Anglicky in Olomouc

It Ain't Over Yet

It's a weekend to be Czech. Elections on Saturday – then a day off – National Day on Monday. I'll do each in turn.

Only a naïve political enthusiast still wet behind the ears would say that Czechs have been suffering election fever over the past few months. Indeed, it would need mature adults to recognise the term, and only then associating it primarily (and perhaps a little sanctimoniously at times) with the late Václav Havel. Receiving a unanimous vote to act as the Czech Republic's first president he was able to do that rare thing – forging political aspiration with moral rectitude. As such he achieved widespread acclaim and pride and used this political capital to turn the Republic away from the slough engendered by decades of Marxist-Leninist economics towards the more enlightened and almost liberal paths it had once trod before the terrible Nazis and Commies did their worst. And his reputation is safe, certainly as far as comparisons with his political successors are concerned.

Until June this year Prime Minister Petr Nečas enjoyed something of a fairly popular, if not glowing, mandate, that is until armed police raids discovered that he and his cronies were pocketing millions of dollars-worth of cash. His chief of staff and lover, the infamous Jana Nagyova, also used military intelligence to spy on his wife (they are now happily divorced). In his response he said, "I am personally convinced that I did not do anything dishonest and that my colleagues have not done anything dishonest either."

Well that's all right then. Let's forget the whole thing.

Except that the following coalition interim government under Jiří Rusnok, appointed by current and directly elected President Miloš Zeman, then lost a vote of confidence: hence the current messy and unclear elections.

Zeman himself is something of a controversial figure. Uncompromising and outspoken, he doesn't believe in climate change, is known to enjoy the company of extraordinarily dodgy blokes and is not keen on Muslims or gay people. Interests include settling down of an evening/afternoon/morning with a bottle or two of whatever is nearest. It is said he was pissed when attending the exhibition of the Czech crown jewels.

Zeman makes the other candidate for the recent presidential elections look, and I mean look, respectable, particularly Vladimir Franz, the only candidate to admit to having one tattoo – only it covers his entire body! Tsk – Czech academics, eh?

Given this high principled and clean-living line up, many Czechs may be forgiven for a touch of cynicism regarding the country's current political climate.

So, the election results are in: Bohuslav Sobotka, the leader of the party with the largest returns but short by 2% of a majority, said that Zeman should not interfere in the internal workings of his Czech Social Democrat Party after the party's chairman called for him to resign. The billionaire leader of the newly created second and opposing party, Andrej Babiš, has to decide how to play his cards. The communists in third place are probably now a spent force. They could help prop up the social democrats, but that is highly unlikely.

Altogether, Czech politics has experienced more than its share of corruption in high places, lying and conniving, assassinations and will now experience horse trading and back biting that will truly make the winter months as warm and charming as anything the Greeks and Italians are able to come up with.

And then there was Sunday. Ahhh... a nice relaxing day.

Monday was Czech national day, when all good Czeskies remember their independence from the dissolved Austro-Hungarian Empire after World War I. The newfangled Czechoslovakia under the philosophical guidance of the great Edvard Beneš united two peoples with a new and exciting idea of a Czechoslovak nationalism. This independence lasted, of course, until Hitler decided this democracy-loving Republic was too tempting a place not to invade. After the Nazis' defeat by Stalin's crushing military wave, the brave attempts by Czech nationalists to retain independence from greater powers was ultimately overpowered from within by uncompromising communists who then gave it all to the Soviets.

Sad times – tragic times. Another reformer and proponent for independence, Tomáš Masaryk, became first president of the new Czechoslovak republic. A local Moravian boy, his standing statue dominates the square outside the teacher training building at Palacký University where the Memsahib daily toils. So on the night of national day it is right and fitting that Czechs would pay homage to all things Czechish at this sacred national spot.

At the end of a quick dog walk we could hear music (not unusual round these here parts) and like the children of Hamelin followed its emanations whither it will. The crowds carried lanterns, well – at least the children did, and the whole scene was reminiscent of the lovely Chinese Mid-Autumn festival we used to celebrate in Hong Kong. In an informal ceremony, the band played, Czech soldiers in uniforms of yesteryear marched along, people stood about, muffled speeches were given and at the end a spectacular firework display wowed the crowd. It was all so very... casual.

Nobody carried flags (an enforced must during the communist era) and the general idea of Czech nationalism appeared gentle and unforced. Their identity's all in the language and the general unenthusiastic mood you see, and that, like the results of the greasy elections, is a work in progress...

European Heritage Day, Massive Organs and a Klezmer

British people don't do Europe. That is, not unless they've been forced to live there in some sort of hand-wringing, miserable exile. It's a place fit only for holidays, and even then most Brits will likely be a bit sniffy about it –don't drink the water, Mary. So it was a revelation to my huffy British quasi-Cameron-esque consciousness that there was such a thing as European Heritage Day. I'm not sure how well it goes down in the UK, the Daily Mail-reading citizenry of which doubtless look on all such pan-European creations as second only to black masses or experimenting on babies, but over here in the Czech Republic it is a joyfull thing to behold.

Like the guillotine and the bayonet, the European Heritage Day (motto – Europe: a common heritage) had its monstrous birth in France. In 1984 it emerged as some sort of chimera onto the world stage spreading its tentacles of a common heritage far and wide until today it is even celebrated outside the continent! The idea is that monuments and buildings not normally open to joe public get an airing thereby fostering open-eyed wonder and hand-clapping awe at such a commonly-shared European culture. Clearly some witch burning is in order or else good old xenophobia may be stamped out once and for all...

This year the festival also coincided with the opening concert of the International Organ Festival that takes place in Olomouc. I am very fond of playing the organ: I enjoy playing my own whenever possible, solo or with company, and will pay good money to see others play on theirs, especially if it is as magnificent a specimen as that in the organ loft of St Maurice's Church – one of the oldest and largest organs to be had in Central Europe! Here is some Youtube of someone playing on it.

The Italian organist for the packed-to-the-gills concert, Adriano Falcioni, was so accomplished he could afford to run through Bach's famous Toccata e Fuga in Re Minore with more espressione italiana than I'd ever heard: it was organ music with flairy hand gestures, open necked shirt and chest hair medallion. His played with so much effusive gusto it would not have been out of character for him to jump from the organ loft onto his Vespa, shout Ciao, suckers! and zoom off into the night. Instead, he followed it up with the brilliant (and blind) Louis Vierne's Carillon de Westminster from his Pièces de Fantaisie, and Widor's toccata from the Symphony for Organ No. 5 – you know, the one that makes you think of castles and dracula!

