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A great “Little Red Riding Hood”!

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I’ve been a bit of a fan of the Holy Cross Players for more years than it would be decent to number and I’ve seen three distinct phases of their thespian art.

 Initially the HCPs were very much a central part of the Church and I recall that the Rector often wrote the play, starred in it and sang the theme song. (I hasten to add that he does all this exceedingly well).

 Alan and Jackie Kingshott and the irrepressibly effervescent Ray Allen were very much a part of the set up in those days and a menacing but actually benign figure not so cunningly disguised in the programme as Mij Retnuh (Jim Hunter backwards!) kept a benevolent eye over all the goings-on and still found time to write his groundbreaking thesis on the benefits to the memory of single malt Scotch whisky (sadly Jim forgot where he left the proof copy so we can only take his word for its excellence).

 Moving from the Church to Glaxo’s Social Club the players entered the Jordanic Era. The multi talented family marshalled by Tony J. took the Players into yet another direction with a more musically based format, the most terrifying Dames in pantomime history and, it has to be said, a stream of scatological filth that almost embarrassed the writer of this small piece.

This year saw the Third Age of the HCP and what an amazing experience it was.

 The production was that tried and tested critique of venture capitalism and predatory bankers in which an innocent figure wanders through the unexplored riverside of Canary Wharf and is made the victim of a predatory and avaricious wolf who not only wants to eat the sweet child but expects a Knighthood and a stonking big bonus at the end of it.

Rythm of Life

Rythm of Life

 Yes – Red Riding Hood was on the menu this year and what a brilliant production was served up for the lucky few who were present at the beginning of January.

 Apparently the panto was directed by Sarra Taylor-Brown and produced by Stephanie Ward but it was hard to see the join and this had the feel of a true group endeavour.

 The Empress of Innuendo, Chris Ward, bade us welcome in the part of Fairy Cakes (!) and having wafted her wand over us made way for the Hood family of whom the lissom Karen Condon as Robin H. will linger long in the memory of all who witnessed her verdant shimmy over the boards. Marian Hood was played by that ever more youthful Marianne Saulsbury and, for some inexplicable reason, Michael Kiley gave us his Brotherhood of Man – but without, thankfully, a Eurovision reprise. The sweetly innocent Red Riding Hood was appropriately played by Alex Taylor-Brown and Rebecca Mitchell chose to portray a strident feminist activist by name of Sister Hood.

The Hoods fielded each other’s lines with a cheerful professionalism and gave us a great example of ensemble playing that gave the audience a hint of the goodies that lay in store.

 Sadly – instead of goodies we were presented with Mayor Boris who looked more like that HCP stalwart and occasional catalogue model Bob Hammond than the calm, sober and dignified paragon of civic responsibility who is currently Mayor of London.

 In the middle phase of the Players rise to world conquering infamy the appearance of Daniella Lusher, Lauren Marsh and Sarra Taylor-Brown would have featured something rather risqué in the leather Basque department. This time we met Marie, Emilie and Simone who swept the plot along until they had no alternative but to yield the stage to an odd but strangely talented creature by name Simon Carney who gave us his Eggert the Eejit.

 You will not need me to confirm that the audience was whipped into frenzy and that Eggert established the rapport of the truly stupid with a rapacious audience that rather reminded me of a Party Conference.

 Ribs were still aching from a severe Eggerting when a collective gasp of amazement (and horror) greeted the appearance of Granny Hood (Greg Hammond).

 My friends, there are no words to describe the powerfully disturbing  vision of a six and a half foot tall trannie camping it up beyond any acceptable standards of decency or decorum.

It was indeed a truly memorable performance and I believe that some people’s lives were forever blighted by the experience.

 Susan Chick was Postie and provided the links and semblance of a plot that such a production needs and doesn’t always attain.  No worries about Susan – this was a special delivery of a part and it was recorded for posterity.

