Matilda The Musical

My experiences last night have led me to believe that Tim Minchin has been gifted with endless talent. The production of Matilda, at Cambridge Theatre, London, was quite simply sensational. My words can not do justice to the overwhelming brilliance that gushes forth from every moment of this show. Of course, the music, lyrics and performers will rightly take most of the plaudits, but every aspect of this show is instrumental in making it such a spectacle. 

Immediately, one notices the set, a barricade of books and letters, stretching to every corner of the stage. It was one of those sets that is ever-present and yet unnoticeable; a set that flows effortlessly from scene to scene. There was a seamless connection between the set and choreography at times. Indeed, the cast were used to embody objects and their mechanical movements were certainly similar to the workings of the apparently independent set. 

As with any musical, the music is vital and the hype surrounding Tim Minchin's debut West End show did not disappoint. I know a number of his songs very well as a result of endlessly typing his name into YouTube and trying, but failing to emulate his performances on the piano. His style was noticeable in several numbers: The prominent glides up and down the keyboard, as well as a few moments of musical comedy, with the trombone playing a leading role. The major difference to his previous performances is that this music caters especially well to young children, for whom the story of Matilda may be one of their favourite fables. And with the lyrics, the whole spectacle encapsulates the procedure of young children through school, from their imagination of it to the terrifying reality that school can be. The songs "Miracle" and "When I Grow Up" are influential in portraying these themes. 

Minchin's lyrics provide great entertainment for older generations as well, through wordplay and casual innuendo. Indeed, I can't recall another musical that makes such magnificent use of the plethora of words that the English language has to offer. Minchin finds alternative rhymes and ideas to produce his end product, which makes the show a must-see for all the family. 

However, the real sensation of Matilda is the stunning performance of the children. Their movement, singing and especially diction, demonstrated the maturity and confidence of seasoned professionals. The adult performances were excellent, particularly the roles of Mr Wormwood and Miss Trunchbull, but the children make the show so fabulous. Their instructions are to sing, dance and have fun. Their evening involves running manically around stage, dancing on tables, jumping on trampolines, flying onto crash mats and swinging over the heads of the audience. Their performances alone exude enjoyment and hilarity, generating laughter and applause throughout the theatre. 

It would be dangerous to underestimate the brilliance of this show. Everyone should see it. I challenge you not to enjoy it. I have no further superlatives to offer. Please watch Matilda. 

Andy Roddick: A Tribute

I was greatly saddened last night to witness the end of Andy Roddick's tennis career. He has always been one of my favourite players, one who I could watch and support for hours on end. But, all good things must come to a end, and Roddick's career unfortunately falls into this category. I don't quite know why I admire Roddick so much; his tennis ability is not spectacular and his serve action is peculiar, but he is a player that makes me want to watch. The Americans will make a big thing out of it, particularly as he is the last US male to win a grand slam, but I do feel that their extravagance may for once be deserved.

I was fortunate enough to meet Roddick during the Wimbledon Championships of 2009. I was 17 and had been hired to mow the lawn at the house he was staying in. I did my job well, maintaining the garden's magnificent appearance. However, on my second visit, I accidentally mowed over my key to the side gate, slicing it in two. I wasn't concerned as I knew I could just climb over the fence and be on my way. It was as I straddled the gate that Roddick's car pulled up. Out he stepped, with his wife, mother, coach, nutritionist, the world and his dog in my eyes. I hastily mumbled something about losing my key and averted my face from the several bemused expressions. Andy walked past and nodded appreciatively, with an amused smirk on his face. It certainly reduced my embarrassment, but also has given me the desire to share my experience with as many people as possible (I have told this story as fair few times...).

I don't know Andy Roddick and I am certain that he doesn't remember our meeting at all, but I now have a favourable memory of him that nothing can tarnish. He may not have been the greatest tennis player of all time, but he won a grand slam, one of only fifteen men to do so this millennium. For that, I believe he deserves a lot of respect.

