has a certain appeal. The head teacher is one Margaret Faultless. So I decided to set out via St Pancras Station, to visit the Academy Museum.
The St Pancras Station has a very special place in my distant memory as it was how I entered London for the very first time, more than 30 years ago. I had, on the first attempt, successfully passed Basic Physician training exams. Some may scoff that it was easier in those days, well I hastened to state that it was not! Dare I say it but the clincal exam at least was much more demanding. Anyway this is a good subject for debate upon my return. 
Be that as it may, I took a year off, what is now called a ‘gap year’ and travelled Europe. I left Sydney and flew to Nepal, India and thence to London. For Nepal it was my third visit, the outcome of an affair of the heart, worthy of another chapter of the book of my life. 
So I was about 26 and I suspect rather hippy in appearance with the mandatory Tibetian jacket and rather longish hair. I was mortified when I was pulled over at Heathrow on my arrival and subjected to a very thorough search of luggage, I recall they squeezed my toothpaste. My body was left ‘intact’, nothing squeezed or penetrated thankfully. What made it all the more unfathomable was that then in the 1970s we, Australia, were in the Commonwealth and so Aussies were privileged to enter Great Britain via the GREEN lane, nothing RED about this young man. It was definitely not British to be cut out from the flock like this as far as I was concerned.
So I took that train from the airport and it arrived at St Pancras Station. A beautiful edifice that reminds me of some of the unique buildings hidden in the hotch potch that is Hindley Street, Adelaide, although 10 times bigger. Hence I revisited this architectural wonder, now a National Trust Heritage site. My very first night was spent in a sort of back packers appartment very near the station. I am sure it no longer exists as the station is overshadowed by modern tall buildings.
Serveral photographs of the timeless facade and building that is St Pancras Station, London, the entry point for my first trip to London all those years ago.