The National Galleries held a series of talks called Stuart Portraits: Power and Politics that I found most interesting.  Portraiture is something I know more or less nothing about and even less about its connections to politics. David Taylor filled in some of these blanks with respect to Mary Queen of Scots, to the collection of Bess of Hardwicke (who was Mary's jailer for many years), to Catherine of Braganza (Charles II's consort) and to James VII and II and his first wife Anne Hyde. 

He explained how the poses and contents of such portraits were symbols of many significant elements of temporal and spiritual power or status.  Copies were frequently made and distributed to reinforce the sitters' social and political position.  The gentry would undoubtedly have sight of them but I'm not sure that the man in the street or in the rural hovel would.  I guess that explains how Harry could wander incognito around the troops on the eve of Agincourt.

By the time I heard about Confessions of a Shinagawa Monkey its short run in Glasgow and Dundee was almost sold out.  Fortunately I got a seat at the matinee at Tramway.  This was such a beautifully staged and performed play created from two short stories by Haruki Murakami about a monkey who falls in love with women. Despite being able to speak he can't form relationships with them and steals their names instead. 

It was a joint Japanese Scottish production by Vanishing Point and KAAT from Yokohama.  You can get a flavour of the show from this "making of" video.  You should set the subtitles to English unless your Japanese is many orders of magnitude better than mine..

In Glasgow again I went with Ross to the Conservatoire to see a production by second year drama students of Agamemnon's Return.  This is the first part of This Restless House, Zinnie Harris's version of The Oresteia by Aeschylus.  It was very good.  The entire cast performed well.  I thought the girl who played Clytemnestra was particularly good.  The RCS production was not quite so bloody as the original production which Ross and I saw at The Citizens in 2016.  The Guardian at the time loved it as we did.  

Back in Edinburgh Wild Rose at The Lyceum has earned plaudits from a plethora of critics.  I can't say that I thought it all that wonderful.  The story of the less than perfect young mum's aspirations to be a country singer, her trip to Nashville against the odds and her final return to settle in the bosom of her family in Glasgow failed to wrench a tear from my eye.  The music was fine though.

Although I've been to a few race meetings in the past I can''t say I've found it particulary wonderful so it was a bit of a surprise to me to enjoy the Cheltenham Festival as much as I did.  But then don't you always get a better view of sporting events on the telly!

I felt like going to the cinema yesterday so I nipped up to the Cameo to redeem one of my member tickets and found that a Catalan Film Festival was taking place.  So I went to see that evening's offering.  It was an excellent, entertaining and humorous story of a family gathering at a house in Cadeques, a house that the matriarch intends to sell.  Her ex-husband is resolutely set against it for his own reasons.  Their daughter and family, their son and current girlfriend, the ex-husband's girlfriend are all there and all contribute to the jollity, recriminations, fighting and making up that fill the screen very enjoyably culminating in the nuclear family being left alone watching the house burn. Casa en Flames it's called.   

 

There's a radio programme called Scotland Outdoors broadcast early on a Saturday morning that I quite often hear as I drift in and out of wakefulness.  An item on the Winchburgh Willow Cathedral caught my attention and I set off one day to see it for myself.

I had expected something a little bigger than the construction that appears in the photograph. Indeed I walked past it thinking "surely that can't be it" , my eyes scanning the horizon as the driving rain swept over a well-nigh deserted Auldcathie Park.  A couple of young lads planting trees denied all knowledge explaining they were Glaswegians imported daily for the purpose.

After some more fruitless wanderings I decided that the structure I'd seen must be the cathedral and went back to it where I came across a park maintenance crew one of whose members turned out to have been a contributor to the broadcast I'd heard.  We chatted for a bit and agreed that it would be worth coming back once there is some foliage on the structure.

Like the cathedral the park is just getting off the ground as it were with extensive tree planting and other work going on.  The area outside the park was thick with recently built houses and many more were under construction. They've opened a marina off the Union Canal and have lots of other development plans. It's a growing place and while road access to the M9 is good the townsfolk want a railway station.

