More escapism.

 I was always planning to go to the theatre last week, so it was always going to be a special week.  I was also planning to go and see Cat Stevens so a doubly exciting week, and one with the slight challenge of accomodating the energy for both, but when a friend offered me her unused ticket to see Cabaret, I just could not refuse even though it meant more trips into London and more energy.  So one way or another it has been a brilliant week, some balm, but balm with a warning. 

Opening set, Goodnight Oscar, staring Sean Hayes. 

The production of Cabaret, the first time I have seen the actual original stage version so to speak, was out there. Even now the dancers of the Kit Kat club can shock.  And nestled inside are two stories, that of Sally Bowles and the Christopher Isherwood character and that of their landlord and her elderly Jewish lover.  It was the latter story that especially surprised as I could not remember that from the film.  And of course it is in telling their story that there changes coming to Weimar Germany are most implied.   With Farage and racism rampant in parts of the UK the warning of what can happen to a people is clear, but just as, in fact of course even more shocking is what is happening in Gaza.  Hate teaches hate, teaches hate.    I was there on my own, which I often am, but to my delight bumped into someone I know.  So it was nice to be able to share the luxury of a seat near the front, relish the dance moves, and yet have a social commentary all at the same time. 

Central Mosque Cambridge

I thought it would be very hard to top the production with the play I was seeing, with my friend from school, but Goodnight Oscar, turned out to be just as brilliant. I have always liked Oscar Levant,  and it turned out that Jan felt the same, and on the rare occasions I saw Will and Grace, I always enjoyed it, so seeing one of the American stars from that, capture a drug fuelled, psychotic episode on live TV,  morph into a beautiful rendition of Rhapsody in Blue, and back was both funny and very powerful.  Having seen my Grandma Jane sectioned, and given ECT, it also brought up unexpected memories from my childhood and the fear of mental health problems.   When I was at school I felt so much shame, first my Dad had left and also a "mad" grandmother, I hid so much.  But I also always felt relatively safe at schoool, but not safe enough to want to head to the school reunion, not yet a while yet they all seem so sucessful and sure.    And although I felt I had friends at school, I do not even seem to be on their radar, so whilst I would quite like to have some time with some of them, I am not up to meeting up yet.  However, I was very glad to be with a friend to see the production. 

Then I finally got to see Cat Stevens, Yusuf, having missed him twice before.  Compared with the other productions, it could be said to have been a bit lacklustre, he is not the most charismatic story teller, but it is a tale worth hearing, about his lifelong search and his conversion to Islam.   But then there are the songs, which he put into context and sang as beautifully as he did all those years before.  En route, I found a beautiful mosque in Cambridge which Monty Don had visited for one of his TV shows, and I finally got to the National Horse Museum in Newmarket. I am sure that horseracing would be condemned by some of my friends, and having seen a horse put down the one time I actually went to a race,  I would not want to go again, but it was interesting to discover the history of the sport , to see the jockey club, Tattersalls, and of course meet some of the horses that stay in the museum.   I have never seen a horse reduced to sopiness before like a dog being rubbed.  It felt like a real escape to be in the sun, in Suffolk, but the Palace housing the art works, had been partly destroyed under Cromwell, so even this halcyon scene revealed the complexities of history. 

Even more hate but also some glory.

 The British people, especially those around Broxbourne because more appalling by the minute. I find myself not wanting to go out.  The haters online continue to try and argue it is okay to protest outside the 'home' of the children, some people deny their presence, indicating they are not local or in the know.  

The good news is the counter protest has emerged. I am getting almost as many messages of support and a large counter protest happened on Friday, with a big police presence and a Green in the lead, so that was something. Though I still felt those in the hotel might not be able to tell the difference between the noise coming from the haters or the others.   

I have been obsessed with challenging people on Facebook, not because I am better than the people online, but working with refugees I am better informed, but how to speak to out and out racists and those who also seem to be slightly informed but even more anti despite being former refugees themselves. It was ever thus.  Racism breeds racism.  I just think kindness is safer and more a form of self interest.  