Such crowd-pleasers were easy for the audience, even the many seatless late-comers like us who plonked themselves on a baroque balustrade or simply stood at the back, but the second half Moravian Philharmonic under Petr Šumník contained a performance of Flor Peeters Concerto for Organ and Orchestra from 1944. This wonderful, under-heard concerto would have been sublime (with exciting lighting effects on the church ceiling to-boot) but for one thing: for some reason when tuning the Phil's oboists did not take an A from the organ and hence the organ and orchestra were out by as much as a quarter tone. It took all my self-control not to run up to the front shouting Stop! Tune up! Start again!  

Having finished early, it was only fitting to have a beer in the square and watch the light show on the old buildings – quite surreal considering no hallucinogens were used. One could be impolite and ask why, but it's just so pretty: why spoil it with pointless questions?

Friday evening after hosting an early dinner with friends, we rushed off to the town square again to see Verdi's Nabucco. Mercifully our friends Milena and Pavel saved us one of the 1600 seats and we squeezed our way through the unhappy standers in the crowd with moments to spare. The open air production was one of the most imaginative following the traditional style opera that dates from the polite pleasantries of 1842, lots of swings of mood and breast-beating arias as this rather crackly and poorly recorded Youtube stream can testify. Even with two 15 minute intervals, and without an orchestral pit (the Moravian Phil were in tent next door) or curtain, it fair chuffed along amidst enough dry ice to call out the fire brigade, what can only be described as an over-sized waste paper basket on the head of the Babylonian honour guard and spectacular flarey torches to a man.

The concert over, bows taken and the requisite bouquets received, the fireworks began on cue: a little pedestrian compared with the likes of Hong Kong, but nevertheless allowed many-an Ah! and Ooh!

Saturday became the Heritage Day proper – an embarrassment of Olomouc riches of open forts, houses, churches and government buildings. We, of course, did a little of this and a little of that, in the morning visiting the wonderful market that sells local fresh veg and fruityness from the region. Must buy some jam jars to use it all up. Passing through the square the local Moravian singers added a traditional flavour now familiar to us here – see clip below.

 

Next stop the Petrášova Palace: not so much palace as grand house really. Old and important, it overlooks the main square. Once the site of the first learned Habsburg society, Societas Incognitorum, but is now the site of the National Heritage Institute Office where archaeological and historic building surveys of the region are stored.

The extensive tour on the creaky parquetry flooring took in some magnificent state rooms built on a gothic core and converted into an opulent 16th century townhouse, albeit with a baroque frontage.

Attending tours or listening to speeches at concerts in Czech, a language where we only understand a few key words, must be how dogs hear us humans – Good evening, blah, blah, two, blah, blah, purple, blah, blah, Monday, Tuesday, blah, blah, theatre, etc. except, of course, a dog's keywords would be dinner and walkies. Made me want to fair pull at the leash...

In the afternoon, the magnificent Archbishop's Palace – a confection of a building squeezed into the space between the Biskupské náměstí square and the battlements. It certainly reminds the ordinary and humble citizenry of the power the prince-bishops back in the day, in terms of pure opulence alone.

The stairway would have left any visitor with the certain knowledge that they were the guest of nobility, with all the servants, gilded crystal and plump-cushioned baroque finery the title could afford.

We were fortunate to arrive just at the moment a quartet began an excellent performance of one of the many Haydn quartets –he wrote 68, ya know– in the magnificent concert hall (why, doesn't your archbishop's palace have a magnificent concert hall?) and we pretty much had it all to ourselves – what a great way to spend an hour!

The highlight of the evening open-air concert for the day was the Tata Bojs. This is our second live hearing of them, the previous being at the Iggy Pop gig in Frýdek-Místek. By hopping through their online videos it might not be obvious that they do 20 times better on stage what they achieve when recording tracks (although this video gives an idea of their cheeky capabilities). Great showmen all, they wowed the large Olomoucky crowd, that included lots of kiddly-widdlies on dads shoulders, with humour and suitable nuanced Czechisms. Glastonbury this may not have been, but I bet thum kids remember the band for a long time.

The presence of Autumn is now in the air – ah, the cooler air whispers amongst the trees in the park and the leaves change colour before their inevitable fall... Not sure why I mention that really, apart from as a digression before introducing the last three places of the weekend, the first being the Research Library in Olomouc. Not the sort of place one assumes would get a pulse racing, but our visit allowed us to view manuscripts, particularly the parchment palimpsests not normally on view. It's not every day you get to hold an illuminated medieval manuscript in your hands and under ultraviolet light it was wonderful to see the residue of the older greek text that had been scraped off in order that the page be re-used for a different book (of canon law). Not everyone's cup of tea, but I loved it, bookish archaelogical-historical nerdy bloke I have become.

The Hussite Church just down the road is the largest protestant church in the town. The Hussites take their name from the turbulent local boy Jan Hus, the pre-reformation reformer burned at the stake for saying things the Catholic church didn't like (but ooh they do like a good bonfire). The Czechoslovak Hussites sprang onto the scene following World War I when the nationalism that arose with the advent of the Czechoslovak state combined with free-thinking reforming catholicism. Hence the church's liturgy is in the vernacular and many Lutheran traditions are mixed within a catholic framework, albeit in a more rarified atmosphere. The interior was considerably bare, all structure and little embellishment, a rarity in 'Baroque Central' Olomouc.

And topping it all off, we visited our local synagogue. We have lived in our street, Komenského, for a few months now but failed to notice a Jewish community centre across the road –doh! It being Sabbath on the European Heritage Day, the centre was therefore open on Sunday for those nosey enough to wander in.

The lovely little shul contains with a baroque ark from the synagogue at Bučovice, but the overall feeling is that this the social centre of a much damaged community. By the entrance is a large roll of honour made up of the names of many of the Olomouc Jews killed by the Nazis. That the community continues in 2013 is no small miracle and almost everything would take on a near-tragic air were it not for the warm welcome and future-minded nature of the folks who attended.

In the courtyard outside the local klezmer band happily played underneath the sukkot (the booth built to celebrate the Feast of Tabernacles that follows Yom Kippur) and the local townsfolk in attendance were duly entertained. It's good hoppy dance music with a little bit of cabaret; not that any of it would make Czechs move their feet without some sort of alcohol flowing through their veins.