I've been to a variety of musical events in the past few weeks.  The RSNO gave a sublime performance of Mahler's 9th Symphony which I don't believe I've ever heard live before.  The last movement was extraordinarily beautiful.  The SCO and their chorus performed Fauré's Requiem and Vaughan Williams' Five Mystical Songs.  The fine baritone Roderick Williams was soloist and it was a lovely concert.

Described by Wikipedia as a jazz singer Madeleine Peyroux seemed to me much more poppy.  The gig was pleasant enough but I wouldn't rush to hear her again.  A friend suggested her recorded music is a more rewarding listen. One thing I did admire though was the version of A Man's a Man for a' That with which she opened. Nicely spiced with topical digs, replacing Burns' "birkie ca'd a lord" for example with reference to Trump.

More recognisable, to me at least, as jazz was Helena Kay's quartet at the Queen's Hall.  I could have done with a few more upbeat numbers (the music was generally restrained) but the tune she finished with, called Virago, from an upcoming CD, promised the prospect of vigour.  Her guests Norman Willmore and Corrie Dick played the first set of the gig, a set of tunes on sax, drums and computer based on Shetlandic folk music.

The fruits of The Lyceum's 2024 trip to New York was a performance of The Merchant of Venice here in Edinburgh by Theatre for a New Audience.  I went intending to enjoy the post-show discussion as well as the performance but it finished quite late and I hadn't been so appreciative of the show that I wanted to know more so I just shot off home as the curtain fell.  This is quite an extensive review and I agree with more or less everything it says.  I'm glad to see it too thought the hints at an Antonio Bassanio homosexual element overdone and the Jessica Lorenzo relationship twisted a degree out of shape.   

There's an interesting little exhibition on at the Central Library about the renovation of the North Bridge. Should be finished this year - yippee!  While I was there I noticed a poster advertising a meeting of the Open History Society about political jokes under Stalin.  I went along.  It was very well attended, at least 80 people I'd say.  It was entertaining.  The speaker, Jonathan Waterlow, has written a book called It's Only A Joke, Comrade in which he discusses not only the jokes people told but why they ran the risks associated with joking in 30s Russia. I enjoyed the talk and the jokes but didn't buy the book. 

A book I did buy recently, prompted by a post on Facebook is This Was My Africa by June Kashita.  Andrew Kashita was Minister for Mines when I arrived in in 1974.  He had married June when he was a student in UK and they went to live in what was then Northern Rhodesia in 1962. The book covers their life together, personal and political from then to 1978 when she left the country plus a further chapter covering a visit she made in 2020 just after Andrew's death though that wasn't what had prompted the visit.

I found the book totally fascinating and raced through it. Lots of public figures whose names and to some extent whose lives I knew something about feature as well as a couple of people I knew personally.  The story of the transition from colony to independent country and the subsequent trials, tribulations and successes is very interesting.  It's doubly interesting having seen or heard of events from the expatriate point of view to see them from the inside. It's similar in that respect to how I felt about Andrew Sardanis's book that I read a while ago.

On radio I've been enjoying Czar of Hearts about  Vladimir Romanov's tenure at Heart of Midlothian.  It's a hoot with more to come since the series hasn't finished yet.  While I was living in Nairobi the BBC produced a TV version of A Scots Quair. Some time last year I saw the first part, Sunset Song when I think it cropped up on BBC4 and have now seen the other two, Cloud Howe and Grey Granite thanks to iPlayer.  Wonderful stuff.

Just last night I saw a programme about Armando Iannucci and learnt that The Thick of It is now on iPlayer, 23 episodes in total.  I shall be rooted to my couch till I've watched them all. 

I was out for a walk one afternoon and wandered into the docks where I came upon this big boat. It's 212 metres long.  What was the Spirit of Tasmania IV doing in Leith Docks I wondered. 

Research uncovered a situation that to a degree rivals the Scottish ferry fiasco.  Built in Finland it's been moved to Leith to protect it from winter ice conditions which, being destined to ply between Tasmania and the Australian mainland, it was not built to withstand.  It couldn't go to Tasmania because its home port doesn't have the infrastructure to take it and won't have for a couple of years or more.  So the owners are paying us good money to house it.  The large figures in this report are I believe Australian dollars. 