Some people were born to play certain characters – I always thought of Gordon Brown as the Sheriff of Nottingham, Alistair Darling as Baron Hardup, David Cameron as Simple Simon and any Liberal you would care to mention as Wishee Washy. Stuart Dingwall, by contrast, was made to be a wolf.

His lean vulpine form slunk around the stage in a manner almost as menacing as a traffic warden lurking outside Tescos and if you can imagine Jarvis Cocker with furry ears, a brutal snout and rather a large tail then you have got Stuart.

 Superb characterisation and brilliant non verbal acting (there is, I believe, a word for acting with the body and it’s not mime but only Ian Yardley may know what it is).   If only he had agreed to sing “Werewolves of London” by the late genius Warren Zevon but the paltry excuse that this was about the real Reynard not some silver bullet dodger did not convince me!

 If Slinking Stu Dingwall was born to be a wolf then the leather lunged booming voice that rattled windows five miles away came as a crashing overture to the entrance of a man with an enormous clanger and the ability to part more than the Red Sea with his Stentorian tones – yes, we fell back in astonishment as the Town Crier, Ian Yardley (Squire of Kirkcaldy) roared up the hall causing the delicate to clutch their ears in horror and strong men to weep. A magnificent performance by someone who has finally broken away from his infatuation with large bloomers and padded bras – and the world is a better place for his self discipline.

 Jacky Mitchell and Lisa Rowe as Camille and Sophie delighted the eye and allowed us to recover from the aural assault of Ian. Good interplay between them gave way to the two finest pieces of group endeavour I have seen – but more of that later.

 Ray Allen is now commuting from somewhere on the outer reaches of the Fens but the journey was well worth it when he strolled on with Gallic nonchalance as an elegant Hercules Parrot in a superbly cut suit and an equally well tailored accent. To my amazement he was joined on stage by one of the two Princesses of Prompting and to see Joan Bird as Miss Marple made me realise who much light has been hidden ‘neath the bushel and how anxious did the other Princess, Pauline Avery, appear as she faced the terrible prospect of having to prompt the prompt.

 She needed to have no fear and all passed off with grace, elegance and the right lines.

The fact that Pauline and Joan both admit to putting down the prompt book when I have been allowed on stage does not in any way prejudice me against them and it was an absolute delight to see another side of one of this talented duo.

 As ever the HCPs are growing their future stars and Aimee Rowe, Ellwyn Yardley and Thomas O’Leary were just brilliant as Village Children and reminded me of that long lost innocence when my own two little angels took such a part. 

This brings me to two of the great theatrical triumphs of 2012.

 For some reason unknown even to Steven Hawking the Players had decided that what the world really needed was Eminem crossed with Ghostface Killah dressed up as a curly tailed pig and giving a sizzling rap that streaked along with the speed of a bacon sandwich disappearing in a greasy spoon.

Let the nation remember these names – Jimmy Dingwall, Thomas Ward and Conor Taylor-Brown – for those of us who saw them in Robin Hood meets Red Riding Hood will never, ever forget the originality and sheer theatrical genius of their trio.  Just magnificent and worth the entrance on their own.  A word too for the choreographer – Conor Taylor-Brown.

 As if the Three Little Pigs were not enough to blow the house down we then had the pleasure of meeting Maisey Condon, Jenna Chick, Zoe Rowe and Skye Dingwall who were staggeringly wonderful as four rather unusual creatures of the forest – Spike the Hedgehog, Ollie the Owl, Noah the Deer and Dillon the Rabbit.

 One of the policemen at work told me the other day that MPs were looking a lot younger these days and I couldn’t help think that the forest four betrayed a confidence and comic capability way beyond their ages. Something very special is going on when the hall falls silent in order not to miss a single word – and then erupts in joyous applause. That was our experience atOldfieldSchooland it is immensely to the credit of the Holy Cross Players that they drew in the Pigs and Forest Creatures in such wonderfully successful style. Next year’s tickets could sell out now on the strength of these performances.

