Hitching in Bromley

As I've mentioned before, I first heard the first Hitchhiker when it was first broadcast on the radio, back in 1978. 

And, old fart that I am, I still believe that first radio series was the best, and that the TV wasn't as interesting. Notoriously, and obviously, the pictures weren't as good on telly - but also they messed around with the plot and to my mind simplified it.  And the books (which came in between) were the source for the TV version and shared many of the weaknesses of those shows.

Although, I know, lots of people liked the cartoon versions of the book on TV (and they were cartoons, not digital, back then), and DNA (Douglas Adams) liked the fact that in the books he could add back in a few lines that he'd written but which hadn't made it to the final broadcast on the radio, and he could also lose some John Lloyd-isms.  So in that sense it was purer Adams - but for me at least it wasn't purer Hitchhiker.

I also heartily disliked the Book at Bedtime version of the Eoin Colfer continuation.  And of course the most recent film was vile, despite being based on an Adams' script.

So I'm a bit fussy on this subject.

However, how could I resist an advert for "The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy Radio Show... Live!" at the Churchill theatre in Bromley.  It had many of the original radio cast - that is:

Simon Jones as Arthur Dent
Geoffrey Mcgivern as Ford Prefect
Susan Sheridan as Trillian
Mark Wing-Davey as Zaphod Beeblebrox
and the voice of Stephen Moore as Marvin The Paranoid Android.

Each night the Book would be played by a different guest star.  Like I said, how could I resist, even though there was typical confusion regarding the script to be followed (ie, it seemed to be the original radio series but the teaser video talks of it being based on the novels).

What a strange experience.  A live band - who were quite good - with a light show. At one point they switched to playing the Dr Who theme music - which was allowed, I suppose as Adams did act as script editor for a while and wrote some episodes.  A comfy chair for the Book (we had Andrew Sachs - Manuel to some of you) towards the right rear of the stage, a series of microsphones for the stars to perform the Radio show, and a live version of the BBC Radiophonic Workshop.  In other words a couple of chaps doing the special effects on stage as the action developed.  And very good they were too - I especially liked their renditions of the Pan Galactic Gargle Blaster and the falling (and landing) Whale.

The show really began when these two grey-haired old blokes tuned up. 

Years ago we used to watch Live & Kicking on BBC on Saturday mornings with our (then) young sons, and I can remember Andi Peters and Emma Forbes beginning one show sitting with a very old, grey-haired, rumpled-looking man on the sofa.  Quite unpreposessing.  Andi explained to the kids that he was amazing, and that their parents would know who this man was as soon as he opened his mouth and said something.  Which he promptly did.  He said 'Good morning children,' or something like that, and not only was it immediately clear that he was Oliver Postgate, but I was transported back to Ivor the Engine and Noggin and Pogles and so forth.

Something very similar happened last night in Bromley.  The two grey-haired blokes started talking and it was immediately obvious that they were Arthur Dent and Ford Prefect.  Their voices were unchanged,  I shut my eyes and it felt like the radio a long time ago.  It was only at that point that I realised one of the old blokes was wearing a dressing gown. 

And it worked.  Finally a new version of H2G2 that I could warm to. 

The first half was a cut down verion of the first four Fits, slightly altered and edited (and with some stuff from the books, but not too intrusive).  the second half was a rather messy selection of good bits from the rest of the stories in a pretty arbitrary order.  Which they recognised ('Arthur according to our records you seem to be missing several chapters from your life').

Toby Longworth was good as Slartibartfast, and the Vogons worked, too.

And Marvin was wonderful.  A puppet Marvin, with an operator in black, based on old bits of radio and a tape recorder - with Stephen Moore doing the voice, what's not to love.  Not the horrible Marvins from the TV and film, this one fitted in and worked!

OK, so they changed the name of the worst poet in the Universe for the obvious reason, I assume, and they referred to the 'Big Bang Burger Chef' rather than 'Bar', losing some of the aliteration to no discernible benefit.  And Sachs struggled with the script occasionally (some reviews on the Web suggest that other Books were more into the Guide and did better).

But other innovations worked well.  For example the extended scene with an increasingly frustrated Arthur trying to get a cup of tea out of a nutrimatic drink dispenser.  And failing.  And then the nutrimatic machine leading the audience in community singing - of "Share and Enjoy".  The Crikkit song and Marvin's song also stood up - just about.

Mostly however what made the show was these weird old people, who for some obscure reason had these remembered and much-loved voices from over thirty years ago, and were happily sharing them with us.

It could have been some kind of rock-show retrospective - like how John Cleese described performing the Parrot Sketch on tour (first silence, and then applause (but few laughs)).  But it didn't feel like that at all, and the audience laughed at many of the jokes (as well as mouthing them along with the performers).