I've been at odds with BT for some time because of the ludicrous amount they've been charging me for broadband since my contract with them ended.  I eventually decided that enough was enough so signed up with Sky.  No sooner had I done so than Hyperoptic, the availability of whose service in my building has been anticipated for a while, pitched up at my door with an excellent full fibre deal.  So I ditched Sky and am now using Hyperoptic.  The one fly in the ointment is that despite announcing that my old landline number would be transferred, so far it hasn't been.

The recent storm blew inconveniently for me.  I was due to have lunch in Glasgow with Andrew and go to a lunchtime gig at the conservatoire but first the gig was cancelled then all public transport so I had to stay at home.  Nothing much in the public realm in Edinburgh seems to have been damaged although I believe the Botanic Gardens has suffered.

I was at an SCO concert that featured a Sibelius symphony and his violin concerto which was a very enjoyable evening.  I had reservations about another of their concerts where the music was more spiky.  The centrepiece was called Ad Absurdum that demands pretty nifty trumpet playing.  You can listen to it and follow the music here or without the music here.

More conventioal was the SNJO's evening in the Usher Hall that spotlighted half a dozen young talents.  It's terrific that we have so many excellent young players/singers and worth acknowledging how much Tommy Smith has contributed to bringing that about through his youth band and jazz education at the Conservatoire.  However I don't find the Usher Hall the most sympathetic space in which to listen to jazz.

I had an excellent Japanese meal at Kanpai before the concert. With a fellow saxophonist, jazz fan and Japanese food enthusiast I'm working my way through Edinburgh's Japanese restaurants. 

I wonder if Burns has much traction in Japan.  Their food is so wide ranging it would be interesting to see what they might produce to celebrate our national poet.  The thought comes to mind because of the extremely tasty Burns Supper that Phil and Claire produced this year.  It wasn't a straight haggis, neeps and tatties but delicious.  Indeed I'd say it was an improvement on the traditional.

Many of you may be familiar with the novel Behind the Scenes at the Museum. I'd never heard of it when I came across a radio dramatisation which I enjoyed a great deal.  In its peculiar way it's a family saga.  I'd like to read it but my pile of books waiting to be read is too big for the time being.  I'm trying to get through it but when I do read a book I don't always remember much about it.  A case in point cropped up the other day.  I had read Conclave by Robert Harris a while ago and I went with Ross and Claire to see the film.  In such a circumstance I'd expect things to come back to me as the film rolled on.  Maybe one thing did or maybe it was a fairly obvious conclusion to draw from the action. Otherwise zilch.

On my birthday Ewan went off to St Anton for a week's skiing.  I went to the Cameo to see Tokyo Godfathers. It's the second time I've seen it and I'd go again. It's a great Christmas story about three homeless people who find an abandoned baby on Christmas Eve and set out to find its mother. I don't know whether Japanese cinema audiences flock to see It's a Wonderful Life around Christmas as people do here but if they do they should dump it in favour of Tokyo Godfathers.  In the evening I went to Claire's for her traditional drinks party.

Nothing much happened then till New Year's Eve.  Edinburgh's outdoor festivities were cancelled for fear of being blown away.  This didn't matter to me personally but it's a shame for visitors (at least the tourist tax wasn't in operation)  and no doubt was a financial blow to the town.  Ewan, back from the slopes, and I found ourselves at Claire's for her traditional gathering and got home full of delicious food which had been suitably washed down at an appropriate hour.

On New Year's Day we went to see the Turner watercolours. This year the Scottish National Gallery and the Irish National Gallery who had both been recipients of a number of Turners through the generosity of Henry Vaughan had swapped their holdings so the pictures were all new to me and I guess to most of the people who'll come to see them this January.

We ate at Vittoria's that evening in honour of Ewan's departure the following morning.

My next treat was a return visit to the Kimono exhibtion at the V&A in Dundee. I had company this time and enjoyed a bonus in the shape of a Japanese inspired afternoon tea.  Siobhan took a couple of pictures which I've pinched

My usual activities are resuming.  The band started up again and I went to the Queen's Hall for my first concert date of the year.  I was somewhat surprised to find the place locked and bolted. Had the gig been cancelled and no notice given?  Should I have been at the Usher Hall?  I've made that mistake before.

