Royal Shakespeare Company (RSC) Theatre Renovation

Living in the heart of Stratford upon Avon means that we can't escape the current £100+ million renovation of the Royal Shakespeare Company (RSC) Theatre. According to the official website documenting the work:

"The RSC’s ambition is to create the best theatre for Shakespeare in the world, a modern take on the courtyard theatres of Shakespeare’s day, with a thrust stage auditorium seating just over 1,030 people. The aim is to transform the relationship between artists and audiences, reducing the distance from the furthest seat to the stage from 29 to 15 metres."

The RSC claim that the theatre adds £57 million a year to the local economy. Judging by the number of foreign visitors that ask me how to get to it while I'm walking Hobbes during the summer months, I would be inclined to agree.

To ensure this income continues throughout almost five years of disruption, a smaller theatre in the town was considerably extended last year. It is called The Courtyard and it is situated about 250 yards from the existing theatre. The Courtyard contains an exact replica of the new "thrusting stage" that will be in the new theatre. We have watched a couple of plays there and it is excellent. The building may look like a rusty shed (the local nickname for the building due to the metal construction), but it's fantastic inside.

The RSC can't just knock down the building and start again because it is "listed", which means it can only be altered/renovated with strict condictions. It is largely disliked because it is rather ugly -- and, personally, I think the plans for the renovation aren't much better. I sympathise with the architects because they were obviously limited by the existing 1932 building and the many influential voices that influenced the design (Prince Charles is actively involved), but the end result is clearly a compromise. As you can see by the photograph above (taken from the website), the building will neither be old or modern, striking or functional. I'm hoping it looks/works better than it does on the plans because it is such an important international institution.

Wuthering Heights

Bravo, Chris, Bravo! An excellent performance of Wuthering Heights last night and you were great in the lead role of Heathcliff.

Lake District

Last weekend I ventured back into the Lake District with Richard and Mike to celebrate 15 years of climbing together. Sadly, mother nature didn't get the invite to our party and she decided to rain on our parade -- a lot.


It was a pretty wild Saturday, so we decided to do a short walk from Elterwater, over the ridge and down into the village of Grasmere, returning along the edge of the lake and over Loughrigg fell. Despite the lashing rain, it was uncharacteristically warm, which made for rather grim and sweaty conditions for stomping up these little hills. However, we were rewarded with quite dramatic winter scenes down the valleys.


Three men never looked so good in Gortex. Yeah, right.


We enjoyed an afternoon of drying off in the local pub, catching up on the various house renovations we all had planned or recently completed and exchanged stories about our fast growing brood of boys. This was in stark contrast to our first post-climb drink 15 years ago when we drank and sang for England, slept in a random field and then dined on a breakfast of pie and chips before summiting numerous 3000+ft peaks. Those days have long gone!

We spent the evening in Windermere, staying at a "world famous" B&B carefully chosen by Richard. We soon deduced that it was "world famous" for being freezing cold and decidedly grotty, made tolerable only by its proximity to the village. Sadly, the village of Windermere is also, in my opinion, the least attractive Lakeland has to offer, with only a couple of very rough pubs and a limited number of places to eat.

We spent a toasty night under every duvet and blanket the B&B had to offer (hard core climbers we are not) and survived the desperately sad life story of the proprietor, which was revealed over breakfast after subtle questioning by Mike.


Sunday was a very different day. Colder but brighter, the weather promised good views and the route guaranteed a hard, rewarding day of walking. We parked at Little Langdale and climbed Wetherlam, a somewhat isolated peak in the Langdale valley that stands 2,500ft high.


We had a day of clear views across to the Langdale Pikes and Pavey Ark, the Fairfield Horshoe, Swirlhow, a glimpse of Bow Fell and, 30 miles in the distance, the Yorkshire peaks should have been visible.


Unusually, trees lined the valleys and there was a sprinkling of tortured specimins around 1,500ft high. I don't know how they survive the high winds and hold onto the mountain in the thin, infertile soil, but they accentuate the rugged, glacial landscape.



The view from the summit of Wetherlam was great.



We chose our own descent, which proved hairy enough to keep our attention focused on the rocks tumbling beneath us into the gorge.