Premiership Opening Day 2012

It looked set to be a nearly perfect opening day. And it so very nearly was. QPR were getting hammered at home, perfectly demonstrating how shocking their defending and performance can be; Liverpool were embarrassing in defeat, Suarez’s missed chance tally almost into double figures; Arsenal couldn’t find the net either (despite actually looking quite good…) and Stoke were cruising at 1-0, a debut goal from Michael Kightly. Really, the only disappointment for me was that West Ham were leading.

I should probably explain my opinions on certain teams. As a Stoke fan, I think it is fairly acceptable to dislike Arsenal purely for the way the Arsene Wenger has labelled us, even though his team’s disciplinary record has been worse than ours for a few seasons. However, my real dislike for Arsenal goes back to a third round FA Cup tie in 2003. Wayne Thomas had given us the lead, but Arsenal clawed us back thanks to a couple of set pieces from very debatable refereeing decisions. Reyes, Pires and Ljunberg were all extremely capable of throwing themselves to the ground for free kicks and that’s exactly what they did. Even Wenger admitted that the decisions had been harsh.

West Ham are another team that I have despised for a few years. This is largely due to the behaviour of their fans. Large portions of their supporters seem more intent on winding up the opposition fans, rather than watching the game. Of course, every club’s fans enjoy doing that, but I have never see nit to such an extent as at Upton Park. The other thing that really riles me about them is their belief that they belong in the top flight. They have been relegated enough times with decent players and management to be entirely undeserving of this ridiculous belief.

I was devastated on the final day of last season, as I’m sure football fans, neutrals and foreigners alike were, because QPR had managed to avoid relegation. Now that they have plenty of money to dish out, they seem to feel that they too have a right to be in the Premiership. It is infuriating to see them buying so many players, but unbelievably satisfying when these players fail to perform. I can only hope that all their spending doesn’t save them from the drop this season. I have a real problem with Mark Hughes. I remember when the rumours began that he might take over from Neil Warnock. My dad said to me the day before he arrived: “Hughes will only go to QPR if they give him at least £30M to spend.” We were both in agreement that he is a hopeless manager without funds. And sure enough, he was given £30M. He is an embarrassment to their team and to the Premiership in my humble opinion.

Of course, my most hated team continues to be Chelsea. I have always lived near Chelsea, so I am unfortunate enough to be friends with several Chelsea fans, although many more surprisingly emerged in 2004…. As the vast majority of the universe would agree, John Terry deserves to be transported away and never allowed to return. It’s a shame because there are many Chelsea players that I really like, but all I can do is despise them while Terry continues to be a part of the club. I was disappointed to see them win the Champions League, but have to respect that tactically they rose to the challenge. Failure for Chelsea this season would please me greatly.

And so, it was almost a perfect day, until Reading’s 90^th minute equaliser. I am confused as to why the referee gave the penalty after playing an advantage for Reading, but I suppose you can’t win them all. Here’s to another cracking season.

UK Road Trip

Since my return from far away lands almost a year ago, this travel blog has shrivelled to a stagnant, literary mess, serving only to voice occasional sporting views and other largely irrelevant opinions. And yet, it would seem that I once again have the opportunity to describe some form of travel experience. Yesterday, I embarked upon my greatest, personal, driving challenge, all the way from Wimbledon, to Derby, Coventry and Birmingham. My chosen route may not be as glamorous as previous expeditions through Germany’s Rhine Valley, Bolivia’s breathtaking salt flats, or Siberia’s vast, harsh plains, to name but a few; it has however been similarly enlightening and educational.

