Thailand : Day 2 : Chang Mai

We bumped and bounced around on our clapped out old sleeper-car bunkbeds as clapped out over-night train number 13 from Bangkok swayed and lurched its way north through the moonless gloom. As dawn broke our poor train finally clattered its way into Chang Mai station and came to a juddering halt. Platform 2 seemed to be where it was to gasp its last breath. Poor train number 13. Unlucky number 13. 

We emerged bleary-eyed from our carriage due to lack of sleep and perched ourselves at the cafe in the concourse of the quaintly charming station waiting for both our coffee and our taxi to arrive. The coffee was instant. The taxi less so. We’d just downloaded Grab - the Uber replacement app and had heard good things. Still. no taxi. Were we to be disappointed once again? Actually, no. We were at fault not the Grab driver. Grab drivers are banned from driving right to the station - something we should have noticed from the clear instructions from our driver. Ever since Uber was kicked out of Thailand last year other eTaxi services have faced various restrictions on where they can operate. Still, we soon found our man and a short ride later we were at our hotel. The Akyra Manor. Nice. Modern. With a great view, a big tub, a big comfy double bed, and an infinity pool on the roof. 

Rather than settling in though, we decided to head straight out to explore. The Old Town was near-by complete with moat, ancient wall, and temples aplenty. We got delightfully lost in the chaotic streets. 

Our wander over, we walked back toward our hotel. En route we dived into a local place for some food, before continuing back to the hotel and diving into the infinity pool. Oh, and took full advantage of the mid-afternoon happy hour (random!) 

Just before sunset we headed back into the Old Town again to check out more temples by twilight then by floodlight. We took in the night market too, grabbed some street food (green Thai curry chicken) and then found a bar on the banks of the River Ping to nurse a beer and people watch. 

We took one of the big, red, open-backed red taxis back home. Quite an experience. 

Pizza and then early night. Big(ger) day tomorrow. 

Thailand : Day 1 : One Night in Bangkok

So we’re off. A couple of weeks in Thailand to help Andrew celebrate his 50th Birthday.  

Stuart and I are the advanced party; leaving a few days before everybody else. We thought we’d spend a couple of days up in Northern Thailand first to acclimatise to the place. And catch up with a few relatives at the same time - both dead and alive. But more on that later.   

The first two legs of our trip were flights out of Heathrow to Amman and then on to Bangkok. 

When Stuart heard we were flying “Crown Class” to Thailand he got very, very excited. 

Even the name of the airline - Royal Jordanian Airways - made him think it was going to be ‘dead posh’ on board. A throne maybe?

The reality, as it turned out, was far more proletariat. 

Crown Class is but a very small step up from economy. But I did say to him that we wouldn’t have to turn right once we stepped on board which cheered him up a bit. 

I’ve spoilt that boy. I really have. 

The first flight - five hours to Amman - was fairly smooth with just a few bumps en route and we had had a nice meal onboard and a few drinks to settle up nerves so I was more than happy. 

The second leg on to Bangkok lasted eight hours and it just flew by - no pun intended - as it was as smooth as a mill pond. The only hiccoughs were  mine - one too many nerve-steadying Beaujolais stiffeners pre-take off. 

Once landed in Bangkok we were soon whisked through immigration - me still slightly wobbly of leg - and soon found ourselves on the Skytrain speeding downtown to spend just one night in Bangkok. 

We had to collect some train tickets for later in our trip so first stop was Bangkok’s main station. We then had a bit of time to kill before our overnight sleeper train was due to whisk up to the northern province of Chang Mai. So we hung about around Hua Lamphong station for a bit, wandered into nearby Chinatown to have a bite to eat and few jugs of the local ale, and then played a few rounds of “lady boy or stunner”. 

Eventually the time came to board our train carriage. First class. Or so they said. ‘Princess Stuart’ was less than impressed. For the second time in 24 hours disappointed. “I thought we were travelling first class?” he said. With a sneer he surveyed our small train compartment. Once again, no throne; just two private bunkbeds, plastic seats, two cans of warm Heineken and a meal on a tray. I really need to reset his expectations!