And in the shade of that sunny Sunday afternoon the music from one of the much-maligned Jewish communities of Eastern Europe blithely rang out from underneath the towering belfry of St Wenceslas and took on a surreal and poignant quality, the high retaining brick wall looking not unlike a more famous one in Jerusalem...

 

On the streets of Olomouc, and likewise in other cities in Europe, brass plaques or stolpersteines (lit. stumbling stones) are embedded and upon which are written the names and dates of birth, transportation and death (if known) of each Jewish occupant of that building killed by the Nazis. They cost €120 each and can be purchased, sorry sponsored, from the maker in Germany. If ever there were a salutary reminder of the need for a pan-European consciousness it is these.

So there you have it – concerts and open days and music and fireworks, all in four days. Olomouc is a fab city where from time to time (read during term) there is an orgy of artistic activity, fun and not a little beer and because of this I am now a convert to European Heritage Day. As well as the shameful things that should never be forgotten, there are many wonderful things about which Europe can be justly proud and it is right that we should not only take care of our heritage, but also rightly put it on display.

Marshal Radetzky's Majorettes

Even though we live in the city centre we still seem to miss all sorts of public spectacles. We missed the veteran car show in the main square the other week and topless mermaid tank driving ballet. Actually, I made up that last one, but it might as well have occurred because we would have certainly missed it too. What we need is an events coordinator (female candidates please send resumé and full-size full-length photo including vital statistics) or a diary.

It must be said that the past few weeks have been a little quiet. August seems to be sleepy holiday time where the streets are more empty than usual and the few locals that are left work until the day to end so they can pop to the pub for a good old whinge (a proud national pasttime).

But now that September and the final quarter of the year beckons things have begun to pick up a little and on this last weekend of August we witnessed the magnificent 12th jubilee of the Celebration of Marshal Radetzky. For those who know not this name – fie, shame and phooey! Herewith is a brief bio:

Born in 1766 to a noble Czech family he became an mustachioed Austrian general distinguishing himself mostly against the cheeky French and dastardly Italians, and not without some bravery  – being hit in one encounter by no less than 5 bullets! Success in command prompted his intentions to modify and modernise the Austrian army. Treasury resistance to these changes meant resignation although he retained a considerable influential position. He fought against Napoleon (perhaps not in person) and entered Paris in 1814 (sounds painful). Resisting being put out to pasture, he commanded in Italy where he died in the saddle in 1858 still putting down revolutionaries at a mere 91 – and they say you get more right wing as you get older. Such was his impact then and since that people still dress up as him at military festivities (see pic below).

The only reasons I can see that this reactionary old fuddy-duddy is still celebrated thus are because he is a exalted son of the Bohemian/Czech soil and because of Strauss's famous Radetsky March (see Karajan trying to give it dignity in the clip below). So people who like to clap-along-a-Strauss are fondly reminded of the good old boy who liked to string 'em up because bullets were too good for rebel scum.

 

The Czech military have two barracks and a military hospital not more than 100 paces from our front door and although there are frequent visits to the town by officious and starchy uniformed ladies and gentlemen, it must be said that their presence is felt only when their stoddery camouflaged trucks hold up the traffic.

True to form we missed yesterday's exciting majorette parade and last night's fireworks (what can I say, I had a soufflé in the oven) so we chose to see what was going on today.

Such was their volume, the military bands could be heard before the square was reached, but as with all things associated with the military here appearance seems to matter more than substance. The military bands from Holland, Austria, Slovakia and the Czech Republic then played their bit before honoured guests (sat in iron-on drab olive uniform and more scrambled egg than is healthy) and their important wives on centre stage. Minutes later each band was given an honored exit by some stompy, twirly majorettes that had excitedly just stepped out of Thunderbird 2.

The combination of marching bands and uniforms of yesteryear probably makes a lot of sense in the Czech mind – dressing up to pay service to a long military tradition subsumed within the Austro-Hungarian Empire for good or ill speaks of past glories before the nasty days of intense nationalism and eventual German domination from 1938-45, to say nothing of the equally hateful communist era. It was something to be proud of.

A handsome four-in-hand carriage resting nearby made its way to the square to escort the old Austro-Hungarian Empire-esque faux dignitaries and inject a bit of a carnival atmosphere.

The bemused people of Olomouc sat on benches, settles and chairs on the other three sides of the square, presumably enjoying the spectacle for what it was and not being mindful of the less-than benign role soldiery had on suppression of the masses before 1990. One elderly lady dressed entirely in white with a large pink scarf presumably thought the occasion nothing more than a cheerful noisy nuisance and walked right across the parade ground to continue with her important shopping.

 

At the conclusion the re-enactors (above) stood around for photographs and the company of men hitherto posing stood to attention, presented arms and fired: I wonder if they have a license to carry, load and discharge weapons in a built-up area during daylight hours without health and safety goggles and ear protectors and safety cordon.

After health-giving beers and pizza, pastries and coffee (and a fairly heavy downpour), the glorious matinee began. The Solvakian band's stint, that started with the bloody Radetzky March again, accompanied the underwear-free majorettes who bounced for all their worth, so much so that the leader of the local batallion of Central Moravian Winos and Meths Drinkers Brigade left his leering companions in the audience and approached the lovely troop leader, presumably to ask her advice on how best to twirl his baton. Her abashed withdrawl from the conversation left him somewhat flummoxed only to be unkindly asked to leave the square by the angry troop supervisor and swiftly brought to the attention of stewards and awaiting police. I'm sure it was all perfectly innocent and could have been the start of something lovely...

The Honour Guard of the Armed Forces of the Czech Republic then performed spangly drill with bayonette-fixed shiny rifles, a spectacle that much delighted the crowd. I must say that although they were good I've seen better at the Royal Tournament and Edinburgh Tattoo – maybe I've been spoilt all these years.

And so with more than enough military music in the ears and certainly enough majorette thighs in the eyes, there was nothing more to do than retire gracefully in the direction of home. Although of all the military bands we heard today the Czechs and Slovaks seemed the best, the evening concert of liturgical music in the church of St Maurice simply didn't appeal (maybe it was the beer) and the walk through the park did us good – we missed the fireworks again tonight. The Czech Army has not invaded anyone in the last 1000 years or so, but as part of the United Nations have taken part in action in Desert Storm in Iraq and ISAF in Afghanistan. But perhaps Al Qaeda would melt away into nothing should the military bands heard today choose to win the hearts and minds of the citizens of Basra by simply musically marching down the high street. Maybe NATO should consider calming the Pashtun tribesmen with a full broadside of General Radetzky accompanied by 20 majorettes in full stomp.