 All in all a really good evening and the music whisked matters along for which we must thank the effervescent genius that is Tony Freedman, admire the skilful plank spanking of Konrad Chodzko-Zajko and the power and brutality of Rob Attlewell on drums who actually drove the bass drum across the floor with some big footed pedal work. A word of sympathy for the usual bass player, Tony Fieldhouse, who was unable to appear this year as he had suffered a singular accident in falling off a roof. I hasten to add that no criminal activity was involved and the fact that he felt it necessary to check the roof tiles of the nurses’ home is to his credit and should not be the subject of cheap innuendo.

 Andi Brown marshalled the stage crew with calm discipline and barely concealed menace. He and Steve Kiley, Alan Vincent and Louise O’Leary performed physical miracles – as did lighting director Andrew Vigor, designer Anthony Purvis and the champion crew of James Vigor and Will Vigor.

Ainsley Gilbert balanced the sound with consummate skill – even when Ian Yardley was giving it large – and if the acoustics of the hall were not brilliant Ainsley resolved all problems and ensured that not a word was missed.

 The contribution that Marianne Saulsbury makes could fill a page on its own.

Suffice it to say that Marianne provided additional material, choreography (with Kelly Allenby), make up and a terpsichorean performance of elegance that was of her exceptionally high standard.

Responsibility for props fell to Liz Beavan and Ann Woolsey and the duty was discharged with calm efficiency and something of a sense of humour!

David Clarke was the graphic designer and Dudley Beavan may forever curse the fact that he did such a great job on the tickets and posters that he is now lumbered for life with responsibility in this area as well as with his traditional photography skills.

 Emerson Bovell filmed the DVD and, subject to oversight by our local police and the council’s Watch Committee, will release another smash.

 Chris Ward was the fairy of the front office but the full “front of house” duties fell to the evergreen Roy and Marion Chick.

 No-one in history has ever made a twenty pound note disappear from my wallet at greater speed than Roy does and his skill is matched only by Marion’s ability to pluck the few remaining banknotes in exchange for raffle tickets.

 I can personally attest to the superb quality of the rehearsal teas as served by those delightful Nippies – Liz Beavan and Linda Pope. If an army marches on its stomach I have found that the Holy Cross Players need regular supplies of fine teas (and a large quantity of soft drinks and lager to taste). Liz and Linda meet this need with aplomb. On the night Norah and Mick did the necessary and it was just what we needed in a sub zero temperature.

 The ever calm and capable Bryan Payne co-ordinated as only he can and was always there with a screwdriver or some more gaffer tape. The great ship of state that is the HCPs could scarcely have left harbour without Bryan in the engine room and all credit to him for this.

 All in all this was a storming production by a superbly talented team at the peak of their form. I know how much work goes into these productions but the effort is well worth it when the result is as impressive as Little Red Riding Hood. A brilliant evening by some exceptional people – and a healthy donation raised for the Stroke Association.

 The fact that the innate dignity and sobriety of the local Member of Parliament was respected  in an absence of pies, buckets of water and bowls of cake mix can only be admired and the Holy Cross Players roundly applauded for their restraint in the matter of MP abuse but, above all, in their staggering skill.

Chuka Umunna visits Ealing North

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Steve invited up and coming Labour MP Chuka Umunna to be the guest speaker at Ealing North Labour’s annual dinner on 12th January. He is the Shadow secretary of State for Business, Innovation and Skills, Vince Cable’s opposite number, though he has a keen ambition to be in his shoes (political shoes and not dancing shoes).

Chuka praised the Parliamentary Labour Party for the work it was doing behind the scenes to move the government into a more caring position and that many of the decisions they are making were originally Labour suggestions. He said that there was much to be done to help small businesses to get moving in the economy as it is and that he was making every effort to do that. He also praised Steve for being one of the only MP’s to make him feel at ease in Westminster since he arrived there 18 months ago.

Steve also praised Chuka by saying “I think we may have seen the future of the Labour Party here in Perivale.