A mere 25 minutes into our journey, Abigail and I encountered the dangers of London driving, as our travel vehicle, the quaint Volkswagen Polo, was attacked by soaps, sprays and brushes in Brent Cross. Despite our alarm, we stayed strong in the face of adversity, or in this case, several Eastern European windscreen washer women. Shaken, we soldiered on, shortly enjoying the delights of the M1. I love traffic. There is nothing more satisfying than sitting in a slow moving, unexplained queue in a stuffy car, with the stench of manure seeping through the temperamental air conditioning unit. You can imagine my delight as wave after wave of traffic continued to slap us in the face, with the audacity to proffer no explanation as to its cause; no nonsensical lane reduction, not even the occasional burning HGV.

Eventually, we arrived at Derby’s rush hour traffic, the city’s “in bloom” campaign providing us with great entertainment. Indeed, the monotony of midlands traffic was certainly nullified by a few hedgerows decorated with flowers and repeatedly spelling out the word “Derby”. In actual fact, I cheekily used the queues to work on my German skills, which, alas, remain fairly limited. But having wriggled out of the city centre, we were rewarded with smooth, undulating roads, devoid of stray cars.

I dropped my charge at her destination and continued winding my way through Derbyshire’s countryside, now heading South, following signs to Lichfield. The road was enjoyable, the scenery pleasant, but I was plagued with doubt as to the future of my chariot. The petrol was depleting rapidly; it was as if the untouched, rolling fields were mocking me as they continually refused to provide me with fuel to feed my transportation. The A515 was one thing, but when the M6 Toll, M6 and M42 failed as well, I began to worry. My spirits were lifted as I stuttered along the A45 to Coventry; I had spied the high roof of a petrol station. Imagine my despair upon discovering that it was merely a car wash. An amiable gentleman informed me that I could refuel two miles down the road. His estimation was dangerously optimistic, but I did manage to survive for long enough.

The petrol fiasco had cost me bags of time. I was now running late for my appointment at Coventry Rugby Club. I was briefly thrown by the lack of signage and confusing one-way systems. I still managed to see the bulk of the game, a friendly between Coventry and Nuneaton. Coventry ran out comfortable winners, as was expected of a side, two divisions Nuneaton’s senior. My friend, James, played well, with a great assist for Coventry’s opening try. At the end, there was a feeling of expectation; perhaps Coventry’s rugby side could bring sporting success to the city after their football club’s relegation to League 1.

The final leg of my journey was short and sweet as I retraced my tracks down the A45, sweeping below the city and into South West Birmingham. I was treated to my first ever Birmingham Balti by my hosts. My choice of chicken pakora and chicken dopiaza were superb, but I was most impressed by the sheer size of the table naan presented to us. I had reached the end of my journey for the day and was eventually able to rest my head.

As I’m sure you’ve gathered, my experiences were not ground-breaking; they were not exceptional, and yet, they were new. The M1 may be a terrible road to drive on, but I needed to find that out for myself first. I enjoyed my exploration that took me through over 200 miles of Midlands countryside. I had ups and downs, traffic then freedom, hopes and fears. It truly was an epic journey. 

An Olympic Farewell

After Sunday's Olympic closing ceremony, I feel that I must comment again on our Olympic effort. It seems that I was perhaps a little hasty in describing the games as a success from start to finish. Don't get me wrong, the closing ceremony was a fabulous spectacle, but I disagreed with some performances. The commentators made a point of telling the viewers that music is Britain's greatest export, and who could argue with the likes of The Beatles, Queen and The Spice Girls to name but a few acts that performed at either of the ceremonies. We, as a musical nation, have produced such extraordinary talents that I imagine the organisers had a tough time of deciding who would get to perform at all. Surely, they could barely scratch the surface of Britain's remarkable plethora of musical expertise in just two concerts? Many bands and artists would surely have to be left out, with only a select few lucky enough to perform for the world. And yet, this wasn't quite the case. During the closing ceremony, the popular British hit "Our House" was performed not once, but twice, all in the space of about twenty minutes!! And the decision to allow Emeli Sande to perform three times over the two concerts was utter Madness.  Don't get me wrong, she is a fantastic singer, but I wonder if she quite has the calibre to get a slot in either ceremony, let alone both! I felt that the first half an hour of the closing ceremony was really a celebration of Emeli Sande's one song. It was well sung on the second occasion and the accompanying video was heartfelt and inspiring, but I can not understand the decision to open the ceremony with her slow, moving song, when what was really in order was something extravagant, a little panache. In short, I thought it was a shame to end on an Emeli Sande dominated ceremony, when we have so much to offer.

