Belfast Piano - Play me, I'm yours!

It's great to see the brightly painted pianos that have recently been positioned in various streets around Belfast. Old, upright instruments have been given a new lease of life and passers-by are encouraged to stop, play a tune or simply sound a few notes.
Luke Jerram is the artist behind the Play Me - I'm Yours project and he has already installed pianos in several cities around the world. It's now the turn of Belfast Pianos 2010 .  The one, pictured, is located in Commercial Court which runs between Donegall Street and Hill Street in the Cathedral Quarter. I love this little street, home to Printers Cafe-Bar, the Duke of York Pub and The Dark Horse Coffee House. I featured the street, which has strong family connections, in an earlier post - Culture Night, Belfast and I am grateful to the local businesses that are working so hard to revive this once vibrant area.  Hanging baskets and Belfast sinks, full of plants, provide splashes of colour throughout the year and so the funky piano fitted in perfectly.  There are two pianos in the Cathedral Quarter - they bring a sense of optimism and fun.
It was a particular pleasure to be in the company of friend who seeing the piano, waited his turn, sat down and played a piece he had composed himself. People, locals and tourists, looked on and listened, joining in the bit of fun.  Belfast, like the piano, also seemed to be saying - Play me, I'm yours!

Saint-Emilion - Message in a bottle

Château Franc-Pourret, 1981

News programmes these days seem to be full of claim and counter-claim about the budget deficit and the effect of cuts in public spending.  Old certainties such as buying property seem no longer to apply as house prices fall, leaving some in the position of negative equity.  Canny investors suggest putting money into art purchases and others into buying and cellaring fine wine.

Back in 2000, I invested in some wine. It was more of an emotional decision than a financial one because I only bought one bottle.  Not any old bottle mind you! It was a Saint-Emilion Grand Cru from the Château Franc-Pourret, belonging to the Ouzoulias family. Its vintage is 1981.

Now 1981 is special because it was the year in which we got married.

The wine was already 19 years old when we visited the lovely medieval town of Saint-Emilion. We had family lunch in the square and still had some hours to spend before continuing our homeward journey.  I had visited the town before in the 1970s, when access to the monolithic church was much freer than now.  I distinctly recall remaining inside at the end of a short tour and feeling very much at ease in the place. There was no visit to the church on this occasion but we did pay our respects to one of the many shops selling high-end wine from the appellation. The merchant, intent on selling the bottle, assured us that it was excellent value and would continue improving with age. He even offered to buy it back at some future date provided that we had kept it properly. I wonder how he would know. Well, we bought it.

I said it was an emotional investment and we felt confident that we could keep it until 2006 when it and our marriage would be twenty-five years old.  It would, we thought, provide an appropriate focal point for an anniversary dinner.

We didn't drink it and it is still there lying on its soft carton inlay in its stout wooden box. Somehow, it has managed to survive those stressful evenings when there was nothing else to pour into a relaxing glass.

Apparently it is still going strong. I looked it up on the internet and it scores16 out of 20.  I don't know its current value as I would have to write to the château for a price but I figure I made a good investment.

Here's the funny thing, I have never tasted the wine! But by not opening it, I risk denying it its potential. It was made for drinking so we will just have to fix another date and keep to it next time.  I have uncorked a plan!

Surfing for details of the wine has revealed an interesting association. Catherine Ouzoulias provides luxury accommodation at the Château-Franc Pourret and offers tastings.  It looks a very grand and elegant place and from the 5-star reviews she gets, sounds like a great place to stay.  I wonder would she mind us bringing the wine back to its birthplace and letting us drink it there!  We might just need a second bottle.

post originally published in my francofiled blog

Writer's chair, Rathlin Island

On a weekend break in Ballycastle, we thought it would be a good idea to spend sometime on Rathlin Island.  So we parked the car at the Marconi memorial and went to get tickets for the fast ferry service. Others had the same idea and the fast boat was full.  So an hour later than planned we crossed to Rathlin on the older, slower boat. That was a treat! There were only a couple of vehicles on board and on both sides of these the crew placed some rows of plastic chairs, tethered in line.
On landing we headed straight for the hotel which was hosting an exhibition of local artists. I liked the paintings which seemed to me to portray the remoteness of the island through the seasons.
We had only planned to stay a couple of hours and with our later than expected arrival decided it was time to get something to eat.  We could see in the distance a brightly decorated house that seemed to have lots of tables and umbrellas out front. We were also attracted by its abundance of flowers and so, as it turned out, were the wasps we found there. The owner of the house was serving teas.  Lunch in full sunshine, was large pots of tea, warm fruit scones and jam followed by shortbread.
Moving further along the seafront we could see what looked like a memorial stone but as we got closer we realised it was a large stone chair. The writer's chair.  Engraved into the back of the chair were the names of writers of different genres who had attended workshops and events on the island. Familiar names - wordsmiths - novelists, poets, singer songwriters. Did they each take their place in the chair and think about their craft?  Like the wishing chair at the Giant's Causeway did someone bring to mind a hope or an ambition for their writing?
The thought occured that a blogger might take inspiration from such illustrious company - that the words of previous sitters might rub off and stick.
On the way back, this time to the modern, sleek, fast ferry we passed a plaque celebrating the first radio broadcast in 1898 by Marconi.  Rathlin should consider hosting a podcaster convention. The place has a connection with communication.

Bush radio

I have been getting a lot use use from my iPod Touch these past few months. Now with a new docking station and 100 watt speakers the sound has never been better.  It's a far cry from the late 50s when the sound source in our living room was the brown bakelite Bush radio, with its fabric flex and 15 amp round-pin plug.  I saw one in a London pub recently, sitting high on a shelf, dusty, unused, a bric a brac oddity from a bygone age.

As a child, I loved tuning that radio's dials to pick up long wave stations with exotic names, Warsaw, Oslo, Moscow and Allouis - (I got to Allouis, many years later when I lived near Bourges in central France). There was better reception on the medium wave band, where we got to listen to Luxemb'g and Radio Eireann, along with those old BBC stations, the Light programme and the Home Service.  Inevitably, the fixed bakelite radio gave way to the transistor and portability. I still loved it though and when a college friend suggested he replace the valves with transistors I jumped at the chance and handed the radio over for an upgrade.  I never saw it again.  Perhaps it made its way to a shelf in a London pub.

I have vivid recollections of the BBC programmes from back then: Children's Favourites, Mrs Dale's Diary and of course, the Archers.  Old Walter Gabriel's voice fairly boomed out of and seemed to suit the bakelite.

I learned recently of a company that overhauls and sells these old radios.  It has some handsome models on its website. I will be checking, for much as I love my new iPod, I still hanker after a bakelite Bush.

They'll be close to 60 years old now.  I wonder if they still pick up Workers' Playtime.