The Dinner was held at Enterprise Lodge in Perivale and was also attended by MP’s from adjacent constituencies and the leader of Ealing council amongst other supporters.

e-petitions – What is your view?

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With the recent upsurge in e-petitions clamouring for a debate on the death penalty and other things, do they in fact deliver democracy in action or is it a place for a rant.

You can listen to Steve’s view here – first recorded in December 2010
Stephen Pound MP (Ealing North) talks about new e-democracy Government website (mp3)
or read about in a recent article on this site click here

Tribune July 2011. 38 Degrees

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Thirty Eight degree separation from effective engagement.

Just before the last election Parliamentary candidates became inundated with identical e-mailed messages demanding the recipient confirm his or her position without equivocation on a vast range of issues.

Most of us felt that this was reasonable but wished that we didn’t have to reply to each person individually as the numbers built up terrifyingly quickly until very little additional work was possible.

Since then the curse if the automated e-mail has become ever more pervasive and destructive of time management.

On any given day there will be between three and five campaigning bodies, trades unions or special interest groups encouraging their members and supporters to e-mail their MP – and woe betide the miserable Member who fails to reply by return.

This worrying trend has reached its apotheosis – without the divinity – in an organisation called 38 Degrees.

On first sight this seems a truly noble set up in which civically minded citizens unite around an issue and seek to persuade, by sheer weight of numbers, an MP to vote for or against the selected cause.

They cite the recent call for the BSkyB bid to be referred and the cut back sale of the ancient woodlands as examples of their goodness of heart and `campaigning success.

However; all is not as well as might seem and I would seriously suggest that democracy and citizen engagement with Parliament is actually diminished rather than enhanced by 38 Degrees.

The identikit e-mail messages are usually caught by the Spam filters at Westminster and most MPs only drain the sump once a day so there tends to be a built in time delay in responding – which does seem to annoy those who expect the instant response.

Once you have received the message you have to resist the temptation to create an identikit response – especially if you have a long history of voting in support of particular proposition sand are far from likely to be spurred to greater passion by a hundred cookie-cutter e-mails.

I have actually seen offices in which an intern opens the identical e-mails and constructs a standard response which is then sent back to the constituents – all with the MP having neither sight nor sound of the message.

The 38 degree people then claim a huge success and the MPs claims a massive level of contact with the electorate.

All are convinced that something great has happened and the self–congratulation can only be imagined.

You might well ask yourself if this actually matters and make a case for any contact between electors and elected being a step forward.

I would suggest that the blizzard of word-for-word e-mails is not only wholly counterproductive in that many an honest MP who opens each and every one of his or her e-mails gets so profoundly fed-up of writing back to people who have elected to tick a box and dispatch a pre-digested message to their MP.

The other problem is that a standard e-mail does not discriminate between MPs.

In the matter of the Murdochian massacres the key motion in the emergency debate was tabled by the Labour Party so it seems a complete waste of time to write to Labour MPs asking that they vote for their own motion.

Surely those living in non-Labour constituencies should redouble their efforts to influence their Parliamentary representatives and those who live in Labour areas could actually write to the Government Minister expressing their support for the 38Degree position.

By simply ticking a box and sending an indiscriminate message across the nation the chances of minds being changed is slight indeed and the strong probability of an ever increasing irritation being experienced by the MP tends to make the process futile and self-defeating.

I see the whole sterile structure as symptomatic of a move away from contact between humans to a vicarious life akin to that achieved by H.G.Wells’ Eloi in their transition to beings of pure thought and little substance.  I consider it to be a bitter irony that every single message I have received in favour of the retention of Post Offices has been sent by e-mail and I never miss the opportunity to remind people that actions have consequences.

 

In the case of the scattergun synthetic script I can just about see that someone unused to contacting that distant dignified figure who sits as their MP can make use of the technique as an entry level contact.

 

In my case I write back to people who have contacted me for the first time to thank them, assure them of my attention in the future and explain where we can meet in person and briefly breathe the same air and look each other in the eye – instead of conducting a distant relationship in which cliché speaks unto cliché and nothing really changes.