Ah, the audience.  You would expect a fair number of grey haired old fogies out there as well.  And there were certainly some - with towels, and '42' and 'Don't talk to me about life' tee shirts, and dressing gowns.  But gratifyingly, there seemed to be quite a lot of people of all ages there and enjoying themselves, including some quite young children.

Anyway - I was won over.  Finally.  By Hitchhiker (sort of) away from the radio.

Here is the teaser from Youtube.

A Tad Humdrum

This appeared in yesterday's Guardian Weekend magazine:

Hooray, we're on the map! But the piece appears worthy of some closer analysis.

Firstly, how come Nunhead (popn. over 10,000 towards the end of the nineteenth century) has been yoked with the evil empires of Honor Oak Park, Brockley and Ladywell? Recently Burnham-on-Crouch (popn. 7,600) had its own page to itself, and it is far less interesting. I note the page is differently titled on the Guardian's own InterWeb site (Let's Move to south-east London), so maybe they now recognise their mistake.

There is quite a lot missing: not least any mention of Nunhead Cemetery. One of the Magnificent Seven, and a terrific, overgrown, wild place to visit.

It mentions Ayres the bakers but somehow ignores Sopers wonderful wet fish cornucopiae.

And then again, it talks about boozers - fair enough, although several have shut in the last few years - but then fails to mention any of the pubs on Nunhead Green or the Lane itself. Not even the Old Nun's Head, from where (roughly) the photograph was taken. Nor the Pyrotechnic's Arms with its interesting history. The only pub it mentions, The Herne Tavern, is miles away (often described elsewhere as being on the "East Dulwich borders") and not that exciting apart from the garden. If you have to mention a pub on the Rye, The Clock House is surely the one to go for.

And as an aside, why illustrate the piece with a picture of the Great Wall of China seen from a distance? Nice enough fish and chips I know, but hardly the true heart of Nunhead, unless you are very, very fond of fried food.

It mentions Dulwich far too much for any sane person.

And what does it say is wrong with the area? That it's "a tad humdrum" is about it - (everything else in that section is about speed humps (a good thing) and house prices outside the area).

A tad humdrum? Well possibly, but I suspect that may be no bad thing. However, several people have commented that 'humdrum' appears to be the tone I try to set in this blog, so I may be biased.

But - suddenly - I want to react against it and speak of the marvels of the area. The wonders and the joys. And add such astonishing things to this poor archive that will give man pause and cause frail women to faint in astonishment. Just give me a sec.

On the other hand, when the piece speaks of where to buy it describes a "magical hilly world almost entirely comprised of brick terraces". Fair enough, I suppose, although I suspect the writer is thinking more of Telegraph Hill when he says that.

And he does call this land a "pocket of niceness" - which I suspect is what causes all the humdrumitude.

So I'll forgive him for now and go back to sleep in the shop window.

End of Year Review 2008

Well 2008 has been pretty rich for me, in many ways:-

• I attended a school reunion (thanks, Jacqueline, for organising it).
• I had a big birthday (and a big birthday party to go along with it, when we saw lots and lots of old friends and some new ones).
• I spent my first year in a new job.
• We had a smashing holiday in the Summer (see the entries for the Trees Around Nunhead on Tour for some of the details).

At the same time, of course, a few people died in 2008 and I’d like to record and remember one or two of them.

When I was in my early teens, in the early seventies, I went to a small local exhibition on science fiction, astronomy and astronautics. (This was the 'Space Age Exhibition' held at the Arts Centre in Wood Green). I remember David Hardy paintings and a diorama showing (I think) the Selene from A Fall of Moondust. The exhibition lead, fairly directly I think, to the founding of the Astronomical Society of Haringey. I don’t think I made the first couple or so meetings, but went fairly regularly after that and for around five years. I remember watching the Apollo 17 moonwalk during a meeting in Christmas, 1972. “I was walking on the moon one day/In the merry, merry month of May December” (Cernan and Schmitt).

What surprised me at first was that the chairman, Fred and secretary Mat managed to get so many good (well, famous) speakers to come along. However, Mat was Mat Irvine (designer and maker of models for Dr Who, Blake’s Seven and many other shows) - and Fred was Fred Clarke, Arthur C. Clarke’s brother. When the latter was in the UK, and times matched, he would attend meetings, chat and answer questions. He gave me my first inklings of understanding about special relativity, when he answered, patiently and with some humour, my schoolboy questions. I remember him explaining how acceleration would remove the symmetry of most of the classical SR thought experiments (clocks, rulers, etc) - which is why they specify uniform motion. When Isaac Asimov came briefly to the UK, the Society got tickets to his Mensa lecture in London (introduced by ACC). I went – and he autographed a battered copy of The End of Eternity. I still have the tape of the talk somewhere.