I had something though the last week with which to totally distract myself.  Sondheim, or a mini production of Sondheim, with an organisation called Ross, where professional directors and conductors work with amateurs to put on a theatre production in one week.  A nod to Judy Garland put on a summer show.  At first I was upset that I was the only person to not have a part and then I was relieved when I realised how hard the music was, but I styled it out the best I could, albeit it in a borrowed dress and hat and jacket.   It was also lovely to see the whole process from start to finish and my brain has not work that hard for ages, but we did it, I did forget some of the song lines, but I entered and exited in more or less the right places. I did have the least of anyone on the stage to do, but just being there and getting through the week was my challenge.   On the whole people were very kind, and I mostly really enjoyed it.  Would I go again. I do not know.  I should have done it of course when I was younger, and I am just wondering where have all those years gone.  But if not next year then at least one more time. Some people go every year.  It depends on how well these limbs stand up and they will face an even bigger challenge elsewhere. The haters have made me very sad, depressed, concerned. I really do not want to live here any more. If I could just pick myself up and put myself elsewhere I would, but where? They are everywhere and even more and more.   

One of the other participants, the only other person to have Googled, putting on a summer show,  was a lovely young woman all the way from Ukraine, for a week, she departed the war and now she is back under the bombs in Kiev.   She inspired us all.   And so did the other young partipants, who seemed to embody their parts in the adapation of Spelling Bee.  I enjoyed just watching everyone's performances. 

I also added another garden to my repetoire,  visiting RHS Bridgewater, I would like to go back and see the canal route, but the actual gardens are really lovely. It was a stunning day and everyone was having fun.  

British bullies. .

 I am a white British 70 year old.  Yesterday, standing in support of the families in the local asylym hotel I was verbally abused and called a pr....k by a man who is more of a threat to me than any future citizens waiting for their legal asylum claim will ever be.   He wasn't alone.  About 10 Labour party, Green party and other locals who knew that the residents were no trouble were celebrating the diverse history of this land, while white, mostly male, opponents of asylum seekers swaggered across the road with their ignornance and aggression.   If the police had not been there blood would have been shed.  They claimed only 1 child was in the hotel, which suggests that they were not local or informed   So they were there for trumped up reasons and just wanted shout and show off and cause trouble -just like the Taliban and other brutes who have forced so many people to seek aylum.  

The presence of theese avowed Tommy Robinson supporters was threatening enough, but what was additionally depressing was the seeing so many young children being brought out to learn hate and hearing so many beeping motorists spilling out that hate, that xenophobia.   In addition, our local MP, Lewis Cocking is fueling that hatred with his speeches in and out of parliament.  Shame on him.   

I have long known that Broxbourne is a racist area, the hidden tension mostly lie beneath the surface but sometimes they erupt.  The tiny group of pro refugee supporters were completely outnumbered by the bullies so retreated to avoid being hurt but that meant leaving the poor aylum seerks stuck in the hotel will a threatening mob outside, which must have felt awful.   

At home I turned into the Proms, famous of course for being the bastion of Britishness, but actually it was a celebration internationalism with performers from north and south America.   That an the allotment has reduced how stressed I feel bbut if an hour facing these thugs has left me feeling so bereft how must it feel to constantly face them.  

Plum Sake

This lovely empty bottle is all that is left of the holiday.   I bought it on the site of the brewery, with no expectation of liking it,  but it turned out to be lovely.  It also turned out, it was one of those rare drinks that needs to be consumed immediately, so it has been used in puddings and with fish and then the last drop drained with a meal for three . 

After every holiday it is nice to wallow and waft around in a sort of dozy state of bliss recalling all one has done.  And that is what I wanted to do with Japan, but it has been full power since getting back.  Trips to Dad's, helping out a little with Refugee Tales, or really more dancing too much and then paying the price, and reeling from shocks to the two gardens I am involved with.  Today, the photo book from Japan should arrive, the planning for the next trip is underway,  the photo book will be put on the shelf and the memories only taken down every so often, the photos help with the memories, but nothing we do can hold them, not fully.  And that is not because of the Sake, but the bottle will stay here till one day even that gets chucked out.   Life, I spend all my time planning trips or doing them and then can't even remember half of them, so life is a very strange thing.  

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I was supposed to be finalising a visa last night, but got caught up in the England V Sweden game.   

Osaka, Hiroshima, and Hakone.

