In the interiors world, July is the month when homeware brands hold press events to reveal their festive stock. I was initiated into this time-honoured tradition last week, which involved the surreal experience of walking from the blazing sunshine into rooms full of fake snow, Christmas trees and artificial reindeer. I’ve no idea how the Aussies do it.
At one event I was distracted from inspecting kitchen gadgets by a member of the marketing team declaring “it’s time to pimp up your prosecco!” and I was swiftly introduced to “prosecco shimmer”, a substance that adds an iridescent rose gold sparkle to your drink. One thing led to another and before I knew it I had discovered other party essentials such as Yule Duel, a compendium of card games presented in a chocolate-log shaped box, and “racing turkey crackers” filled with wind-up plastic poultry. Merry Christmas one and all.
Favourite things In a restaurant the other night John Coltrane’s inimitable My Favourite Things was playing in the background. It reminded me of a mix CD that my uncle, a jazz lover, made for me in my teens that included the Coltrane classic. The first time I listened to it I was a stranger to the riffs and licks — jazz has a language unto itself — but soon my hands and feet were unconsciously tapping along. It’s fascinating how sounds make the mind reach for rhythms of the past. Never mind the sax: memory is the most powerful instrument of all.
Whitehall farce Like our theatre critic, I felt that the Royal Shakespeare Company’s production of Queen Anne was lacklustre, but I enjoyed the quips that chimed with modern politics. Most of them revolved around England’s relationship with Scotland and drew some knowing laughs from the audience. The monarch oversaw the 1707 union, which she called her “greatest glory”.
We forget in these uncensored times how staging a play that criticised governing regimes was once a risky business. One of Henry Fielding’s satires — which, like this production, was performed at the Haymarket in London — allegedly angered Sir Robert Walpole, Britain’s first prime minister, so much that he mounted the stage and began beating the actor delivering the derogatory lines. (Fortunately, I didn’t spot Nicola Sturgeon in the audience at Queen Anne.) Fielding’s plays resulted in the theatre being closed for seven years. Imagine an age of politics without the drama.
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Bench marked What memories will we leave behind? I occasionally walk in Highgate Wood, a precious leafy enclave in north London, where I can be far from the madding crowd. Wandering beneath the trees on a balmy summer’s day, I became fixated by the inscriptions on the many memorial benches that I walked past. There’s one bench dedicated to Michael, “who found happiness here with Plato and Waldo”; another to Amelie, “our beautiful, feisty little lady”, with an elegiac bidding from her parents, “Explore now this dappled wonderland”. Not for the first time, I wonder if my morbid curiosity has something to do with beginning my Times career in the obituaries department.
Waste lines As a millennial who writes about millennials, I try to keep abreast of the latest money-saving apps, but an ingenious one had escaped my notice until it was mentioned by a friend. Too Good To Go aims to reduce the tonnes of food that are thrown away. It was founded in Denmark and started being introduced in the UK last year. For those in the dark, the app lets you order — for as little as £2 — leftover, but perfectly edible, meals from restaurants and cafés that would otherwise be destined for the bin. The scheme also allows you to donate £1 towards a meal for someone in need. Enterprising, eco-friendly and socially responsible — you can’t really improve on that.
Ann Treneman is away