D.C. Diary

Party Animal

Alex attended a birthday bash for his 2-year-old friend Cecily this morning. Something tells me he needs to work on his party stamina:

    

 
 

Spartacus

 

My mother is staying with us at the moment and last night we went to see the Bolshoi Ballet, who are performing at the Kennedy Center this week. I booked the tickets several weeks ago, before the programme was advertised, and so it wasn't until we got to the theatre that we discovered what was in store: Spartacus. 

Spartacus was created in 1968 by director Yuri Grigorovich and has been a mainstay of the Bolshoi's repertory ever since. The production has been performed to great acclaim all over the world over the past 40 years and I was delighted to have a chance to see this signature work on stage. However, coming just a few days after watching the Synetic Theater's production of Antony and Cleopatra, I couldn't help but compare the two. Spartacus seemed so dainty in comparison - the movements were so much less visceral, less emotional and less intimate. The corps de ballet seemed to prance across the stage when what Spartacus really called for was some powerful boot-thumping marching, with perhaps a spot of wrestling thrown in for good measure. Right from the opening scene, I kept being distracted by the very short leather skirts that the men were wearing. Was Crassus wearing tights? Or any pants? Judge for yourselves here:

 

To make things worse, I couldn't help thinking that Spartacus looked rather effeminate in his figure-hugging lycra outfit. I know he was incredibly strong and technically brilliant, but his off-the-shoulder ruby toga was just the sort of little number that Johnny Weir would wear - and his haircut was straight out of the Plushenko salon. (Yes, I too have become obsessed with the Olympic figure skating over the past couple of days). 

Nevertheless, parts of the ballet were very moving and the music was wonderful. Pretty much every scene featuring Phrygia was magical, although even then I couldn't concentrate properly as I spent the whole time trying to remember which TV programme the Phrygia 'theme tune' had been used in. My Mum told me at the end of the night that it was The Onedin Line. Just wish she'd mentioned that during the first interval.

Mitten madness

So apparently those red mittens we were given at the Canadian Embassy are the must-have memento from the Vancouver Games. According to the NBC website, the $10 mittens - which were worn by the Olympic torch-bearers - have been flying off the shelves and can no longer be found for love nor money in the Olympic venues. A percentage of sales from the gloves goes towards funding Canada's Olympic athletes and Canadians certainly appear to be 'smitten with mittens'. An estimated 3 million pairs of the knitted mitts have already been sold, but this still hasn't satisfied demand. Presumably the stores have run out as Canadian Embassies around the world have snapped up supplies to give out to free-loading diplomats. 

And they're not just useful as mittens either - Alex has been proudly wearing his as stockings to keep his little legs warm in the Washington winter. 

Pyjama protocol

"From Pajamagram...pyjamas delivered overnight and for Valentine's day in a gift hat box...and now introducing the Hoodie-Footie Snuggle Suit..."

So goes the radio advert for Pajamagram. Not a bad idea, but since when is a Hoodie-Footie Snuggle Suit an appropriate gift for your loved one? What happened to sexy lingerie, chocolates and red roses? If Simon gave me one of these romper suits then I would be seriously concerned about the state of our marriage. Honestly, it looks like something Alex (or maybe Churchill) would wear, not something you should be buying for your spouse.

The Pajamagram advert reminded me of the wonderful story on the BBC a couple of weeks about about the Tesco supermarket in Wales which had resorted to banning its customers from entering the shop if they were wearing pyjamas. This priceless interview with one Welsh mother who was barred entry when trying to buy 'a pack of fags' was one of the funniest things I had heard for ages. What was even more amusing were the comments on Radio 4's PM blog in response to the story, a brilliant example of class snobbery (and, dare I admit it, exactly the sort of thing I find myself thinking but can't believe others say aloud): 'If people in your supermarket/area wear pyjamas to go shopping you should move/go to Waitrose'. 

What is it about wearing pyjamas whilst shopping that Tesco believes will make other people feel uncomfortable? It must be something to do with the public and private spheres colliding; pyjamas are usually only seen by one's nearest and dearest and so seeing a stranger in their nightwear is an overly intimate experience. And how typical that the British reaction is embarrassment.  

(My mother has just pointed out that I do take Alex out most days in his pyjamas and neither he nor the general public seem too bothered by it. In fact, his sleepwear seems to attract admiring glances. I wonder if he would be allowed into Tesco ?).

Thinking about all this, I have just had a flashback to an evening at the British Embassy compound in Tehran when things were hotting up a little bit in the run-up to the Iraq War. There had been several bomb threats made against the Embassy and then someone drove their truck into the compound gates, setting fire to the vehicle and perishing inside. To add to the excitement, a few small hand-made grenades had started to come in over the back wall, so those of us with houses in the most vulnerable locations sought refuge late at night in the Ambassador's Residence, which was in the middle of the compound. My friend Kate and I were welcomed in by the Ambassador and his wife, who calmed us down and gave us cups of tea. I remember feeling quite shaken by the whole affair, but wonder now whether perhaps it was less the home-made pipe bombs and more the fact that I had just seen the Ambassador in his PJs and a paisley dressing gown. 

I'm off now to lie down in a darkened room. In my PJs, obviously.

Let the Games Begin

   

We celebrated the opening of the Winter Olympics last night at a reception hosted by the Canadian Embassy. Getting to the event was an Olympic feat in itself as the traffic in DC was amongst the worst the city has ever seen (although not quite as excruciating as the headline of today's Washington Post which read 'Nightmare on L St...'). I arrived at the party forty minutes after Simon, having given up on a taxi and tramped through several feet of snow along the sidewalk to make it to the metro. However, I timed it brilliantly and appeared just as he hit the front of the food queue (where we sampled that quintessential Canadian dish...pasta). Sadly, I had missed the synchronised skiing trampoliners, but I did arrive in time to witness the beginning of the Opening Ceremony on the big screen.