 Staying at at a traditional Ryokan is a great way to end a Japanese holiday.  Osaka, a modern port and business district, was a good way to start.   

Once acclimatized to the heat, the humidity and the legendary toilets, I was able to move onto Hiroshima, one of the most powerful places I have ever visited. 

 Two years ago in Thailand I saw how the terrible the conditions were on the Burma railway and the brutal conditions the Japanese imposed.  In Hiroshima I saw our terrible retribution.     It is hard to reconcile the version of Japan I saw with the version of Japan I experienced in the country today.   It is good to experience both sides of the story and to have a more nuanced understanding of the country. 

Hiroshima Peace Park

CND rose Hiroshima

Japan, initial thoughts

 Sitting in a bar in Kamakura, I told my host, that I had always wanted to visit the country, to which she replied what took you so long.  A good question,  how is that I have got so old before fulfilling this dream. With more time and more money, I would go back,  but sadly this really is probably a once in a lifetime's dream fulfilled.  And at my age I was happy to cheat rather than the fantasies of my youth staying all over the place and staying long,  I just had a fortnight's organised visit.  But I am feeling more than blessed that I finally got there and I think I saw a really good range of places: Osaka, Hiroshima, Kyoto, Kanakawa ,Tokyo, Hakone and, on a day trip from the capital Kamakura.  I have been on I hate to think how many fast trains, how many local trains, I have even been on a pretend pirate ship and what the Japanese call a ropeway.  Travel does not fully ease the demons, but every day Japan put a smile on my face. 

Japanese entertainment - a rainy Sunday in Kanagawa

It turned out to be a very easy to visit, though that might be because the company I went with made travelling there very easy.  They booked the flights, they organised my JR pass, gave me the card which I could use on buses and tubes, already loaded up with credit, and they booked my hotels.  Each new town I got to someone met me, showed me around, and then let me lose on the town.  I enjoyed everything from the adventures, trying to work out the fancy loos, to the use of the lifts, to using an onsen. When I paused to try and work out what I was doing, someone would often come forward to ask if I was okay, when I actually really was lost and feeling a bit frazzled, I was instructed how to unpick the situation.  When I did not want to go up really high towers on my official tour, I was accomodated.   And when I got too tired to walk another step, I was happy to sit on a bench in a warm street and watch the mothers on bicycles cycle by me. 

Ice and heat.

 I feel like I am ice, except it is my memory that slides away from under me, rather than, my feet. 

If I just do, I am fine, I can get on a train, or I can go and have fun at a craft fair for a day, I can even produce a jolly tea towel, but all the years leading up to this point are a jumble of whispers. I try to catch what they are saying, I try and search the memory banks, but they are like tapes wiped clear.  There is just this faint echo, that something once happened. Of course it could be dementia, or does the body protect the living being within, from all that has happened to it.  Just focus on today, it says. Or at least I hope it does,  cos otherwise it is dementia and I am stuffed

Living Craft Hatfield.

Meanwhile the election has come and gone, despite the long sustained period here without rain, but of flood elsewhere, Reform has captured the hearts and minds of people ready to dance whilst the earth burns.    Us vaguely woke people though are almost always clobbered by our own desires and made hypocrites by the way we live our lives.   I am trying to sort out pictures from years back, but nothing seems to work, the technology just as intransigent as my mind, and still I take more pictures.  All these attempts to hold the memory,  and for a moment it works, but what about all the pictures I did not take.   More whispers. 

Anyway, one day it will all be gone and hopefully N will find this record if nothing else, and that might help him remember if not what I was like but some of the things I did. 

I went to a Buddhist meeting recently, with a friend from the Harmony Gardens, it disturbed me oddly, avoiding the truth or a recognition, that truth had not been in the room. Anyway it had nice consquences as I have messaged J and C in Bhutan to discuss their thoughts.  Sometimes I chant with the friend, it helps us both, but to her is embedded in the Buddism she practices, whereas I am now having to read up on things to understand what I have been chanting. 

Very importantly, N has taken this huge leap in being.  I will do some publicity for his new tattoo and mediation place tomorrow, through him life has taken on yet another adventure.   I am going to go on a workshop there, so will experience it for myself.   

The Lighthouse, sponsorship. 

Talking to potential customers.