Spreading the Christmas Love

So tonight, my darlings, S….. (a Kiwi buddy) and I are off to see L’elisir d’amore at Covent Garden’s finest, the Royal Opera House, no less. I have not seen this particular alcohol induced love triangle before and am anticipating twists, turns, tangles and much quaffing of the red wine elixir.

the elixir of love (ROH website)

I can’t wait and am going to spend many of the intervening hours debating (with myself) whether I drive in comfort and stump up for congestion charging and extortionate parking or brave (relatively) low cost public transport and get sore feet. Hmmm. If I had the egg -shell blue Vespa above and the clement weather no argument would be needed but I do not and so I must go on fighting. At least until I put on my high heeled boots and grab the car keys from the dog’s bed.

Last month I took a pic from our seats in the stalls of the glorious Opera House. Here it is:

not sitting here tonight (mrscarmichael)

S…… and I will be seated just out of shot and ever so slightly upwards. No, up and back a bit more. Bit more, bit more. Ok, I have my crampons. I have my opera glasses. Good seats at the ROH, I’ll have you know, cost a gazzilion spondoolies and Donnizetti may just not do it for us. Bryn Terfel will though. Of that we can be sure.

It’s all good. So good, in fact already I have popped the tickets in my handbag. S….. will be especially pleased to hear this news. Her last invitation resulted in disaster and the non-seeing of Sadler’s Wells, Great Gatsby, heralded by all (bar S…… and myself) as a triumph:

In Which Mrs Carmichael Looses the Plot and Needs to Take Time Out For a Jolly Good Cry

And for that I am truly sorry. Tonight is going to be worlds’ better. It’s Christmas, I have the tickets, a table for two is reserved in my name at an Italian restaurant (see how I’m running with the theme here) in Bow Street for 6.00pm, my black jeans are in the dryer now and the ‘weather bomb’ predicted to grace our shores today is, as yet, happily making sixty foot waves out west, Atlantic way.

What can possibly go wrong?

Christmas Past and Present (a Sacred Time of Year)

a kiwi christmas tree

As a child my Christmases were sun filled. Yuletide cards might have boasted snow and icicles but this wasn’t a reality for me. My reality involved holidays, beaches, bbq’s and mucking about in boats.

Hot long summers produced magnificent Pohutukawa flowers. To New Zealanders everywhere and through time these trees represent not just Christmas but lovely long lazy days. Ahhhhh bliss.

Then I moved to London and everything changed. I struggled to produce meaningful work after 3.30pm so dark and nightime-ish was it outside. The icicles and snow became a reality. As did the rain, never depicted on cards I can recall.

christmas a la Oxford Street (mrscarmichael)

But there was something magical about a ‘real’ Christmas and I have embraced that magic ever since. More or less.

Carnaby Street decals, 2013 (mrscarmichael)

In the West End on a solo shopping expedition recently I hunted among Soho’s little side streets for a café to reenergise without breaking the Liberty diminished bank balance.

Eschewing the Starbucks, Prêts and Costas I found a welcoming coffee house, Sacred that boasted a corner table with my name on it (well, you know what I mean).

Ever conscious of my increased proclivity for talking to strangers I said nothing on realising it was a fellow countrywoman who took my tuna melt and Americano order. Feeling proud of my restraint I sat, checked my cell, reread my shopping list and waited for my food.

This was my order number.

only the best ice cream on a stick in the whole wide world (mrscarmichael)

“Tuna melt and long black?” another young thing asked me.

Had I fallen down Alice’s rabbit hole? No one says ‘long black’ is this here neck of the woods. She too had a Kiwi accent.

I looked around carefully seeing for the first time Kiwiana everywhere. Maps, tikis, NZ flags, and this framed bus route from Wellington, my home town. It even includes the hood of my youth.

nostalgia central plus a paua shell (mrscarmichael)

The long black was off the highest New Zealand barista standard, the vittles yummy and I plan a return visit to try the brie and cranberry panini which is, I am informed, festively topical and to die for.