Milk Straight From The Tap – Three Bags Full

It's a miserable Olomouc Sunday. For much of the day the dreary rain has fallen on and off and the city has stayed quietly snoozy: without a flat to complete, dogs to walk or imagination to use then most likely it would have been a day spent in bed, doing the lazy beddish things like reading and watching the sort of films rainy Sundays permit. However, in the pursuit of final box clearing, picture hanging and bookshelf sorting much tea has been consumed – perhaps too much. By lunchtime the only thing on offer would be fruit juice or green tea. Or black coffee. Or wine. There is, therefore, only one option for the unashamed tea drinker and that is to search far and wide for something called a 'shop'.

Olomouc shops are peculiar creatures. During the week they operate in much the same way all others operate – people come in, buy stuff and leave. But for much of Saturday and Sunday they completely cease operations and remain firmly shut. If you're lucky you may find someone willing to open on a Saturday morning, but in most other cases the shopkeepers of this lush Haná region disavow weekend spending – even on their turf! It seems that here cash is not the God of all things. It's not that people don't want to go shopping: the large supermarkets are always open and mint it.

Senimo our nearest supermarket, however, is rubbish. This is probably because it used to be an abattoir – eek! The old building actually started life in 1898 as an auction hall but functioned within the meat industry from the 1930s until the 80s. Shortly after the Velvet Revolution the local agricultural cooperative bought the building, carefully restored it and to popular acclaim re-opened it as Olomouc's very first supermarket on the premise that anything is be better than nothing. It compares poorly with the Satanic Tescos and its Dutch cousin Albert, but at least you can buy an industrial-sized bag of bay leaves should the need arise.

By the time we'd walked the dogs round by the river, the store had unsurprisingly shut leaving but one option – the milk vending machine outside. This is not a device that merely drops litre packs conveniently into your waiting hand, oh no. This Italian made contraption pours – yes pours – its milk and you'd better be ready with your bottle.

There is one other popular vending machine in the town hall that dispenses the famously stinky and curiously addictive Olomouc cheese (below) – nom, nom, nom...

We'd brought an empty bottle with us (what – don't you bring empty milk bottles on walks?), put it in the steam-cleaned aperture and promptly dropped our only 50 koruna piece (about £1.67) into the machine, selected the larger of the two options (1 litre) and within seconds the ice cold milk was pouring into and all over the bottle. Great! But there was a problem (there's always a problem): no change. Seeing our remaining 30-something koruna blinking on the LED display we felt that 50 was a lot to pay for just one litre so looked around for something, anything, to put the rest in. We had a roll of poo bags.

The doggy poo bags are notoriously thin and wispish. They don't break in use, but may split in the unreeling just before picking up the dog choc drops. Being upstanding citizens with three twice-daily doggies we always clear up and usually carry one or two with us – just in case. And here was another just in case moment, although it hadn't ever crossed our mind that these polyethyline sacks could ever be utilized to fetch litres of milky goodness. Nevertheless, beneath the benign bovine on Pasteurova (honestly, that's the name of the street – he would have been proud) we managed to fill a further three bags full, leaving only 6 koruna in the machine, and proudly carried the trophy milk home to fill the freezer.

And they say the sense of adventure is dead!

Olomouc’s Drunken Sailors

The old medieval part of Olomouc has seen its share of ups and downs, joys and miseries, successes and disasters. The good people of Olomouc have survived assassination of kings, wars and sieges, plagues and fires, religious strife and ideological intolerance. Their buildings are a testament to it all.

That there are buildings here at all is no surprise: the dry, hilltop city rises above a rich agricultural floodplain surrounding it on all sides. Man has lived well here since before Neolithic times and, whether invited or not, many visitors have often put down roots and enjoyed that which city life has offered.

Some of the more recent arrivals, our friends Roy and Sigrun, invited us over to their place in the old town to view a table they were not keeping and thought we might like. Their apartment is in a very quiet des res cobbledy street that appears to have been there forever. This part of town is undergoing development house-by-house. Those with the money are clearly transforming what could easily have been described as medieval slums into plush new residences, ripping out decaying interiors and replacing them with polished concrete floors and stylish cement stairways.

The merit or otherwise of such refurbishment is a moot point – should we preserve every particle of the past as a museum piece, or should the expectations and conveniences of modern life allow property owners to develop as they see fit? Certainly the Socialists prior to the 1989’s Velvet Revolution saw little merit in maintaining such ancient structures. Their attitude to older residential buildings was that of sufferance of the value-laden things of the past, a minimum maintenance of things of the presence and an ideological eye on the glories of the future. Unfortunately, that future was made uninspiring through political interference, with simple, cheap and angular forms that would make an ordinary architect wince – or sigh. Consequently, in 1990 many of the older properties of central Olomouc were near derelict and looked like they would topple in a stiff breeze.

This Olomouc property development bandwagon is an easy one to jump on if one has the readies. Many, however, are not so fortunate. Relative wages here are low: as living costs have risen the possibility of saving enough to put down a deposit on a flat has perilously teetered in the balance. Should the Republic’s financial position continue a steady growth then it is likely that more industrious and financially cautious Czechs should be able to purchase their homes. Others, however, are left to shrug their shoulders and carry on enjoying the sort of lives offered in the Olomouc of the 21^st century.

One such form of proletarian enjoyment widely available for humble Czech folk is to be found in the Herna-bars, the small casinos on street corners that cater for the popular dream of instant gambling success. That these places are fronts for criminal activities are undeniable: common though they may be, they rarely get more than a trickle of punters. The more respectable ones are café-like and offer coffee and drinks under parasol strewn pavements, others provide pizzas. Nearly all of them have flashing TV displays excitedly showing in graphic form the sorts of exciting activities available within: roulette, blackjack, Texas hold-‘em, and the elusive jackpot koruna total: 10,000 and rising – quick, get in there to win… It’s just as well I have never discovered nor fostered my gambling gene.

Czechs like few things more than good music, particularly modern rockovy. The town square is frequently occupied by a performance stage of one sort or another to celebrate a public festival or promote talent via a popular local radio station. Most bars have a performance space occupied nightly, but few bands of any international standing make it here – there just wouldn’t be enough return to justify the expense (and time) of a concert in the provinces. Some do, of course, and such well known names as Alice Cooper, Uriah Heep and even Suzi Quatro are set to perform in nearby Brno later this year.

Everyone smokes! It is hard to visit any restaurant that does not permit it and only the very finest shopping centres strictly prohibit it. (More on this in another post.)