Hearing about Arthur C Clarke’s death this year brought a lot of those memories back. My first reaction was amazement I think, that I had had the good luck to be around in Wood Green and Tottenham, and hence had a chance to meet him. I almost doubted my own memories, but found the ASH Web site on line, which confirmed all the cronologies; it also, amazingly, named Fred Clarke still as President and Mat Irvine as magazine editor, vice-chair and PR. They clearly build things to last up there in Wood Green and Southgate. Thinking about those days, I was also reminded of the strange hope that the Apollo missions created (in me, and for a while, at least).

When I first left University, I worked for a couple of years in Liverpool. I remember seeing Talent (Victoria Wood and Julie Walters) at the Playhouse, I think, as well as Willy Russell’s Blood Brothers. But most of all I recall Ken Campbell’s The Warp at the Everyman. For those unfamiliar with the piece, it is a 24 hour play by Neil Oram that previewed at the Edinburgh Fringe. Campbell, as artistic director, produced this as ten two-and-a-half hour plays, running over ten weeks (a different play each week). I went every Wednesday with friends. As the plays moved us through the different stages of the protagonist, Phil’s life the music changed (there was a very versatile house band, that partied in the interval and at the end of each play) and so did some of the scenes. The Everyman was set up as theatre “in the round”, with the audience mostly in the middle, and various stages scattered around them.

These plays were no-holds-barred: I recall the first play quickly presented full nudity and simulated sex. Notoriously, the Echo reported that the mayor of Liverpool walked out in disgust after five or so minutes but his daughter (the lady mayoress?) stayed and said something like “Daddy was just being silly”.

Another highlight from the Campbell incumbency at the Everyman was a production of War With The Newts which included not only actors in newt costumes but a deeply flooded stage around which the audience sat. Hearing about Ken Campbell’s death reminded me of those times in the early eighties when the Everyman was doing wonderful things, testing what could be done with space and setting.

Another sad loss this year was Humphrey Lyttelton. In some ways, as Clue was still being broadcast regularly up until his death, this somehow felt more immediate, although I must have known his voice for over thirty-five years – given that I listened, on-and-off, to the show from near the beginning. At first, I know, I missed I’m Sorry, I’ll Read That Again and felt that the quiz was something of a poor relation. But that soon passed. Alongside Humph, we should also I guess remember Geoffrey Perkins, who also worked for a while on Clue – as well HHGTTG and Radio-Active, amongst much else.

After Humph’s death, I’ve bought his books on Jazz and also his autobiography. Good enough, and I’ve learnt a lot, but I will still miss his voice.

Another unique voice belonged to Oliver Postgate. When he died, the Guardian ran remembrances on an astonishing dozen or more pages. Or perhaps not so astonishing really – from Ivor the Engine onwards, Postgate and Firmin’s quirky children’s programmes must have been seen by so many, and remembered with love.

When I worked at the British Museum the excellent British Museum film society invited them to give a lecture (4/10/2003), on the almost but not quite wholly spurious basis that the artwork for Noggin the Nog was partly based on the Lewis chess pieces. I went along, with our eldest, and had a fascinating evening. There were clips from Noggin, Ivor and the Clangers, etc and lots of stories. One of my favourites was told by Oliver Postgate (that voice!) – and it has also appeared elsewhere, I know.

Apparently, their practise was to write out the scripts for the Clangers, before they then whistled the words on swanee whistles. Apparently someone at the BBC objected to a script which had father Clanger swearing at a stuck door, and demanded changes to the words.

“But we are going to whistle it,” said Postgate.

“Yes, but people will know,” came back the reply from on high, so changes had to be made.

Postgate, a conscientious objector during the War, felt bad about being censored like this, and about compromising his principles, so when, that Christmas, Woollies put out knitted Clanger dolls which whistled when their tummies were pushed, father Clanger tootled something like “Bugger. The bloody door’s stuck again.” Or so Oliver Postgate said.

We had a brief chat with them at the end, and they signed a very old Noggin the Nog book of my wife’s, from her childhood (and seemed politely amazed and gratified to see it). I think that was also where I bought Seeing Things – Postgate’s autobiography, highly recommended, and quietly innovative in its own way. It bundles onto an enclosed CD ROM clips from the shows, along with photos and chapters that he hadn’t been able to get into the main book, and a complete e-copy of the main book itself.

However, I have to admit, Bagpuss came along a little too late for me; it is the earlier shows that I remember best.