A Superb Olympic Games

The Olympics have been a success from start to finish. Britain has impressed the world both in terms of its athletic prowess and dedicated support. On every level, we have delivered. For me, everything has been superb. The opening ceremony was perfect. It was a celebration of both Britain and the Olympic Games, a spectacle that pleased me especially as I thought of some foreigners attempting to work out exactly what was going on. The James Bond moment was obviously a highlight as was Rowan Atkinson's cameo appearance, but my personal favourite was Bradley Wiggins' appearance at the very beginning. He is the embodiment of cool. The Wiggo-mania that has been sweeping the country is testament to this. His sideburns, his relaxed manner and, most importantly, his belief that he can say whatever he likes, whenever he likes are inspiring. After winning his gold medal in the time trial, he continued in this fashion, conducting the crowd singing the national anthem and behaving in a way that a man of his stature should. All I could do was applaud the television.

Of course, I must mention some of our other medal winners. Mo Farah provided the greatest moment in British athletics history last night as he stormed to double-olympic distance gold. I screamed myself hoarse at the television on this occasion, in a state of disbelief at Mo's excellence. Last Saturday was an incredible night, with Ennis and Rutherford winning as well. I feel that Britain's lack of success in athletics in recent olympics makes these achievements even more phenomenal. Rutherford, in particular, had escaped all the hype, but dominated the long jump competition to take gold.

Rowing and cycling, proved once again to be our best disciplines. Sir Chris Hoy demonstrated his amazing speed for an historic sixth time, but I was more impressed by the performance of Laura Trott. Her stunning victory in the women's omnium had me cartwheeling around our living room and I sincerely hope that she can maintain her form for Rio in 2016, where hopefully I will be in attendance. I was also delighted for Jason Kenny who delivered in the men's sprint. If he had failed to win gold, criticism would have been directed at the British selectors for not choosing Hoy to ride the event, when in fact, one should really blame the authorities for imposing such a ridiculous rule.

An event that has really grown on me during these Olympics has been the gymnastics. I have never really appreciated exactly what a spectacle it is. The same can be said for the diving and Tom Daley's magnificent achievement to come third in one of the most high-scoring competitions of all time.

I am glad to say that I can't mention every medallist for Britain because there have simply been far too many. As a nation, we have over-performed to an outrageous extent. More so than ever, I am extremely proud to be British.

Blubbering Bubba

I won't pretend that I am an avid golf lover. In fact, I officially gave up playing the game a few years ago, lacking the patience required to improve my game and make the endless hours on the golf course worthwhile. However, the final day of the 2012 Master's was a spectacle for all. The beautifully presented course at Augusta is a stunning sight to behold, as were some of the remarkable shots played on an electric final day. Louis Ooisthuizen's outrageous albatross on the second hole and two hole-in-ones, from Bo Van Pelt and Adam Scott, stick in the mind.

But what excited me most, was Bubba Watson's surge to Master's glory. His game flourished as the day went on, particularly down the back nine, playing some glorious approach shots to the green, as well as delighting the crowds with his unique swing style and garish, pink-headed driver. His constant level-headeness and focus throughout the round was juxtaposed by his emotional breakdown after sinking his final putt. The tears flowed freely, creating a spectacle that would surely pluck at the heartstrings of any late-night BBC viewer. Even at the presentation ceremony, Bubba struggled to contain his emotions, describing the achievement as something beyond his dreams.