And where, oh where, would the Czech Republic be without its beloved beer*? The lifeblood of the nation, the beautifully made yet comfortingly inexpensive amber nectar serves to ease a few of life’s inequities and burdens. At a Chinese Restaurant we recently bought a fondly remembered Tsingtao, much to our regret – its empty flavour and measly body a decidedly flat experience. How on earth so much of it is drunk in Hong Kong and beyond must surely be put down to pure thirst slaking and necessity.

So, last night we joined our friends Roy and Sigrun at the Ponorka bar, the local smoke-filled speakeasy. Roy, a native Chicagoan who has lived in Olomouc since the mid-90s, was giving his last performance as singer and songwriter before they move to Washington State where Sigrun takes up Chair of Mathematics and Computer Science at Puget Sound. This venue is akin to a small bierkeller in that there are long wooden tables and benches, but is fondly attended by many-an Olomouc crusty, the hazy dreadlocked citizenry who clearly enjoy turning revolving mandalas such as the one on the wall beside the performance area (quite hypnotic after a few pivos). The Czech system of paper chits was in effect whereby the efficient waitress will mark off each beer with a quick pen stroke to be easily totalled at the end of the night. Roy's excellent and intelligent songs commanded attention accompanied for some by an excellent fiddler and accordionist. Somehow the evening passed alarmingly quickly and, not long after the last song with the pub still humming with energy, we had to make our excuses. Before leaving the UK we were part of a barn dance band called Bandwagon that played at weddings, parties, functions, birthdays and anniversaries. With calling led from the Mem, we filled the night with reels, jigs, a few slow numbers and requests we could play until we were worn out, the dancing stopped or the beer ran out. One song we shared with Roy’s band last night was the last, the shanty What Shall We Do With A Drunken Sailor? I confess to not having played it nor heard it performed for probably two decades, so recorded the last bit for posterity noting the incongruity of its performance in Czesky English in a smoky bar in a land-locked central European country by an excited young lad who would not look out of place performing festival rock within the ranks of The Levellers. Memorable.

 

*Unfortunately, beer and other alcoholic 'nápoje' are consumed with gay abandon on park benches and shop front window sills, proving you can have too much of a good thing, (although it is almost technically impossible for a Czech to admit he is an alcoholic).

Two out of Three Concerts Ain't Bad

It is a fairly common thing to buy a concert ticket. One glimpses concert titles, or follows artists or attends an event that chimes with prior experience. All of us have done this over the years, for better or worse; we rack up a collection of musical memories for future reference that become inner mulch for solo train journey cogitations, or simply jaw-slapping bragging rights over unkind dinner conversations.

A concert ticket also enables the holder to become part of the performance. Other than in the minds of stalkers, the pleasure of seeing artists perform is necessarily transient. Some get down with the performers and party, such as the excellent Rod Stewart time who shared the Odyssey Arena in Belfast with 10,000 or so well oiled Norn Irsh and us. When famous names tour we like to say that we attended because it gives us a sense of worth in our otherwise fairly humdrum lives – we steal a little of their glory, bask a little in their limelight, borrow a little of their glamour. Other performances, such as those of the classical concert variety, may demand a little less from the attendee in terms of participation and rely on intellectual stimulation.

Buying concert tickets to see unknown artists (unknown to yourself, that is) is a little rarer. Most of us are cautious of novelty, but aware that potential rewards could outweigh the risks. I am sure that those in February 1957 who first saw the new group The Quarrymen probably have fairly good memories of the event, think about it often and have become notorious braggers at any given opportunity. They were, after all, witnessing the birth of The Beatles.

With such trepidation we bought a slew of tickets for upcoming concerts in the Moravian Philharmonic's Dvořákova Olomouc season. The first by the ArteMiss trio, Proč bychom se netěšili, consisted a words-and-music review of that well-known Czech one-time revolutionary and composer Bedřich Smetana.

With orations of Czech contemporaries Jan Neruda and Aleš Heller spoken by a certain Valérie Zawadská in a voice only a gravelly 60-a-day habit can generate, the Czech piano trio reviewed Smetana's work brilliantly, bringing up several well-known pieces (as well as a few by Shumann). Overall, it provided about as wonderful and accomplished an impression of his work possible on a 2 hour balmy Sunday evening. (By the way, smetana is also the Czech word for cream!)

The performance was nearly outshone by the brilliant, kingly setting in which the concert took place, the magnificent Ceremonial Hall of the Prelature of the Hradisko Monastery. A wondrous baroque creation, the lavishly decorated hall contains every kind of ornamentation of that period – stuccoes here, there and everywhere, a painted ceiling of the feeding of the five thousand, a feast of tromp l’oeils and a near-surfeit of reliefs in every direction.

The building is now operated as a hospital. So lavish are the decorations, I feel like popping along with a contrived ailment or two just to have the pleasure of staying there.

And on top of that, the view of Olomouc on this summery night was sheer perfection!

Outside on the balcony at half-time the birds twittered joyously and the bells of Olomouc rang across the meadows down by the river.

Within three days we were again at another concert, this time at the much less exciting performance hall in the Vlastivědného muzea or History Museum. The Ola Viola Sound were Korean viola players – well, most of them (they included in their number guitar, cello and double bass). The ensemble carried off a few well-knowns, such as Bach's Sonata No 3 and the 'New World' largo bit from Dvořák's 9th Symphony that is now synonymous with Hovis bread and Gold Hill in Shaftesbury. Not much to write home about, but the audience enjoyed seeing funny looking oriental-types with big fiddles; we both felt a little homesick for the lovely people that live on that side of the planet.

The interval introduced us to the courtyard of this former church of St Claire. With echoey swifts flying above us, it was a reflective space, surely its original purpose if my recollection of the solitary Claires is anything to go by.

At all that, we exited the venue to find the noise of the nearby Olomoucký Majáles music festival banging away in a nearby grand courtyard venue, a property previously owned by the bishops of Olomouc (who would surely have deeply disapproved). The band we stayed to hear, Lavagance, seems to have a bit of a following and certainly kept us there for a beer or two, even if their encore was Depeche Mode's Personal Jesus. The only reason I mention this is because in the Czech Republic almost every café, bar and restaurant with a music system is tuned to one Depeche Mode song or other. Perhaps it's a law. I must endeavor to find out!


