A new thirtysomething!!

Well, I have now left dear old Hampstead, which was so amazing in many ways. I can safely say that nothing is better to help the sadness of the end of a very special relationship than taking on a huge, falling-down, Victorian pile! Well, anyhow, I am now 30, mature and living in Marylebone in a Georgian house...well a floor of one at least!

Right now it is an exciting time as I took my first proper long tour of historic houses for three Americans. We all enjoyed it very much and it was a good way of making money, spreading one's passion around (!) and getting out of London! I also now have an agent for my possible foray into TV...watch this space!!

Old London elegance in 2010

Well last night my best friend asked me along to The Criterion for it's 135th Anniversady dinner. It was a wonderful evening. After a terrifying walk down a short red carpet (devoid of flashes...just to make it more awkward!)the spectacle of the magnificent interior was stunning. Gold, Gold, Gold! Sounds very vulgar, but somehow in such abundance it wasn't! I had once been to tea at The Criterion, but my overall impression of it was gleaned from imagining my Grandparents there, especially my maternal Grandmother at parties there, or between parties, as a deb in 1934/5 and my paternal Grandparents during the war years, when scaled down (and probably rather tasteless) meals were served amidst the opulent surroundings. Pre-war entertainment was the name of the game last night as we drank champagne and swallowed oysters amidst the great and the good (maybe not the best description, but 'celebrities nonetheless). Daisy Lowe cut the cake and Rhys Ifans larked around...he really is rather scruffy! Jodie Kidd was much prettier than one imagined and Jo Wood looked like an old Bond Girl. Our table at dinner was full of fine chat and was such fun. The owner of The Criterion, Irakli, was charming and un-assuming and is clearly running the place beautifully.

From the gilt splendours of The Criterion we bounded along to Mahiki for a little more champagne. This was a proper Mayfair evening, full of old World elegance and modern fun.

Catholics and Cafes

The wonderfully named Herbert Gribble was the man responsible for the great nea-Baroque Oratory Church in South Kensington. I sing in this church most weeks with Schola, a superb school/professional choir, which has toured the World, recorded the backing music for Lord of the Rings, The Golden Compass...to name but a few. Over the last three years we have toured Italy and performed mainly in Rome. After weeks spent in the balmy heat of Italy amidst centuries of architecture and delicious smells The Oratory takes me back there straight away..maybe not the smell bit, but certainly the architecture! It is such a thrill to sing in this giant of Victorian architecture. The interior is pretty convincing in some ways, and utterly not in others. The great scultures lining the Nave are the real deal...nabbed from Italy. The Nave has three domes and these are whole-heartedly Victorian, as they are glazed...something the Renaissance architect would never be able, or probably choose, to do. The altarpieces in the transepts are again fully fledged Italian Renaissance and are also dead right and from Italy. Singing in this building is such fun and wonderful for the self-conscious countertenors among us as the choir is hidden, next to the organ, high up on the south side of the Nave. It really is lovely to be transported to the intense magic of Rome at this time of year, when the thought of warmth and being dry is almost forgotten!!

Now it is back to Hampstead to rehearse for my next concert with soprano Alexandra Kennedy. This is probably going to be in aid of Cystic Fibrosis...like our first collaboration. This old house, for so long silent, is about to get a rocket! After all this noise making I am off to the 135th Birthday party of the Criterion...

My new house and it's associated ghosts, nooks and crannies...etc

Well, I have recently become the 'Care-taker' (aother wonderfully fogey-ish title) of a large, dusty pile in Hampstead, which looks across London over the rooftops of Olivier's old house and, next door, the Du Maurier's. It has been the most amazing experience having my own place and this creaking old house and wonderful Hampstead have become a home for me. Despite being a 'Georgian' officially, I am becoming rather more Victorian. The house has been shocking in some ways too. I found the ashes of the old lady, whose house it had been until December, in a box at the end of my bed (they have since been removed...I hope not to the spice cupboard!), most of the fittings have not been changed or moved since my Grandparents used to come here in the Thirties, the main 'Kitchen' is the former Butler's Pantry and is the size one would imagine (complete with Butler's sink and servant's bells) and until yesterday an extremely heavy brass bed was dangling, Dali-like, off the top landing banisters...it was not wanted in my cousins room (usurped by a laminated Ikea bed) and hadn't really fitted down the stairs, hence the way it got stuck scaring one half to death on ascending the stairs. So there it is, a 28 year old living in this mad old 'pad' and loving Hampstead, Why?

Hampstead has it all. I am a country boy at heart and this 'village' is as close as you get in London proper, which Hampstead is...my friends in Fulham would challenge this! The architecture is wonderful. Fenton House is one of the finest examples of an early 18th Century merchant's house, Kenwood, in it's lovely park, is an Adam masterpiece. Church Row is a perfect Georgian Street and the wealth of lesser houses, some Georgian, some Regency, Victorian and the rest is mind-boggling. I know 'old' Hampstead is gradually disappearing...the long established x-European intellectual set is dying out to be replaced by wealthy bankers and their smartly dressed children, but the charm of it is still there. My cousin came down from Scotland on a break from University and we all had supper and afterwards he and I, charged with wine in crystal tumblers, stumbled around Hampstead, up and down its grand promenades, cobbled alleys and tree lined drives. It was just magic. Henry said to me that we could be arrested for drinking in public. I'm sure the police have better things to do than lock up tipsy architectural historians...I hope!