Of course, there was disappointment for others, Lee Westwood among them, who came so close to finally winning his first major. For Louis Ooisthuizen to lose in a playoff must have been similarly hard to take, but Bubba held his nerve and became a deserving champion. It was a glorious finale to a fantastic Master's tournament; maybe one that will encourage a few people to consider picking the clubs up again and having another go.

2011: A Brief Summary

This year has been the most exciting and hectic of my life. I’ve spent barely any time at home and have experienced many new things. In early January, I performed at Chipstead in The Secret Garden.  I played Dickon and really enjoyed the show, particularly the musical numbers, which were excellent. On the 17^th January, I flew out to the Dominican Republic via Madrid, just a couple of days after the final performances, on the beginnings of my ‘Gap Year’.  

In Santo Domingo I worked at Avelino Abreu, c. por a, thanks to the connections of my uncle, Andrew Coombe. I was working in the ‘picking’ section of the warehouse. Mechanics would be repairing cars and I would have to find the necessary car parts from the vast stockroom. I worked six days a week, but still managed to find the time to enjoy the glorious Caribbean weather. Shortly after my arrival, I managed to go and see David Guetta live in concert on the backdrop of sandy, Caribbean braches; amazing would be an understatement.

In February, my family came to visit me for a week and I was given time off work to go with them to stay in a hotel on the coast. Elspi, Abi and Ben could not understand how I was still paler than all of them so I tried to tan for the week, but only really managed to burn myself. We saw some spectacular scenery and beaches, as well as enjoying the pool and food at the hotel.

March was largely spent working. My spoken Spanish skills had improved drastically and I was really enjoying myself. Midway through March, a group of us went on a business trip to Santiago, the country’s second city. I developed good friendships with colleagues and some locals and it was hard to have to leave. I had been welcomed into their society by such friendly, giving people.

On the 26^th March I flew to Santiago, the capital of Chile and embarked on my South American adventure. I crossed the border into Argentina at the beginning of April and visited the wine region of Mendoza and two fabulous cities, Cordoba and Buenos Aires, during which time I met Xavier, a fellow traveler and wonderfully enthusiastic Frenchman.

My experiences in Argentina were unbelievable. I can’t emphasise enough how fantastic this country is. The atmosphere is vibrant and excitable, the culture and people are inviting and ready to party, and words can’t begin to describe just how succulent and delightful the meat is. On top of this, I witnessed Stoke City’s 5-0 FA Cup Semi final thrashing of Bolton in a bar in Buenos Aires.

After a brief escapade up the coast of Uruguay, travelling by dune buggy and sleeping in bus shelters, I flew up to Sao Paolo in Brazil in early May. After the brilliance of Buenos Aires, this city was perhaps a little disappointing, not to mention overwhelming large. But soon I had journeyed along the coast to Rio de Janeiro. This city had much more character and style, with the beautiful beaches and rolling hills; Copacabana beach is somewhere I would happily return in an instant. After a brief journey north to Ouro Preto, a beautiful little town in the mining region, I headed back to Sao Paolo and caught a flight to London.

I came back to see the FA Cup Final between Stoke City and Manchester City. Seven family members attended, but unfortunately we lost. It was cruel, especially seeing as I had come so far. But after four days I was back in Brazil. Straightaway, I caught a bus to the Iguazu Falls, on the border of Argentina and Brazil. It was the most amazing sight of my life; as if the world had just fallen away. The sheer volume of water and the number of waterfalls in the park was remarkable.

Two weeks later I learnt of the birth of Charlie Tucker, my newest nephew and a day later, that Grandpa had passed away. I felt very sad that I couldn’t be at his funeral, but was thankful that I had visited Granny and Grandpa in the few days that I was home. Christmas this year won’t be quite the same without him.

June was my most hectic month. I rejoined Xavier in the south of Bolivia and we embarked upon a tour of the Salt Flats of Uyuni. The scenery there was so impressive that by the end of the tour I was taking volcanoes, lagoons and geysers for granted.  After a rapid tour of Bolivia, including a mining expedition at Potosi, the highest city in the world, we journeyed further north to La Paz.

