We went last night to The Electric Palace to see Sunshine on Leith, or The Proclaimers musical, as everyone seems to want to call it. The Harwich Electric Palace Cinema was as wonderful and eccentric as ever, since there was a bagpiper processing round the auditorium before the ads started. It is true that bagpipes are weapons of war, and should not really be let off within a confined space, but the effect was quite magnificent. The cinema was not nearly full, as it wasn't the last time we went, and I wonder how they keep going, except that all the staff are volunteers. The audience observed the Wittertainment Code of Conduct impeccably, except that there was an intermittent peculiar and not very nice smell. I couldn't work out what it was or quite where it came from, and wondered whether somebody was eating something malodorous, or possibly sucking a series of extra strength and ultra nasty throat sweets. Or suffering from some kind of personal hygiene issue. Such are the hazards of venturing into the public arena.
Sunshine on Leith was good fun. All the reviews I've seen said that it's a big, good natured, bouncy, singing and dancing, feelgood film, and so it is. I'm not a great fan of musicals in general. A very long time ago I went to see Les Mis and Phantom, and about fifteen years ago I saw the first half of an execrably bad musical at The National Theatre, and since then I haven't felt the urge to go to any more. I'd make an exception for The Beggar's Opera, or The Threepenny Opera, if the opportunity arose, but it hasn't. But I like The Proclaimers, and Sunshine on Leith manages to incorporate the song and dance routines without it feeling too strained (the scriptwriters made things easier for themselves by calling one of the characters Jean, and sending another to work in Florida). Jane Horrocks puts in a great performance.
This morning I took a half day off working in the garden, to go to the Warner Textile Archive's Christmas fair. I really liked the Warner Textile Archive, when I visited in the spring on a trip organised by The Art Fund, and afterwards I wished I'd bought one of their useful stout boxes covered in a vintage design, to keep my hats in. I vaguely thought I could go back one Wednesday, when they were open, but never got round to it, and then I thought there would probably be more choice of boxes at the fair, if I got there early. And I wanted to get something new to go on the Christmas tree, since I didn't get anything for it last year, and the museum does very good and moderately priced greetings cards with designs taken from the collection. Basically, I was in the mood for some modest retail therapy.
I don't generally shop as a hobby. Even when buying plants I generally have a definite scheme in mind, except at the margin. Perhaps my book buying falls into hobby territory, with the pleasure of stalking titles on Amazon and occasionally swooping in to pick up a bargain, but I do read all of them eventually. Clothes I buy ninety per cent on-line, on the grounds that there are so many more interesting things to do with time than trail round clothes shops. I don't buy much general household stuff, because the house is already full, so apart from replacing things that are dropping to bits, and kit for specific projects like the ice cream machine, I can pass by piles of cushions, candle holders, bowls, plates, jugs, vases, lanterns, and all the other things taking up the ground floor of John Lewis at this time of the year, without feeling the urge to buy. It's not that lots of them aren't nice, just that I don't need them in my house.
Today was an exception. It was such a charming Christmas fair, and the staff and volunteers were all so enthusiastic, and most of the things were so reasonably priced for the quality, which was generally high, and it was in aid of a good cause. I snaffled a green box with pink roses on it at once, and they kindly put it away for safe keeping in the office so that I could look at the rest of the fair. I ended up with a set of red gingham Christmas tree stars, made by one of the museum volunteers and really neatly finished, a couple of smallish recycled glass vases that I could imagine with a few stems of flowers in, and which were insanely cheap at seven and eight pounds respectively, and a wonderful hand made silk and wool scarf in a rainbow mixture of gold, green, soft pink, black, buff and purple. Draped round my neck, the ends reach practically to my knees. It's of a quality that wouldn't look out of place in Fenwick or Liberty, and the Warner Textile Archive were asking about a quarter of the price that a London store would charge for the same thing.
I hung on until half past eleven so that I could go on another tour of the archive. Today was just a little taster, focussing on woven fabrics. If you can rustle up a group of at least fifteen people, you can book a full visit like the one I went on with the Art Fund, and they will even tailor the tour to the specific interests of your group. It is very sad that when the looms were destroyed, as many were in the war years when there was no call for raised velvet cloth woven at the rate of four inches per day, no plans or records were kept, so while the archive still has the fabric, detailed knowledge of how some of it was made has been lost. I like the Warner Textile Archive very much, and hope they manage to keep their heads above water, in these difficult times for museum funding.
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