The next day was a beautiful Czech holiday; warm sunshine, a light breeze and a lack of the usual workaday traffic meant the afternoon walk around the Botanical Gardens was a real taster of the coming months. The gardens are, unfortunately, a little shabby – there are only so many Koruna in the public coffers and I'm sure the local government pay of these well-meaning horticulturalists is niggardly. At least we were serenaded rastafari-stylee from the ongoing gig in the old fort next door – a local Reggae band that went by the improbably name Homebwoyrasta. They look devastatingly uncool, but were actually quite good... on the day.

This rather nice day ended with a drop in at one of our locals, the bar next to the Letní Kino or outside cinema which is on the daily dog walking route. The rickety beer garden tables surround an open stage under enormous sycamore and beech trees, a hostelry of arcadian bliss. It would not seem out of place for a goat-hooved Pan to pop out from the shadows to blow his pipes on stage and encourage revelers to remove clothing. The performers that night, however, were mostly locals although a band of unhappy neo-Kraftwerk ne'er-do-wells took the stage at dusk to offer a beat-driven set akin to the Ozric Tentacles (but with lyrics). We sat and talked much with local studenty-types, but I forget their names – the band, that is.

And so to the third concert, of the celebrated Latvian violinist Gidon Kremer. Actually, we didn't make it. I'm rather sorry about this because I would have loved to hear this legend. Actually, my sorrow is also tinged with embarrassment. You see, thinking it was a Thursday we went out with some friends to a café for afternoon beers in the glorious sunshine but when time came to realise our mistake, it was far too late that Friday (and we were by then in a bit of a state). Oh, the shame!

Brahms Requiem at St Maurice's Church

The Church of St Maurice in central Olomouc has the feel of a very old place. It is indeed ancient, in all likelihood a religious site at St Maurice’s (chrám sv. Morice) being extant at the time of the  foundation of the town itself.  The present columned gothic structure dates from the late medieval period, complete with a beautiful twisty double spiral stone staircase that leads up to the bell tower. One very blustery wintry morning a few weeks ago, meself and the Mem took ourselves up it whereupon I had my first ever terrifying incident of vertigo: the tower was sure to collapse immanently, my jellied legs were on the verge of giving way and I was about to die a terrible death... or be killed... or worse!

Unlike other Nazi-occupied towns and towns of Europe, Olomouc survived World War II relatively intact. This can be attributed to two things, the first being the overriding influence of the large pro-Nazi ethnic German population that lived here at that time. This meant that Nazi domination was a relatively simple matter of a largely unobstructed takeover: no morning waves of screaming Stukas or indiscriminate flattening by merciless howitzers. Secondly, the town held little strategic resources that the preexisting Czech requiring defending and was projected to be a German-held enclave ready for expanding Germanization in the region. Hence, despite the burning down of the old central synagogue in Olomouc's very own Kristallnacht, many of the historic buildings of the city centre remain standing and the windswept tower of St Maurice’s is one of the more obvious examples. It could be argued that the communists were actually worse caretakers...

To the May 1^st concert in this ecclesiasitcal setting. Part of the Moravian Philharmonic Orchestra's Dvořákova Olomouc season, it featured two pieces: a first performance of Bohemian boy Petr Fiala's Pocta Antonínu Dvořákovi or Tribute to Anton Dvořák. Made all the more spectacular by the bouncy, echoey acoustic properties of the church, this breathtaking, complex and moving piece held me spellbound for its entirety. It worked on so many levels; magnificent in its scope, infused with passion, full of crashes from a massive gong and smashing timpani. If this large orchestral work doesn't make it out of the Czech music world and onto the world stage then I'll be forced to concede to a simian nephew.

The second piece was Brahms’ A German Requiem. To say that this is a seminal work is like saying la Gioconda is a picture people quite like the look of. It is a gargantuan megalith around which other pieces of music are pebbles in so much sand.

To hear the piece first time round is, to use another metaphor, to be overwhelmed by strength of force storming the battlements – any lull in the action is but the precursor to the next assault. Don’t get me wrong; there is nothing within the forms, thematic growths, developments and resolutions in the Requiem’s entirety that is not close to perfection itself, but wave-upon-wave of the mid-19^th Century romantic composition crashes upon the self, upon the very soul, with a uncompromising imperturbability.

Written between 1865-9, Brahms’ somewhat sombre Requiem departs from the usual liturgical form of an established Latin requiem as its sung and choral parts are in German. The title, therefore, refers to its language (and is not, as I once thought, an ironic lament for a Germany that has died in some way) – hence the title Ein deutsches Requiem (emphasis on the A). The specific use by Brahms' self-selected Biblical text, however, is such that the Requiem does not become an overt or direct reference to a recent demise, as would be the case with a more conventional Roman Catholic requiem. It is, instead, a decidedly positive reflection of life through a more humanist perspective that encompasses many other things than merely his emotive response to the losses of his mother and of his dear friend Robert Schumann.

 

The Youtube clip above of the DRSO - Herbert Blomstedt live performance is amongst the best out there from which are selected just a few examples (at minute intervals in bold below). From a quiet, gentle introduction, Selig sind, die da Leid tragen (Blessed are they who bear suffering), the cosmic second movement, Denn alles Fleisch, es ist wie Gras (All flesh is as grass) 10:05, bestows a sonic grandeur difficult to take in at a first sitting. It is no wonder that many on hearing this work considered him as conqueror of Beethoven, a composer he much loved and emulated – a reputation he tirelessly attempted to live up to. Towards the end of the the third movement 30:35 the mood changes: Ich hoffe auf dich (My hope is in you) and Der Gerechten Seelen sind in Gottes Hand (The souls of the righteous are in the hand of God) must count as the most perfect musical account of optimism ever written, akin to brilliant sunshine bursting into view through thick, dark clouds. The fifth movement, Ihr habt nun Traurigkeit (You now have sadness) 39:25, a section that Brahms completed last, has a pace, mood and depth not commonly associated with music from the era, even though Brahms' was steeped in the history of pre-romatic music. This dramatic optimism surely finds its apotheosis in the 6th movement's Der Tod ist verschlungen in den Sieg (Death is swallowed up in victory) section 49:35 where, with obvious Bachian fugal form, the choir builds on the work of the baritone soloist. After all that the last and slower movement Selig sind die Toten (Blessed are the dead) 58:00 must surely be Brahms' most heartfelt outpouring to those for whom the composition was dedicated, in effect if not directly in name. Somewhat unfashionable now, some may call its subject morbid, but to be remembered thus takes into account the full gravity and finality of death and the crushing pain that accompanies loss that leaves only tender memories. You may wipe away your tears now...