I spent my 19^th birthday at 6088m, after three days climbing a mountain, Huayana Potosi, just outside La Paz. It was the toughest thing I’ve ever had to do, both physically and mentally. After an eventful evening in the bustling city, we headed to the Peruvian border and spent 3 days of total relaxation at Lake Titicaca, the highest lake in the world. We crossed the border into Peru, rejoicing at the cleaner streets, free of rubbish and litter.

After two days in Cusco, we embarked on our Inca Trail to Machu Picchu with 16 other tourists. The trek included mountain biking, hiking, relaxing breaks in hot springs, spectacular views and the ancient Inca ruins of Machu Picchu. The 4 days were great, everyone in high spirits, despite early starts and plenty of walking. The tour culminated with Xavier and I managing to get ourselves ejected from the site due to ‘inappropriate and disrespectful behaviour’.  Basically, we made an 11 second video, in which Xavier’s attire was amusingly insubstantial. Fortunately, we had seen everything by this point…

From Lima, I flew to New York where I briefly met mum for a day, before heading upstate to Camp Hillcroft. The change was dramatic. I wasn’t living in luxury at Camp, but relative to my most recent month in South America, it was paradise. The months of July and August passed unbelievably fast. I was working as a ‘General Counselor’ mainly with children aged 12-13. I took part in various activities with them, acting as an older brother type figure, as well as a mentor. I developed great relationships with the campers and really wasn’t expecting such thanks and gratitude when the Summer came to a close.

A perk of my job was the various trips to water parks and theme parks, as well as a 3 day trip to Baltimore, where we were lucky enough to enjoy a boat trip around the harbour and a baseball match between the Baltimore Orioles and the Boston Red Sox. On weekends, the staff had free time, so I went on several trips into New York City, including a fantastic weekend which culminated in an enormous 4^th July firework display over the Hudson. Other weekend excursions included a visit to Boston and an Ultimate Frisbee tournament.

On the 23^rd August, I flew home from Philadelphia Airport, narrowly avoiding the earthquake that struck the East Coast of America. I was welcomed home and spent a month visiting friends and family. September was spent in a flat in Putney, as building work continued on our new house in Wimbledon. I saw all the family for the first time since Christmas at Caroline and Paul’s Barn Dance party, before the christening of Charlie Tucker and a service for Grandpa the following day. After that, I embarked on the ‘Great Granny Road Trip’ with John and Beccy, on our way up to the Lake District, stopping in three of the houses that Great Granny had lived in. John and I climbed Helvellyn, my first Wainwright, before I journeyed back home.

At the beginning of October I started the next chapter of my life at Bristol University, where I am studying Russian and Portuguese. The term has been fantastic; I’ve met some great people and have been playing a lot of hockey for the University. Ben came to visit me at the end of October and we went to see The Cat Empire perform at the O2 Academy, Bristol. The gig was amazing and I was lucky enough to shake the lead singer, Felix Riebl’s, hand whilst he sang. I won’t lie that I was tempted not to wash that hand again…

November passed in a blur and the weeks rolled by very quickly. In December, I went home to see Elspi performing as Hansel in Hansel and Gretel: The Opera, where she was exceptional. Also, Dad and I managed to see Ocean Colour Scene performing at the O2 Academy, Brixton, which was similarly entertaining. A week later, I returned home for the holidays, Most of the time has been spent preparing the house as best we can for Christmas. Over the New Year, I am hosting a reunion for some of the people I met at Camp Hillcroft in New York, so our house is going to be packed over the Festive period.

I don’t imagine I shall have a year quite as bizarre as this one for some time. My travelling has taken me many places, but now I feel that I need some time to settle for a year or two and really get stuck into university. Here’s to another great year! Merry Christmas and a happy New Year.