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I have been much exercised recently by thoughts concerning Ben Wheatley's new film A Field in England. On the first viewing I got to the end with my mouth open wide, and at the end of my second viewing I got to the end with my mouth open even wider. By turns it is: infuriating, brilliant, masterful, disorientating and beautifully atmospheric. Shot with great care in monochrome by Laurie Rose, many will, and indeed do, hate it. I loved it. So much so that I said to The Boys "Why don't we do an homage to it?" They readily agreed, rummaged around for big coats and hats that held an extremely vague approximation to a mid-seventeenth century look and got down to writing the script over a hastily disposed of supper. The restrictions were manifold. It had to be one shot, two lines of dialogue at the most and the location within a mile of Ashley Towers. I knew we'd have a problem with the wind buffeting the tiny mike on the camera, but we had great fun, and for what it's worth here it is. Have a look at the real thing, and if you experience it on DVD you can make up for any misgivings by watching all the 'making of' extras, which are amongst the most informative and entertaining I've seen. Particularly the uncensored views of performer Michael Smiley and the practicalities of blowing somebody's face off.
So there we were, motoring between tall hedges with the twin towers above their lonely beach playing peek-a-boo with us as we edged nearer to Reculver on the North Kent coast. "James Bond came down here in his Aston Martin DBIII in Moonraker" I said. "Really?" she replied, somewhat suspiciously. Quite rightly. Bond's visit was in Ian Fleming's Goldfinger (1959): He came up with a crossroads. To the left the signpost said RECULVER. Underneath was the ancient monument sign for Reculver church. Bond slowed, but didn't stop. We did, and spent a happy hour wandering about the gaunt ruins and beach, trying to avoid being in that other photographer's viewfinder. "Don't worry" he said, "I'll Photoshop you out". On the pub verandah later I mused: That's what people will say about me. "What happened to Peter Ashley?" "Oh, he got photoshopped out". Read more about the church here, read the original James Bond books to see just how much they contrast with the gadget laden later films. I really like them, and think I'll read Moonraker again, this time following Fleming's narrative in the right order, instead of backwards trying to find the word 'Reculver'.
So, there I was, roaming disconsolately around 'History Live!' the new wizzy and slightly queasy name for English Heritage's Festival of History at Kelmarsh. Why do they do this? It's like the English Tourist Board now being 'Enjoy England'. Yes, I will, thankyou. Anyway, I wandered about under the lowering skies, looking at Roman soldiers on their iPhones, chatting up WWII nurses doing each other's hair and generally feeling glum at the lack of light for my pictures when 'lo!', I walked into the beer tent and saw this on the bar. Now I don't normally drink the fruit of the apple, but how could I resist this? Quite apart from my well known penchant (in certain select quarters at least) for white on red polka dots, I just loved the design. It took me a while to get to the small print, but '100% cider apples' and 'Herefordshire' did it for me too. So what's it like? Let's put it like this. Come Christmas I want a reasonable quantity stowed in the cellars of Ashley Towers. As it says on the label: 'Well rounded, medium, still.' Thankyou to Celtic Marches who made it and designed the label- just for me it would appear.
There can perhaps be nothing more English than watching an event in the pouring rain. C
onsidering the recent spell of excellent weather it really was bad luck that the al fresco performance of Pride and Prejudice at the National Trust's Ightham Mote should have been greeted and terminated by a storm of Biblical proportions on Saturday night. We arrived as rain swept across the lawns, tripping over our folding chairs and picnic hampers as we desparately tried to find a viewing position that didn't involve other people's umbrellas and massed ranks of hooded kagoules. I sat on a packet of wet scotch eggs, chucked a big glass of rose over the people in front and tried to keep an even temper as my chair decided to fold itself back up again and slowly sink into the grass. It was at this point that a lady thrust herself upon me and asked "Would you like to buy a raffle ticket?" I expect to hear of my membership suspension from the National Trust shortly.
But sincerest congratulations to the Chapterhouse Theatre Company for such a valiant and utterly professional attempt to give us the play for half an hour before a classic lightning strike threatened to take out the entire Bennet family. Two for one in one case as the actor playing Mr.Bennet doubled up as a very convincing D'Arcy, presumably doing very quick changes behind a convenient and very damp shrub.
I've made some decisions this week, quite apart from re-starting my blog. But first a very big thankyou for to all those followers who didn't disengage and who have kept the faith whilst I've been faffing about. I've decided not to Twitter anymore after I looked at the last one I'd 'tweeted' that used all the word allowance to ponder on why there was a teatowel from Leatherhead blowing on my neighbour's washing line. And the same goes for MugBook. The truth is I just can't be bothered with all that, but what I will promise is that these Unmitigated Postings will be as regular as All Bran. It's a forum I love, I've been away from it far too long, and even if there's only my immediate followers out there reading it I shall be very happy.
The idea for my 'first' posting came from the above tin that I found irresistible in Market Harborough's Market Hall the other week, and the timing for it's first appearance is hopefully obvious. And having just received the fabulously beautiful gift of my first grandaughter from Only Daughter, I'm all ridiculously babied-up at the moment. So here's to all new arrivals, royal or not quite so royal. (Opens bottle of Pimm's, puts a teat on it, gurgles it down in one, falls over. Smiling beatifically.)
It's no good me making apologies, but my computer is playing extraordinary tricks and is so slow that I can walk faster with my legs tied together. And this new Blogger thing doesn't help. It's taken since Monday, my birthday, to bring you this. So, we were all in the pub celebrating the fact that I'd completed yet another year, and in comes a very lovely lady bearing the above. A big cake just for me! How is it that people know what I like? I must have gone on about post boxes somewhere, because here was a very Special Delivery. My monogram on the door, a bag full of letters, and more cut-out icing letters saying 'Happy Birthday' scattered on the stone path. I just don't want to eat it. What should I do? Anyway, it managed to get back to Ashley Towers without ending up on the pub car park, where it is displayed along with other gifts that include a Selfridges No Noise Marmite jar. I'll start blogging it now and perhaps it will appear in a year's time.
A New Year, new departures. Once that dead zone between Christmas and the end of the month was safely and agreeably negotiated, the first UE outing of 2013 swung into action. I sat with a chum in a cafe in Stamford, and we both had the same idea simultaneously. Let's drive out onto the fens and find a really dodgy pub where we'll be made most unwelcome and have to leave. Turning off the A47 at Guyhirne we travelled north east from the bank of the tidal Nene and very soon found exactly what we were looking for. Excellently kept Elgood's Cambridge beer, a taciturn landlord and a pair of 1950's photographs on the wall that showed two aspects of another fenland pub with a burnt-out annex and a hump-backed Standard Vanguard parked up against it. We sank the Elgoods, nodded at each other and made our way into the back-end of Wisbech, and onto the North Brink (above). This must be the one of the finest runs of Georgian buildings in England, if you ignore that tall gabled gothic extrusion halfway down. At the west end is Elgood's Brewery, outside of which we stood in silent appreciation for a few minutes, and then a walk down past the perfect Peckover House where as a child I was taken out onto the roof and shown a stork's nest next to a chimney pot. A little further and the low winter sun highlighted the front room of the Hare & Hounds Hotel, wherein we found more Elgoods and beef stew with dumplings. And an obliging and pretty girl to serve us. Happy New Year from Unmitigated England!