The carriage was fine of course. And we both laughed and laughed as we bounced our way down the tracks into the night - cracking open more cans of Heineken whilst singing the only line from One Night in Bangkok we could remember over and over again. 

The Watsons @ Menier Chocolate Factory

Last night Stuart and I went to see the universally acknowledged fun that is The Watsons at the Menier Chocolate Factory in London's London Bridge Quarter.

Jane Austen meets the Truman Show when the cast of an unfinished Austen novel learn that their lives have been made up. The Watsons sees a modern-day woman write herself into Austen’s abandoned story of 1803 in an attempt to bring them closure. But character ends up pitted against author in Laura Wade’s smart play, carried off with a wit and delicacy befitting the literary great who inspired it.

All of Austen’s archetypes are present: strong-minded heroine Emma Watson (Grace Molony), the Darcy-like noble chap she should marry, plus the aristocrat she shouldn’t. There are the multiple sisters, the cad, the fearsome matriarch, the wise servants. But fan-fiction turns into a clever concept through Laura (a brilliant Louise Ford), the author-figure who weaves herself into the action.

The Watsons is no doubt a playwright’s play. Laura must learn to respect limits of authorship, the ability of characters to write their own stories, and other such truths that will get the creatives nodding in the aisles. But in using these to raise questions about how we all determine our lives (whether in the plans we make, or even how we vote), the show also reaches a universal territory.

And there are surprises when the play traces Austen’s feminist influence through to the present day. As Laura’s modern politics take hold in the story, women cast off the patriarchal yoke to enjoy hook-ups and lesbian affairs. Regency-era ballroom dances give way to grime music and smartphones in an awfully polite riot directed by Samuel West.

Loved it.

Music/with/Changing/Parts @ Barbican Hall...

Last night Paul and I went to see/watch/hear/listen to the Philip Glass Ensemble perform/play/sing/recreate the magnificent Music with Changing Parts at the Barbican Hall in London's glitzy Barbican Centre.

Sadly the ensemble were without the great man himself due to illness, yet the night was as thrilling/exciting/mesmerising/hypnotic as we had both hoped.

Music with Changing Parts consists of one/two/three/four musical parts each related/combined/blended/morphed into ninety minutes of aural delight.

Although the four pieces are performed as a continuous whole/joined/combined/piece, each has its own flavour/section/area/variety.

Joining the ensemble on stage was musical director Michael Riesman/the London Contemporary Orchestra/30-strong children's choir/choral conductor Valerie Saint-Agathe.

The night was simply magical. Four kinds of magical. Magical/fascinating/enthralling/spellbinding.

Women? What women?! It would be funny if it wasn't so insidious.

This Iranian music streaming site Melovaz https://melovaz.net/ has genuinely removed women (and some men) from their album covers in a bizarre attempt of censorship. I've seen some weird examples of sexist censorship before but this is bloody ridiculous. It would be funny if it wasn't so insidious.

Dina Martina - Forgotten But Not Gone! @ Soho Theatre...

Last Saturday night Stuart and I went to see American drag artiste Dina Martina perform downstairs at the Soho Theatre in London's glitzy West End.

Joanna, Stuart and I had seen Dina perform at Provincetown Pride earlier in the year and the show was an expanded version of that.

Dina Martina's shows are a mash-up of live singing (off-colour and off-key), outrageous costumes, and hilarious video montages. It's a very knowing, high camp drag show and very funny. The show was called Forgotten But Not Gone! and featured a lot of British songs - not least West End Girls and Life in a Northern Town.

I'm sure the Pet Shop Boys and The Dream Academy would both laugh at their songs being lovingly murdered by an overweight drag queen with a quick wit and sparkle in her eye. My sides were literally aching from laughing.

Other comedic reinterpretations were Mungo Jerry's In The Summertime (as an attack on American over-consumption on Independence Day) and that classic Fever (re-worded as an attack on the anti-vax lobby). We were also treated to extended stories about earthquake clowns (!) and Dina's US presidential election launch video.

The show ended with a mass singalong to Fleetwood Mac's Take the Long Way Home. Yes, more Brits!

Very funny.

Falsettos @ The Other Place...

Last Friday night Stuart and I went to see the musical Falsettos at The Other Place in London's glitzy Victoria.