The performance was accomplished and exact with few noticeable errors. Conductor, soloists, choir and orchestra worked as one – undoubtedly the product of thorough rehearsals. One lengthy, generous and well-deserved applause later, the Olomoucian audience upped from their unforgiving pews and seats in the chilly church pronto and, mingling with the odd instrumentalist and the choristers from the Czech Philharmonic Choir Brno, practically ran out of the building. I cannot recall a quicker exit from a venue without someone shouting "Fire!". Perhaps it's the Czech way, but there didn't seem to be much of the usual lingering and chatting about what had just transpired: perhaps they hear so many excellent performances that they have become just a little blazé and only want to get home on the next tram.

The requiem's performance was also personally poignant: the recent loss of a old school friend, Claudia Tacke-Price, made this a moving experience. Claudia and I had at one time been very close and I recall her telling me that Brahms was her favourite composer. She went on to marry, have children and live happily in Auckland where she had been cellist with the Auckland Philharmonia Orchestra. She, like Brahms, originated from Hamburg. She like Brahms, died from the same dreadful and unforgiving pancreatic cancer. I had very much hoped to catch up with her again soon, and we exchanged a few words on Facebook, but, sadly, it was just not to be. For me this German Requiem was, therefore, in her memory.

Composers of Palacký University

"It's a free concert, at least it is for me!" said the Memsahib, beaming that her employment at the University provides such exciting perks. As a non-teaching-non-anything-really-Joe Publicky, I had to dig deep into my pocket to pay the exorbitant sum of Kč80 for the privilege – that's nearly £2.62/HK$31.36 in old money!

We thought we'd seen all there is to see at the Moravské Divadlo Olomouc (Moravian Theatre) on our last outing there to enjoy the classical 19th century warmth of Donizetti's Lucia de Lammermoor. That particular performance back in February had at first a touch of the am drams about it, but the mostly-septuagenarian audience appreciated a lively show that worked itself into a suitably Czech lather. But the Moravian Theatre has another excellent performance venue upstairs, the Reduta (redoubt in English) – a concert hall that has obviously had some money spent on it in the last few years as it is in tip-top condition for expertly produced quality concertyness. Proud Olomoucians in their ill-fitting black or grey Sunday bests, in restrained flowing evening wear or all out in mismatching, bulging tops and skirts are right to treat the venue with such respect.

This particular concert was to mark the occasion of the 440th anniversary of Palacký University. As part of the Olomouc Music Festival it comprised compositions of music professors at the University and proved an eye/ear-opener of the first degree. When one thinks of provincial towns (Olomouc is the Czech Republic’s 6^th largest town) one cannot help but feel that the standards are necessarily lower, that the expectations are more gentle and that the quality of production understandably less – misconceptions one and all. What followed was a concert of intellectual stimulation as good as that served up anywhere and by anyone and my Kč80 proved well spent.

First up, Concerto for two percussionists and orchestra – a lively two-movement piece by the late Pavel Čotek (1922-2005). Témbry (Timbres), the first movement comprised composery flouncing at a large collection of percussive instruments –vibraphones, glocks, timpani, tubular bells and a host of cowbells, drums, cymbals and triangles. The overall effect was, at first, of form over substance, of the sort of excited arrangement that exercises a composer's mind at night (with enough free rein). But then the patternization meted out by father and son percussionists, Ladislav Bilan Sr and Ladislav Bilan Jr, created a stronger form than I supposed achievable. The orchestral interventions and background added to overall weight and depth in much the same way as the stretched canvas is necessary for painted artistic endeavors, no matter how abstract. The second movement, Rytmy (Rhythms), perhaps carried the audience a little better, using more familiar rhythmic structures, but its dénouement cleverly brought the listener back to the staccato-esque 'pots and pans' beginning of the first movement. There may have been one or two formal clichés throughout, but the performers, conductor Petr Vronský and Moravian Philharmonic pulled it off with such panache that we were truly moved, more so at the appearance within the affectionate applause of the composer’s frail widow.

All change, please. From Vít Zouhar’s operatic pen came the next piece for the Moravian Phil, Ritorni, a modified form of a Philip Glass meets Vivaldi piece already premiered at other festivals. This premiere was of an arrangement for strings and harpsichord. Its gentle classically-resonant phrases flowed and repeated, flowed and repeated: it would make great music for a TV advertisement of some sort –grandiose without being inhuman– maybe for a high street bank… But perhaps I am unfair: it was, like the previous piece, accomplished and not without flair. At least the composer’s programme notes were relatively restrained, descriptive not prone to flowery hyperbole. Which is more than can be said for what occurred after the interval.

Intermissions usually involve the customary steam roll towards the bar, but this was the most unusual experience in that, outside a supermarket checkout, this was the first time I had seen Czechs form a queue – an orderly, first-come-first-served queue in the old fashioned sense. For the locals the provision of alcohol is clearly worth the queuing! Bypassing this gobsmacking novelty, we asked for two gin and tonics, to be told there was no tonic. Well aware of the grave toilety dangers of skulling interval beers, we opted for Fantas (haven’t had one in years) and to later have one-or-two pivos for the cobbled road. It is customary at any public venue to complain uproariously about the state of the gents, however, the Memsahib’s retch-inducing visit to the ladies powder room proved that many ladies are ladies in name only and the mellifluous lingering odours that emanate from their unwashed nether-parts testifies to the most un-ladylike of ablutional habits…

 

Marek Keprt, young(-ish) Olomoucan composer, pianist (see Youtube above) and teacher at the Department of Musicology at the Philosophical Faculty of the University, obviously trusted enough to be given free range in February and March of this year to come up with the four movement ČtverJho chořních dob that began the second half. And if you are given freedom then I suppose you should use it! Certainly Mr Keprt was unorthodox in his arrangement of the traditional orchestra and of instrument usage (noisy air blowing through brass, use of timpani sticks on open piano strings), of solo violins, violas and cellos glissily slippin’ and slidin’ about on their fretwork to find 'micro-intervals and minimalism’ and of a wailing soprano placed alone on the balcony all brought about a decidedly nonconformist, if not overall muddied, impression. But in truth it was not the interesting abstract music that bothered me so much as the programme notes thrown together by the man himself: “JasJho (BrightnessYoke). Jas jha (Brightness of the yoke)? Jho jasu (Yoke of brightness)? The perception of the brightness of the yoke (or the yoke of brightness?) Is suppressed, distorted, ever less conscious.” And so it goes on… simple questions and banal statements like so much teenagery philosophy – it’s just the sort of drivel that gets up my nose.