 

Sometimes the world seems to be retreating into an electronic cave in which self-gratification is the motivating force and ease of effort the watchword.

 

By taking the trouble to send an e-mail to an MP on the subject of – say – live animal exports, animals in circus, acidification of the seas, famine in Africa, martyrdom of the Christian communities of Iraq and even the ever toppling row of dominoes that is the Murdoch/Coulson/Cameron scandal then the individual does show that they care and deserve respect for that.

 

However their efforts, however noble, can have the opposite effect and I implore every one of the good citizens of Ealing North to send me no more premasticated pap but to actually let me know their original thoughts and, if necessary, to talk through the issues.

 

I attribute no dark motives to 38Degrees and actually agree with all their campaigns to date but the danger of plebiscite rule is that subtleties are lost and a situation could arise as it did in the case of the Gurka settlement rights when it was utterly impossible for any MP of conscience to even consider voting against the extension of UK residential rights to Gurkas and their families and yet many could see the consequences that are now so horrible evident in depopulated valleys of Nepal and the new slums of Aldershot.

By what transparent and democratic process does 38degrees choose their causes? I don’t know and I welcome further civil participation but dearly wish that we could achieve it without the juvenile mechanism of the ghost written tick box generic  e-mail.

Racecourse Estate in the 1980s

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This painfully posed picture shows my Parliamentary predecessor, Harry Greenway, with the Parker family on the Racecourse Estate in Northolt in the early 1980s (note Denis peering over Mr. Parker’s shoulder !).

Virtually all the estate is now lost to the local authority and most of the “right to buy” properties have passed through many hands and a large number are now leased back to the council by the new owners. Thus the very people who were once housed by the Council in decent and permanent accommodation now occupy the same buildings but on short term ASAT tenancies with no security and profit solely for the “buy to let” businessman.

By an extraordinary co-incidence this picture appeared in the London “Times” of the 1st.July 2011 and was brought to my attention as I was taking part in the handover of 36 new council homes on the very same estate as the Parkers once occupied.

Every single one of the new tenants had a story of utter misery to tell and as the keys were handed over I felt that lives were being saved by that most basic human right – decent, warm, safe and secure accommodation.

It would be cruel if any one of the delighted new Northolt residents who moved in last Friday ended up buying their tenancies and seeing good housing lost to local allocation.

Harry Greenway embraced the “right to buy” legislation with an enthusiasm that he had previously exhibited only for his campaign to reintroduce corporal punishment for schoolchildren.

He may well have thought that Mr. and Mrs. Parker were being well served by the Thatcher government but I look at the faces of the three children and wonder where they ended up. There would have been virtually no chance of a council home for them. Ealing council is building nearly one hundred new homes for let. A drop in the ocean when compared to the great sell off but at least a step in the right direction.

JULY 2011

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To have been a Liberal Democrat must have been a wonderful thing.

All day long cheques could be written that would never be cashed and positions of gloriously impracticable purity and pomposity could be struck in the sure and certain knowledge that money would never have to follow where the mouth led.

All that changed, changed utterly, in May 2010 and that strange multicoloured push me/pull you beast branded as the “coalition” slouched towards the floral garden behind Downing Street and a new national order was born.

Now many of us on the Labour benches have studied the self righteous Liberals for many years and the current spectacle is as fascinating to us as it would have been to a Victorian anthropologist – or Margaret Meade – and it is possible to feel a slight stirring of sympathy for the once obscure tribe of self obsessed herbivores whose natural habitat of dense irrelevance has been ripped away and who now find themselves thrust into an unwelcome and unwanted role as human shields for a bunch of secretly sniggering public school boys who just can’t believe their luck.

Different tendencies and groupings are emerging in that every changing gloop that is Liberalism and from our benches the absence of bandannas and designer trainers doesn’t mean that we are at a loss to identify the gangs of new politics.