It was a magnificent anniversary of our 15 years in the mountains together. In all, the weekend had small reminders of the many, many glorious adventures we have enjoyed together in the mountains over the years; hard toil that earns spectacular views, dreadful weather that questions our intentions, fresh air and silence that can not be bought, eccentric local folk accentuated as the warm beer flows and, most importantly, the sense that for just a few fleeting moments we are free from our obligations, reliant only on each other and masters of our own journey.

Dead Man Walking

A colleague recently forwarded the details of a fascinating, but somewhat macabre, long distance walk in the North East of England. Called the "Lyke Wake Walk", it is a complete crossing of the North Yorkshire moors along the main east-west watershed, a distance of approximately 40 miles. Those that complete the walk in the alloted time receive the title of Dirger (as in the person who walks behind a coffin) or witch. For those so inclined to complete the walk more than once, the "dirger" will be bestowed with the title of Master of Misery or Doctor of Dolefulness.

I think this is a strong contender for a long summer weekend!

Meindl - forgiven, but not forgotten

During my summer walk from Stratford upon Avon to London, my trusty Meindl boots literally fell apart. They were among the best Meindl manufacture, so I was shocked that they only lasted 50+ days of walking in 5 years. Sadly, Meindl couldn't replace the boots "on route", so it was down to my friend from the US to save the day by lending me his own boots for the remainder of the walk.

When I returned home after the walk, I mailed the boots to Meindl in Germany for "assessment". I didn't hold out much hope. But, much to my surprise, four weeks later my boots returned -- completely repaired and with a new lease of life! Meindl had completely replaced the Vibram soles, cushioning and, most importantly, the heavy duty lining that molds the sole to the Goretex/leather upper of the boot. The repair had been completed with incredible craftsmanship (see my previous note on why I only buy German equipment where possible). I slipped the boots back on (new inners had also been supplied) and I felt the familiar hug of my trusty climbing boots -- but with the reinvigorated support of new soles. The repair had been completed for free.

So, it's fair to say that I'm really impressed with Meindl's response. As a company, they have reinforced my belief that they are among the finest makers of 3/4 season boots for mountains. They are much better, in my opinion that Zamberland or Scarpa (with the exception of expedition boots, of course). As I prepare to wax my boots again for an upcoming climb in the Lake District, I can honestly say that I forgive Meindl for letting me down. But forget? No.

Shocker!

Am I the only person in England who is shocked (and financially hurt) by the cost of petrol/diesel? It cost more than £70 (almost $150) to fill up my car this week -- I was so amazed, I couldn't help taking a photo. The chap behind me actually said "shocker isn't it!"

Paris, France

I always cringe when our good friends in America refer to "Paris, France", as though the person they are talking to will get confused with some other capital city called Paris. So it was much to my surprise when, upon searching the city on google, it threw back no less than 10 other cities in the US called Paris located in states such as Texas, Idaho, Kentucky and Illinois. So, please forgive me my previous transgression.

I was researching the city online because I visited briefly on Friday. Unfortunately, the French obsession with striking meant that I literally landed, battled my way to the office, presented for a couple of hours and battled my way back to the airport among 3 million Parisians who were trying to get home without the aid of the public transport system. And I missed breakfast and lunch.... typical Englishman abroad.



Like many other short-haul business travelers, I only saw the inside of the airport, taxi and office, but I would like to visit the city to look around. Who doesn't want to see the Eiffel Tower one day?

Time well spent in the gym

Cannes, France

One of the more glamorous places I visit each year due to my work is Cannes, France. In seven years I have never found the time to explore the town due to our busy schedule, but the daily walk along the croisette between our hotel and the Palais de Congress (where the Cannes film festival is held) is rather beautiful. The days are very long, but if I take the "glass half full" view, it means that I get to take some early morning shots of the bay.

Boo!

In an attempt to keep B's American heritage alive, we held a pumpkin carving party during Halloween.

The dads immediately did what dads do -- turned it into a competition -- and the kids did what kids do best at organized events -- played with something entirely different. I guess dogs also do what dogs do best too; Hobbes correctly identified the pumpkin for the edible foodstuff that is actually was. But fun was had by all and the end result looked sufficiently creepy on the doorstep.