And so the evening concluded with Jan Vičar who, through a Fullbright/CIES scholar-in residency that enabled him to make his way through eight universities in the States, clearly enjoys his time as Professor at the Department of Musicology if the Philosophical Faculty here in Olomouc. Křik (Cry), his one-movement cantata from 1981 was written in anticipation of the birth of his first child and uses as libretto an anti-modernist poem of the same name by renowned poet Jiří Žáček. Incorporating an accomplished blend of orchestra, baritone and mixed choir, the end product became a conflagration of such astonishing power, intensity and complexity that at its conclusion the 5 trumpeters shook hands in relief. It's just as well that this concert was formally recorded – gotta get me a copy!

Rapturous applause at the end signified the recognition of music excellence, on the part of the composers, the conductor and the musicians. Provincial music may have a bit of a reputation, but that was certainly not in evidence on this night. Allowances were neither requested nor required: this performance could have occurred in the best venues of any of the major capital cities. With such a concert Olomouc, one-time home to Mozart and Mahler, can rightly hold its baroque musical head up!

Birthday Demolition

It's my birthday, the sun is shining and there's decent coffee in my cup. This morning at five o'clock the birds twittered their excited announcement that for them spring has finally sprung and a short while later the good people of Olomouc arose to head off to work a little closer to summer and their holidays. The only fly in the ointment is that the owner of the Dolce Vita coffee shop that I use as an internet café seems to be addicted to Kenny G. All addictions are, by their nature, irrational.

So, as a short post to celebrate/commemorate 46 years since I first squealed into existance, I'd better give a short resumé as to the current circumstances of this birthday baby and what's going on.

Having lived merrily in Hong Kong for the past 15 years, for all sorts of reasons we made our decisions not to continue with employment in the Pearl of the Orient and began arranging a move elsewhere. It's notoriously difficult for British expats to adjust to life back in Blighty and, having endured BBC's The One Show online, we decided that life in the UK just wouldn't be right for us. Or perhaps it was the other way round.

Our current residence in Olomouc came about as a result of the Memsahib's position at Palacký University, a wonderful ancient institution that seeks young go-getters who wish to further their academic excellence within it's august walls. The monetary rewards for such, however, are paltry if not risible. Although living costs in the Czech Republic are comparatively low, to have also paid a rent for accommodation would have meant being thoroughly financially hamstrung. We therefore decided to buy.

The 1910 apartment property we purchased is located beneath the hallowed Saint Wenceslas Cathedral beside a curve in the little river next to the site of the old castle. It is also 2 minutes amble to and from the Mem's work. With old properties, of course, come old problems and the savings knocked off the purchase price have now been swallowed up in a thoroughly modern conversion comprising a new koupelna (bathroom) and kuchyně (kitchen) – they just don't evolve out of the woodwork without some of that precious Czech koruna being thrown about. Thus it was that yesterday we both took a sweat-inducing gulp and coughed up hundreds of thousand of them to our contractor with an extraordinarily powerful handshake, Mr K.

Mr K, not one for wasting any time, decided that today was a good day to begin the work. Thus this morning, our having only just consumed breakfast and completed ablutions, his chaps arrived and quickly removed kitchen units, sink, the bath, tiles and even the walls – all of it! The floor comes up next...

Quite how we're going to get on without these soft modern conveniences remains to be seen. Pictures and commentary will, of course, follow blog-like, but it feels a little like another eagerly anticipated birth, 46 years on. When the apartment is complete it will be easier to work, live, host and entertain there.

So thank you, everyone, for your birthday wishes – I am now older than I ever was and also younger than I will ever be. Na zdraví!

Finding the Detail Underneath

We've been spending the past few weeks going at a snail's pace – this seems to be advisable in the Czech Republic. It's not that the Czechs themselves are slow, far from it. Their approach to business matters, professional service and prompt delivery are as good as anywhere else. No, it's not they who are slow, but us. There is a good reason for this: we have needed time to unwind from Hong Kong. Although we both loved living there, it was a madly frenetic place – even in the Sai Kung Country Park. Stepping away from work and wages, money worries and the commonly held status envy has been as a load lifted and in more ways than we imagined.

I always grumbled that I didn't have enough energy to devote to artistic endeavors, particularly to writing, and the Memsahib felt the need to get away from the Hong Kong academic milieu (or at least the chauvinistic direction in which it appears to be heading). Setting up here, then, should have been a relief and a chance to get busy again. For me the near-opposite has been the case.

It would be the most country of bumpkins that views Olomouc as an exciting and vibrant city. It is cute, picturesque even, but not a thrashing metropolis like Hong Kong. It has medium scale industry on the outskirts, nearby farm land surrounds in all directions and the city centre attracts those with regional financial, shopping and culinary needs (more –much more– on the latter in a later blog). It has wonderful trams that rumble heavily about the cobbled streets wobbling the coffee cups in the many establishments that sell the rich continental kava. Nothing happens on a Saturday or Sunday, unless church-going is high in your top 10 priorities. The rest of the week people shop, students sit about in the park and the town gears itself up for the coming summer touristy season, but Olomouc is and probably always will be a sleepy place.

All of this has meant our lifestyle has drastically changed – and that's been good and necessary. Despite eating lots and quaffing beers a-plenty, we've lost a bit of weight and are probably more chilled than we have been in quite a few years. We certainly have lots of time and have spent it going out to eateries, the odd bar or two and for walks with the dogs through city parks and along muddy riverbanks of the fast-flowing rivers. We've even been able to watch the spring slowly emerge for the first time in 15 years: our life here thus far has also been slow, sleepy and happy. The lovely university where the memsahib is at work does appear to be one of the busier places round these parts with corridors full of constantly chattering and energetic young studenty-types. My busy life, however, revolves around arranging renovation work on our new flat. Oh, and the odd bit of writing.

We've painted a few rooms, with mixed success. Unfortunately, the small steps we brought with us from Hong Kong where they were perfectly adequate for the lower ceilings there are in need of another 3-4 feet. So painting and decorating has taken much longer than it would elsewhere. At least, that's my excuse!

Whilst taking the paint off our bedroom ceiling (sanding/scraping/washing – 2 days and a serious crick in the neck later) I uncovered the Art Nouveau detailing. It appears the original ceiling decoration back in 1910 was a hand-rolled floral motif with wide dark blue border. We had chosen the exact same colour blue for the walls. Spooky! Had I not been taking so much time over this I would have completely missed the detail, something we are seriously thinking of incorporating in the finished room. But then you'll have to come over to stare up at it from the bed...