It felt very atmospheric looking out onto the snow-covered Mall, with the Capitol Building gleaming in the distance, surrounded by revellers in winter weather gear and wearing Olympic mittens.  (This was the first reception I'd ever attended wearing hiking boots as opposed to heels, and I enjoyed my comfortable footwear so much that I am planning to recommend to the British Embassy that they adopt this new dress code for all future events with immediate effect.) Olympic challenges laid on for guests included ice sculpting, Wii skiing, beer-drinking and shot-downing. Who needs to go to Vancouver for the Olympics when we can get it all here in DC - especially when we have the added bonus of actually having snow in our city. 

An All-American Afternoon

 

Alex had a taste of a very American pastime today - watching College sports. Our friend Ohemaa is in the American University women's basketball team and invited us to go and watch her play this afternoon. Naively, I was expecting a few dozen spectators seated on hard wooden benches and applauding rather awkwardly when the home team scored. Instead, we were treated to an all-singing, all-dancing affair, complete with a live band, sequinned cheerleaders, acrobatic gymnasts, half-time competitions, free T-shirts, an over-enthusiastic announcer and dodgy animal mascot (in this case, an Eagle). Alex really enjoyed himself, and looked right at home with his AU T-shirt and his coke. He stayed awake long enough to see Ohemaa grab her first basket after 13 seconds, nodded off for almost the entirety of the match and woke up just in time to help the Eagles celebrate their best victory of the season thus far, winning 82-47. For a flavour of the action, see highlights of the game (and the cheer-leading) here.

College sport in the US is a big deal, particularly for football and basketball players, as the universities provide recruiting grounds for the professional leagues. Although a minor women's university basketball game is small fry compared to the top College football matches, which can draw regular crowds of over 75,000, the Eagles take their sport incredibly seriously. Ohemaa's training regime is brutal (to use my favourite American adjective of the moment), comprising multiple fitness, gym and coaching sessions per day. But the hard work is worth it - the basketball players all receive sports scholarships to cover their tuition costs. And given that American University fees average around $35,000 per annum, even I might be tempted to get up at 5.30am to put in a few training sessions...

Synetic Shakespeare

 

I have blogged before about the Synetic Theater company, a mesmerising Washington-based group who specialise in 'physical theater'. We went this evening to see their latest offering - a 90-minute wordless version of Shakespeare's Antony & Cleopatra. This is a play I know well and I couldn't imagine how it could be possibly be performed without the poetry and prose of the Bard. And, yet again, the production completely surpassed my expectations. The action takes place against a score which has been composed especially for Synetic, and which perfectly complements the action on stage. Every scene is exquisitely choreographed (by Irina Tsikurishvili, who plays Cleopatra), and the fight scenes are particularly impressive, with real sparks flying off the metal swords and adding to the sense of raw passion and power on stage. The production has had stunning reviews, including this one from The Washington Post, with which I concur completely. In fact, I was so impressed by the whole affair that I've just booked tickets to go and see it again next week.

Watching the performance this evening, I couldn't help smiling to myself to think how different this interpretation was to the last version of the play I saw on stage. Many years ago, I went to see the RSC perform Antony & Cleopatra at Stratford, with John Nettles as Octavius Caesar. The only ticket I could get/afford was for a mid-week matinee, when the audience comprised A-level students such as myself and pensioners, who got a special discount for the afternoon performances. All was going well until Act I, Scene IV, when Octavius marched on stage for the first time, clad in leather mini-skirt, and the blue rinse brigade exclaimed in unison: 'Oohh, look, it's Bergerac'.

Whiteout

This was the view from our bedroom window as of 8am this morning:

The good news: The Winter Storm Warning has been lifted.

The bad news: It has been upgraded to a Blizzard Warning - the forecast is for sustained winds of up to 40 mph, whiteout conditions and a possible accumulation of 10-15 inches expected by this afternoon.

Things must be bad, the British Embassy is closed.

A Stiff Upper Lip

Today in Washington the government is at a standstill, all federal agencies have been closed, schools and universities have the day off, museums and galleries are shut...but the British Embassy soldiers on. Undeterred by the worst weather conditions that the District has seen for 90 years, Her Majesty's servants are flying the flag for no nonsense diplomacy. Presumably along with the Kazakhs, the Russians and the Finns.

How heartening it is to know that there is a corner of Massachusetts Avenue that is forever England, where the Blitz spirit is alive and well, where stoicism and courage are the order of the day, a refusal by the people of Britain to be felled by a few frosty flakes. Whilst everyone else is out digging trenches through the snow, gathering firewood and ransacking the supermarket shelves, the plucky Brits carry on regardless - presumably confident that rationing will be introduced should the situation become really dire. Or perhaps safe in the knowledge that the Embassy shop will keep them fortified with baked beans and maltesers should they be unable to leave the compound.

 

 

A Sunday Stroll in the Snow

Simon has many ambitions for his son, one of which is that young Alex should scale Everest by the time he reaches adolescence. Apparently, it's 'never too early' to start training in the snow, and so this afternoon we took the opportunity to go for a stroll and acclimatise the little chap. The new backpack was cracked open for the first time and, after a rather timid start, Mini-Shercliff of the Antarctic set off to survey the snow scenes in the local neighbourhood. It was an auspicious start to his mountaineering career - he has already seen more snow in his 9 weeks on earth than most Washingtonians witness in their lifetimes. Now we just need to order him a baby-sized ice pick and some crampons.