None of the above.  When I checked my ticket I discovered that the concert had taken place in the afternoon, unusual in the Thursday evening concert season and something that had simply not registered with me when I booked up. I gnashed my teeth and went home to a book.  

Although I didn't see more of it than clips on the news I was well aware of the recent World Darts Championship and the excitement that the young Luke Littler, nicknamed Luke the Nuke, created.  Television audiences were thrilled. 

Television and darts are natural bedfellows in the entertainment world but wouldn't seem a natural retail combination.  But there's been a shop in Leith Walk for years whose shopfront declares them to be a darts and television emporium.  Luke the Nuke seems to have been good for them.  On Saturday afternoon  as I passed it on my way home not only was it full but there was a queue on the pavement waiting to get in.

There's a TV series called Villages by the Sea which I stumbled on recently.  I saw about 90% of the episode devoted to Culross and enjoyed it thoroughly.  There are 37 episodes on iPlayer at the moment and I may well make an effort to see them all. I believe that I visited Culross sometime in the dim and distant past but I've been on the verge of visiting again for many years.  This programme tipped me over the edge and I took advantage of yesterday's lovely sunny weather to go.

It was a good trip.  I spent a couple of hours pottering about in the village and by the shore.  Disappointingly the Palace was closed.  That's what it's called but in truth it's a 16th century house built by George Bruce who was an innovative industrialist of the time. The National Trust for Scotland who look after the building don't say on their website why it's closed or when it will reopen but I must go again when it is.

It's a lovely spot and sitting by the Forth as it does you get some lovely views to the southern shore of the firth but you need to nurture a blindspot to avoid the smokestacks of Grangemouth.  That's the picture at the top of this post.  Fortunately or perhaps not those smokestacks may vanish in the near future as Scotland's industry further contracts.  We need a new George Bruce.

Good to see that the Omni Centre giraffes are being looked after as the weather gets colder.  I had a wee visit to the zoo recently although I didn't climb all the way up the hill to see the giraffes. My objective was actually to see Honshu, the macaque who escaped from the Highland Wildlife Park a few months ago.  As a punishment or perhaps a reward he's been rehomed at the zoo where he's been joined by half a dozen others, including a couple from the Netherlands.  They all seemed to be having fun.

I've had a fair bit of fun myself in recent weeks what with concerts and meals out and films and theatre and of course rehearsals and ultimately performances of the Grads 70th anniversary Christmas show, Baba. That was one of Claire's creations full of entertaining characters and dialogue.  The cast enjoyed it, audiences enjoyed it but critics kept their enthusiasm under control.

There were two excellent choral works, Carmina Burana and Bach's Christmas Oratorio from the RSNO and SCO respectively and an Ellington evening from the SNJO/TSYJO.  The latter featured charming and accomplished vocalists, one from Glasgow and one from Leeds; rising stars we'll hear more of I'm sure.

As part of Edinburgh's celebration of being 900 years old (who knew and what counts as its birth point?) the Netherbow held a Scottish Theatre weekend.  The Saturday afternoon events consisted of a talk about the history of Scottish theatre, a chat about the EIF and a presentation on the refurbishment of the King's Theatre going on just now.  All very interesting.  I even bought a book by one of the speakers.  In the evening there was a oneman play called A Noble Clown about Duncan Macrae written and performed by  Michael Daviot. Macrae was a wonderful actor and the play provided a wonderful hour of skilful, witty and illuminating insights into the man and his achievements. 

There's an interesting series of podcasts about the history of Scottish drama, sponsored I think by The Traverse, available here. Naturally I was drawn to the episde about Losing Venice because I loved the play when I saw it and subsequently directed it. As director I employed two stratagems of which I was very proud but the review in The Scotsman (those were the days) scoffed at one and ignored the other.  I failed to be disheartened.

An event in the history of Scottish theatre, minor I admit but significant for me, taking place next year is that Arkle will complete 25 years of productions and will exist no more.  I was at their annual social gathering where next year's programme and this news were announced.  I've only performed for them a few times but have enjoyed the experience and admire what they've done. I'm sorry to see the company leave the Scottish amateur theatre scene.