As pleased as I bet Mary was to find that manger I am delighted to have fallen upon this café, a Kiwi oasis 12,000 miles from home.

Mere Kirihimete y’all.

Link: http://www.cosycoffeeshops.co.uk/uk/sacred-cafe-soho-london/

Out and About in London Town

if the cap fits (ITV)

Back in October I got tickets for the recording of a TV show (Loose Women) in ITV’s studios on the Southbank and invited my friend, Gracie to accompany me. It was a bit of an adventure, a day out, a moment among the famous and apart from the tube fare, lunch and a tipple absolutely free.

It was quite fun too. We got to see the very good looking, well groomed and suavely dressed Lawson perform Juliet and managed to tolerate a very, very loose Janet Street-Porter cuss and opine.

We, Gracie and I, decided that a day out was a good thing and good things bear repeating. On a monthly basis from here on out.

We will take turns and the only rule: the destination/event/activity must be free.

yes please (mrscarmichael)

Gracie took me to a pop art exhibition at the Barbican. I like the Barbican and don’t go there enough. I like the Brutalist architecture, the restaurants and the cultural offerings contained within its concrete walls.

The pop art was not much cop on the ground floor but got rather good upstairs. I can’t show you because photography was verboten.

The level of goodness gave us a head rush. We needed food and beverage to withstand the cultural onslaught.

I had the basil (mrscarmichael)

The only downside to this day. Entry was not free. It was £12.00 a head.

In this dog eat Pedigree Chum world of Boris Johnson’s Mensa elite, South Korean school children putting in thirteen hour days and unpaid internships (don’t get me started) I feel the need to inject a competitive edge into the monthly outings.

And view this as a 1:nil to Mrs Carmichael. Soon to be 2:nil.

Tomorrow it’s my turn again and we head to Regent Street and Liberty, the wackiest department store in the whole god damn wide world.

christmas ready (detalliare.com)

Yes, of course it’s free. Isn’t that the only rule of the game?

So now, beloved followers I need your help. I want to win. Thinking caps on then, creative minds engaged.

More ideas please. In and around London or indeed further afield.

Fulsome credit will be awarded to all challenges accepted.

Just one more thing. Can we keep this our little secret? Sssssh, lips sealed.

Weekly Photo Challenge (The World Through My Eyes) A Rant About the Shard

If Mrs Carmichael could draw, design and manage the simplest mathematical problem she might, just might have been an architect.

I love good design and disagree vehemently with Prince Charles who views all things modern as ‘carbuncles’. Thank goodness he has a couple of hundred old houses/palaces/castles to live in then.

Any hoo, back to me and my love of new architecture.

London now boasts some amazing modern structures: lloyds; the Gherkin; City Hall to name but three.

But there is one that forces me to agree with Chaz. The Shard is the carbuncle of all carbuncles and punctures the London skyline with vicious and unkindly intent.

Shard softened by reflection (mrscarmichael)

Here it is again.

stick this where the sun don’t shine (mrscarmichael)

Through my eyes this is one ugly mother of an edifice and does nothing to make England’s capital city better, bigger, grander. To me it says;

“Here I am. Hark at me. I am rich and you are less so. ‘My name is Ozymandias, king of kings: Look on my works ye mighty and despair.'”

The business men from Qatar who own this white elephant are struggling to fill both the office space (apparently the wrong shape for offices) and the floors allocated to £50,000,000 apartments too. At night it stands dark and unloved, save the extortionately priced viewing gallery and restaurant at the summit.

But to my mind it’s worse than this. I understand the Shard is the only structure to break St Paul’s wonderful sight lines which have been preserved for many a long year.

Blitz surviver (mrscarmichael)

From Richmond, Primrose Hill, Greenwich, Blackheath and more Londoners should be able to see St Paul’s Cathedral in all its majestic (yes, Prince C, I agree with you on this landmark) glory.

And we have allowed a line to be broken. Shame on us.

I’ll let the prescient Percy Bysshe have the final word. I’ve got my fingers crossed.

‘Nothing beside remains. Round the decay
Of that colossal wreck, boundless and bare
The lone and level sands stretch far away.’