Set in 1979 New York City (and the years shortly afterwards) the story is told in two acts; March of the Falsettos and Falsettoland.

In act one Marvin (Daniel Boys) has left his wife Trina (Laura Pitt-Pulford) for another man, Whizzer (Oliver Savile). Into the mix we have their ten-year-old Jason (James Williams), their family psychiatrist Mendel (Joel Montague replacing Matt Cardle), and lesbian neighbours Cordelia (Natasha J Barnes) and Charlotte (Gemma Knight-Jones).

From the opening number "Four Jews In A Room Bitching" we knew we were in for a fun night.

The night continued with many a comedic song - notably Trina's "I'm Breaking Down" - and Marvin's touching lament to his son "Father to Son", and Mendel excellent "Everyone Hates His Parents".

During act two the plot moves from domestic squabbles to tragedy when Charlotte, a doctor, becomes aware that young gay men in the city arrive at the hospital sick with a mysterious illness that no one understands ("Something Bad is Happening").

Rumours are spreading, but the disease is spreading faster - then Whizzer collapses suddenly during a game of squash...

Much to Jason's distress, Whizzer's illness becomes more serious. Despite the former offering to get Bar Mitzvahed if Whizzer gets better ("Another Miracle of Judaism") the latter resolves to face death with dignity and courage ("You Gotta Die Sometime").

A great show that had many people around us cheering and sobbing in equal measure.

The Antipodes @ Dorfman Theatre...

Last night Stuart and I went to see The Antipodes at the Dorfman Theatre on London's glitzy South Bank.

This latest work by Annie Baker, the Pulitzer Prize-winning author of "The Flick," is "a play about people telling stories about telling stories," featuring a stellar cast of Fisayo Akinade, Matt Bardock, Arthur Darvill, Imogen Doel, Hadley Fraser, Conleth Hill, Sinéad Matthews, Stuart McQuarrie, and Bill Milner.

The actors are sitting around a table in a writers' room participating in a series of creative brainstorming sessions for an unspecified project. Judging from the boss’s opening admonition that there be "no dwarves or elves or trolls," this involves the fantasy genre. They start by switching their phones switched off, and telling, categorising and theorising various stories.

Their stories are about their lives, such as describing their first sexual experiences, the worst thing that ever happened to them and their deepest regret. The ensuing anecdotes related are often deeply personal and sometimes painful to listen to, such as a graphic account of the physical effects of a sexually transmitted disease.

However the play itself doesn't have a story - or much of one - and although there is much to admire in the acting and in the deliberately ambiguous effort, it is often bemusing or, worse, frustrating.

Sure, the play features many dark comedic touches, such as a video conference call with an unspecified but clearly important figure that is hampered by garbled transmissions and for which the team dons silly-looking virtual reality-type shades. There are also foreboding elements, such as the boss's frequent references to personal crises at home and the group’s nervously awaiting an approaching violent storm. The proceedings become increasingly surreal and mystical, especially when a bare-chested note-taker dons an animal skin and conducts a mysterious ritual while the others are asleep.

That message comes through loud and clear in the play about story-telling, but the obliqueness eventually proves just too frustrating. Despite its amusingly pungent dialogue and the expert performances by the ensemble, The Antipodes, which runs nearly two hours without an intermission, ultimately feels as stifling as being trapped in a conference room during an interminable meeting.

As always, Baker's writing proves provocative and insightful. But she seems to be straining too hard here for a significance that feels unearned. This play about storytelling might have benefited from having an actual story. Or at least some dwarves or elves or trolls.

Doctor Who vs. Politicians...

The lovely Sarah Dempster started a thread on Twitter of "awful politicians and their 1972-1981 Doctor Who counterparts". Here are some of my favourites - even if some stray into the modern Dr Who era a bit. Do check them all out.

https://twitter.com/Dempster2000/status/1185157065762856961

The Gun, The Ledger Building, The Grapes, and The Prospect of Whitby...

The weekend before last Stuart and I met up with Andy and Kev for a trip to The Gun down in Wapping for a posh Sunday roast lunch followed by a bit of a pub crawl (The Ledger Building, The Grapes, and The Prospect of Whitby).

Great company, great views of the Thames.