One of my saxophone playing friends is very keen on and knowledgeable about Japanese food.  She's often suggested we try some of Edinburgh's Japanese restaurants and a week before we went to the Ellington gig we managed to get to Satoru where we had a very tasty meal. I had another very tasty meal out, this time with Claire, Siobhan and Ross at Lyla where dishes are many, presentation is exquisite, portions are small and prices are high. Claire and I also ate very well at Siobhan's one Sunday after a Baba rehearsal.  We'd been rehearsing at King's Buildings barely a hefty stone's throw away from her flat. 

I've seen a couple of films recently.  Both were set in Africa but were dramatically different.  Soundtrack to a Coup d'Etat is a brilliant documentary that explores the mixture of jazz and geopolitics surrounding the emergence of the Belgian Congo from colonial rule. The film gets lots of stars from The Guardian here and here.  Wikipedia has some factual words to say.  Two music writers take stands for and against the film's treatment of jazz.  All those comments are of interest. I've bought no less than two relevant books as a result of seeing the film!

I won't be buying any books as a result of seeing On Becoming a Guinea Fowl. I didn't think much of it but it has earned praise from more perceptive filmgoers than me here and here. I did enjoy the joke about the Zambian police transport availability though.

Ewan and I went down to Keswick for a pleasant visit.  Ben came over from Hebden Bridge as well and train times were close enough for Connor to pick the three of us up together.  There had been an accident on the A66 so at one point we took a diversion, two diversions in fact because on the first one we came across a lorry stuck and blocking the road. It was a lovely valley we went through, very dramatic at points and not somewhere I'd ever been before.  It's not often you're happy to be delayed but on this occasion I was.

I've got two dramatic incidents at home to report.  One day noisy sirens caused me to look out of the window.  Half a dozen police cars were tearing along Brunswick Road.  They screeched to a halt just short of Dicksonfield, armed policemen jumped out and raced out of my sight.  They wandered back within seconds.  Some cars left smartish.  Others hung about for a while but I could glean nothing nor did the internet come up with an explanation.  False alarm.

In the other drama I was involved. For reasons never explained a cyclist placed himself in front of a number 11 bus I was on preventing the bus from leaving a bus stop. The driver was happy to shout at the cyclist, well not happy in the sense of enjoying, but not willing to engage in discussion with him.  I got involved to the extent of replacing the cyclist thus preventing the bus moving off while the cyclist attempted to engage the driver from the pavement.  But the driver was having none of it. Passengers meanwhile were leaving the non-sinking bus despite the driver's pleas for them to remain and declarations that the police were on their way.

Maybe like the Zambians they had transport problems for they didn't arrive before the cyclist lost heart and pedalled away allowing the bus to continue its journey. 

 

In the 2023 Fringe I performed in an Arkle show about Osgood Mackenzie who built the gardens at Inverewe in Wester Ross.  In the Autumn we took that show up there.  In this year's Fringe we did another show set in Wester Ross, The Kelpie, the Loch and the Water of Life and had the great good fortune to be invited to take both shows north this Autumn.  The picture above was taken from the gardens and shows a wee bit of Loch Ewe.

Six of us travelled up in a people carrier and met up in Torridon with Rob and Mel, who were already there.  We set up the space and had a short rehearsal before a delicious fish tea in the Community Hall restaurant and then performed both pieces.  After a swift half (just me) and a brief chat with some of the audience we set off for Poolewe and found our accommodation.  Even in the dark it was quite easy to find the National Trust seasonal staff accommodation where some of us were to sleep but a bit harder to work out how to get into the Gatehouse where others were to spend the night.  The instructional video that Rob had made had been filmed in broad daylight not in total blackness!

On the Saturday morning we gathered for breakfast in the Gatehouse and then pottered about the village.  The chap who runs the local cafe was one of the many people you meet in the area who have chosen to leave more urban areas for the undoubted peace and beauty of the Highlands.  His skill and artistry in photography were on view on the cafe walls (and as I dicovered later, in a display in the National Trust restaurant at the Gardens).  His partner and her daughter also turned out to be arts and craft practitioners with their work on display in the cafe.