Some have hurled themselves into the blue maw of Conservatism with an indecent enthusiasm and give every indication of never being able to return home to the spun hemp yurt of their innocent days. There seems no way back for Andrew Stunnell, Michael Moore, Mark Hunter, David Laws, Norman Lamb, Nick Harvey, Duncan Hames, David Heath, Alistair Carmichael, Ed Davey, Sarah Teather, Danny Alexander, Paul Burstow, Jeremy Browne, Lynne Featherstone, Sarah Teather and Norman Baker.

Nick Clegg may be seen as a special case in that he seems destined to slide effortlessly into some marvellous senior European Parliamentary sinecure that will keep the wolf from the door and allow him to retain a little of the power that once intoxicated him to the point of Dionysian madness.  Mr.Laws has his own unique circumstances to attend to and so, in an entirely different direction, does Vince Cable. A boardroom beckons for both, I suspect!

Others of the Liberal tribe once throve in the damp and the semi subterranean darkness of Liberal politics and now they shrivel in the disinfecting sunlight.

We shall not dwell overlong on the exotic  circumstances surrounding John Hemming, Chris Huhne  and Mike Hancock for each is individual in his way and the serene self satisfied smugness of Simon Hughes ensures that a career as an especially vacillatory curate is available should he need to be rescued from the inevitable deluge in May 2015.

Again we see some moving ever closer to the Treasury bench.

When Gordon Birtwhistle was elected to represent the burgers of Burnley on a temporary basis he wore the high street equivalent of a two piece boiler suit and muttered much of his time as a Labour councillor and one who knew what Swarfega was for.

Now he is channelling his inner St. John-Stevas in a riotous display of burgundy striped shirts, Tory braces and elegant suitings while occupying the PPS’s place behind his Minister. I fear he is lost to the Rochdale tradition of Liberalism and tripe.

Others seem pulled towards the flickering light of the ministerial presence but have clearly not fully abandoned their individuality or entirely sold their souls.

Alan Beith and Malcolm Bruce are probably above criticism in that they occupy the same moral heights as Sir Menzies Campbell so they do not need to shuffle closer to the Mace.

Tom Brake and Andrew George have not sealed the Faustian pact and may well not be part of the grand coalition come the fag end of this Parliament. I suspect that John Leech, Adrian Sanders, John Pugh, Alan Reid and the eternal irritant that is Bob Russell may also have drifted away but – with Bob Russell – you just never know. Logic and consistency are not issues here.

Robert Smith seems to be acting the loyal lieutenant (or more likely Brevet Major in his case) and heaven help anyone who tries to calculate the possible actions of John Thurso.

Some of the newer members have yet to massively impress the House with the force of their personalities or expression of their coalition loyalty and I have to include Simon Wright, David Ward, Ian Swales, Stephen Lloyd, Stephen Gilbert and Mike Crockart in this category.

Space prevents my deconstructing Don Foster or confirming the high level of rebel potential we see in Tim Farron while Martin Horwood just seems to want to go back to how things were. He seems to be longing to photograph abandoned sofas and harass the council until it is moved. Duncan Hames shows promise but it seems all but impossible for him to hold Chippenham if the expected boundary changes materialise.

The ones to watch are, of course, the Great Kennedy (who is capable of absolutely anything – even a return to social democracy), Tessa Munt who is interestingly idiosyncratic and shows some sign of an enduring conscience, Julian Huppert, the Mister Tumnus of Middle Cambridge, Jenny Willottt (she actually seems to have analysed the welfare proposals and is recoiling in constructive horror) and the sounding board that is Tim Farron. If someone like the almost saintly but currently corrupted Alistair Carmichael to break ranks and support a Farron putsch then the Liberals are back where they always end up after coalition with the Conservatives.

Split into irreconcilable factions. That is the lesson of history and the most likely prospect for the great adventure that was launched amidst the soggy sentiment and scented roses of May 2010. Never again – at least until the next corrosive coalition that cheers the Cons and crushes the confused.