In the afternoon upwards of 50 people turned out to see the plays.  Judging by their response and conversations afterwards they felt their time had been well spent.  After the performances we had the use of the National Trust restaurant to heat up the food that had been brought up from Edinburgh and later repaired to the Gatehouse with a few bottles.

Back home on the Sunday through beautiful countryside and in reasonably fine weather.

Had I not gone up north I'd have spent my Sunday afternoon at Kings Buildings where we're rehearsing the Grads Christmas show.  They haven't done one for a while but for their 70th anniversary Claire has written a show based on the Baba Yaga character from Russian folklore.  Called simply Baba it's a fun show with a large cast and a live band.  I've got a couple of parts the nature of which I will not reveal here but they both qualify as comedy roles.

I went not quite so far north in October when I went to Perth to visit the new museum that opened there quite recently.  It's not a large museum but it has much of interest.  Its impressive pièce de resistance is a display of the Stone of Destiny.  When Michael Forsyth was Secretary of State he organised the return of the stone to Scotland.  It was placed in Edinburgb Castle but I never got around to checking it out in the 20 odd years it spent there.  I do recommend a trip to Perth to see it though.  Not that the stone itself is much more than a lump of sandstone but it's well presented.  Before you see the stone there's a historical video about it that begins with archival footage of its earlier return to Scotland when it was liberated from Westminster Abbey in the 50s by a group of students.  Then in the stone room there's a projection around the walls of how a crowning ceremony at Scone might have looked in the 12th or 13th century.  

After that excitement it was good to be able sit down with a coffee and a nibble in their comfy cafe.

I've missed a couple of concerts in recent weeks from misadventures of one kind or another but got to a fine SCO concert last week that featured Grieg's Piano Concerto and Sibelius's 7th Symphony.

No Other Land which I saw at the Cameo is a documentary made by a pair of young filmmakers, one Israeli and one Palestinian that portrays Israel's systematic eviction of Palestinans from parts of the West Bank on the pretext of their setting up a training area for the Israeli Defence Forces.  The film shows a sequence repeated throughout.  A train of military vehicles and bulldozers chugging along a winding dirt road to a straggly collection of breezeblock buildings as people struggle to rescue their belongings before they arrive, the dozers ripping the buildings apart under the less than sympathetic gaze of the soldiers, the disconsolate dispossessed residents perched on piles of rubble, the vehicles disappearing back the way they came.  It's grim.

Grim too is the story of Tess of the d'Urbervilles.  A four part dramatisation of the novel first screened in 2008 popped up on BBC4 the other week.  The channel specialises in extracting jewels for the BBC's archives and this was a particularly bright jewel.  It seemed to me very faithful to the novel and I loved it.  I also enjoyed Jude, a film version of Jude the Obscure they ran around the same time although I can't say if that varied much from the novel which I don't think I've ever read.

 

This is Sailors Walk in Kirkcaldy.  It's looking a bit sad so no surprise to find it on the Buildings at Risk Register.  When I go to Kirkcaldy I often walk by it for old times sake.  You see when I left school I took a summer job with a firm of blacksmiths and one of the exciting jobs I did with them was to install a spiral staircase in this building.  It was sort of in its heyday then, having been taken over and restored by the National Trust for Scotland in the 50s.  They still own it and according to this website page about an open day they were using it only last year but it seemed pretty well closed and shuttered last Tuesday.

The other exciting blacksmithing jobs I had that summer were installing railings on steps to houses in Cumberauld and lying on my back screwing steel mesh onto the ceiling of the armoury at Redford Barracks.  They qualified as exciting when compared with filing off jagged bits from galvanised iron railings that I would spend all day doing in the yard back in Kirkcaldy.

Cumbernauld was in its heyday then as well.  It had expanded from its designation as a new town in the mid 50s and was celebrated for its modern architecture, especially its town centre building.  Times have changed of course and North Lanarkshire Council wants to knock down and rebuild.  This Guardian article is an interesting discussion of the situation and there are a number of extremely good videos on Youtube, one explaining the architecture and raising the question of reuse, one talking about what went wrong.   This one celebrates the life of the town and this one its countryside.  My own further acquaintance with the town has been limited to one trip to the theatre there to see a great production of Edwin Morgan's translation of Cyrano de Bergerac.

I've got a bit sidetracked.  I'd come to Kirkcaldy to see another old building, the Abbotshall Hotel which my grandfather, my father and then briefly myself had managed.  Over the years a friend I made in Zambia but who had been brought up a couple of hundred yards away from me in Kirkcaldy had kept me posted about the hotel's changing fortunes.  He told me earlier this year that it had recovered from the misfortunes that had affected it in recent years and was now quite a good spot for lunch.  So I entered the building for the first time in 60 years and had a very pleasant lunch with Gordon.  There have been multiple alterations to the buiding over the years.  Unlike Cumbernauld's town centre it would not be a case of removing cosmetic changes to restore it to its former glory.  But to be fair its present glory is not too bad.

The team behind Britain's America's Cup challenge managed to end a 60 year wait by winning the subsidiary competition and earning the right to compete against the holder.  But they were thrashed 7 races to 2.  I didn't watch many of those races but one I did see I thought the British, having made a great start, threw away in one unwise tack.  The sort of thing I'd have done in my Enterprise.

The sponsor of their challenge, sponsored I believe to the tune of around £100million. was Jim Ratcliffe the billionaire head honcho of petrochemicals giant Ineos and part owner of Manchester United.  I listened to a programme about him in an interesting series about billionaires where the presenters score the subject for aspects of their business lives.  He did well on how he built up his empire and so on but had a few points deducted for going off to tax free Monaco and lauding Brexit but taking his Grenadier vehicle business out of Britain.  Reminded me of Dyson moving his vacuum business to Singapore.     

I went with Claire to see A Chorus Line which I thought to be one of the oddest musicals I've ever seen.  Joyce Macmillan our local authority on theatre matters gave it 5 stars and Claire liked it a lot.  I was less impressed mainly because it doesn't really tell a story.  The dancing and singing and whatnot is all very accomplished but nothing much happens.  I suppose you can say that about Godot but strangely in that case it works for me.

Dangerous Corner by JB Priestley was the Grads Autumn offering.  Nothing much happens in that either.  People sit around talking and the veneer of friendship and happy coupledom that it starts with gets sandpapered off.  Staging and so on was excellent.  Performances were good. I'd pick out Cari Silver in particular.  So it was well done, but was it worth doing?  In 1932 I'm sure it was but today maybe not.

In my last post I reported on the opening film of the Edinburgh Spanish Film Festival and this time I can tell you about the other films I saw.  The closing film which I went to last night was terrific, intense, gripping, moving, beautifully performed and directed and despite being the story of something that happened twenty years ago bang up to date.  Soy Nevenka (I am Nevenka) tells the story of a young town councillor who takes the town's mayor to court for sexual harassment.  The dire effect the harassment had on her, the complexity of the political and personal relationships in the council and in the town, the strength it took to bring the charges, the stress of the court case, the opprobrium she suffered afterwards were all important elements brought to life by the filmmaker who though Spanish actually lives in Edinburgh.  It chimes so well with the recent revelations about Mohammed AlFayed.

Puan is an entertaining comedy from Argentina set in a university where the sudden death of the head of the philosphy department gives rise to the return from Europe of an aspirant for the post.  He is portrayed as the bright up and coming modernist in contrast to the home team's somewhat plodding and conservative candidate.  If you are Argentinian you can probably enjoy satirical swipes that bypassed me.

La piel mas timida is a drama dealing with a young woman's discovery on her return to Peru to sell some property from her mother's side of the family that her father who deserted her and her mother when she was a child is alive and in jail having been sentenced for his participation in a terrorist organisation.  He doesn't want to know and his mother is suspicious of her but in the course of the film she develops a close relationship with her paternal grandmother.  She goes back to Sweden strengthened by the experience.

La estrella azul is about a Spanish musician called Mauricio Aznar.  I don't know how accurate the story is but it's about him kicking a drug habit (not too successfully because he died from an overdose) and going to Latin America to find himself.  He befriends an old musician steeped in folk musical traditions and author of numerous songs who has fallen on hard times.  Working with him he heals himself I guess and goes back to Spain a better man.