The Masterclass in Antwerp was probably the high-spot of a busy month. I talked on character in crime fiction following in the footsteps of Professor Jim Madison Davis of the University of Oklahoma who spoke last year on plot. We started at 8 in the theatre of the Literature Centre, had one coffee break and were still going strong at 11.30 when Mieke who organized the whole affair said we had to leave the hall because the staff had to get home A small group of us adjourned to a nearby bar and I stayed until 1.30 when Rene Boers, Mieke's husband, walked me home to our digs where a worried Penny - she's heard me droning on professionally a million times before and had stayed in with a good book - was waiting anxiously. Next day we heard that the really hard core had stayed in the bar until five.
Antwerp was everything I had hoped for and more. It used to be one of the world's most important cities and it's still Europe's second biggest port and home to what is arguably the centre of the world's diamond trade. Perhaps most significantly it is the home of Rubens and his most famous pupil van Dyck. I associated the former with blousy naked women and the latter with small men with pointed beards sitting astride vast horses but in Antwerp the best examples of their work seem to be religious pictures of one kind and another. Our brilliantly stylish accommodation, run by the equally brilliant Monika, was just opposite the Paulus Church and we went there for Mass on Sunday which was, for me, almost the best moment of a fascinating visit. Stunning pictures, architecture and atmosphere.
Otherwise we did a lot of walking, visited Rubens' house, had lunch with Georgina and Nigel - moules and frites opposite the cathedral -, watched Rene lead a demo against a proposed bridge (and were delighted when the referendum that Sunday won the day with 60% of the popular vote), went to the fabulous print museum, attended a concert at a hall a tram drive away from the centre, had a smart dinner in a converted pumping station, loved Monika's breakfasts with the most scrumptious boiled eggs and generally had a great time savouring a seriously civilized city with relatively few tourists. It's so easy and cheap to do Flanders. You can go anywhere in Belgium for no extra charge if you take the Eurostar to Brussels. Next time I want to go to Mechelin, HQ of Cummins Diesels where the fascist green-shirts shot at Richard Cobb and his Poles during the war. And missed.
Antwerp was in the middle of a longish trip away from home which began with a gastro-pub lunch with Peter and Jenny Hughes, continued with a wake for van Es at the Frontline Club and continued frenetically until I came home on a crowded train after the 8th fully subscribed Old Shirburnian Media lunch. I never cease to be amazed when thirty or so grown-up and slightly bolshy men solemnly rise and sing two verses of the school song in Latin. At the Groucho Club in the middle of Soho after a good and prolonged lunch. Apparently it's the only Old Boys' event which is in the official school calendar. And this year they even had to turn people away because they were over-subscribed. Van Es, by the way, was the Dutch photographer who lived in Hong Kong and took the photo of the last Americans piling up a rope ladder into a helicopter as they tried to get out of a lost Vietnam. A successful evening I thought and made odder yet when a man came up and introduced himself as Simon Pike whose father was once Chaplain-General to the Forces and later Bishop of Sherborne. Simon had arrived at Lyon House the same term as my brother James and for a while the two were "best friends". He didn't, unsurprisingly, know that James had died.
The day beforfe the Media affair I had lunch at the Fire Station in Waterloo with Christopher Braun to discuss the anthology of his brother Thomas' work. We both think we are progressing and I hope we are. Christopher has amassed some 400 possible entries, mainly light verse both published and unpublished. Tom, as I always knew him - the family always called him Thomas - was a genius in his own inimitable way.
Otherwise. Well, I had lunch with Lindsay Fulcher, basic, nice Thai round the corner from "The Lady" which is now edited by Stanley Johnson's daughter, Rachel, sister of Alexander aka Boris. We had a chat before lunch and as far as I can see I am now the Royal Correspondent of the "The Lady". Arise Dame Tim! Who would have thought it but, hey, why not?! I am pursuing potential interviewees, preferably Royal Ladies.Heard Colin Amery give a lecture on Nicholas Hawksmoor at the Royal Institution in Albemarle Street. Fascinating and a good subsequent debate about how redundant or semi-redundant churches should re-invent themselves. Colin was on the Orient Express to Venice with Gavin Stamp many years ago and the two did a wonderful drone round Venice. I remember embarking, improbably, at Ealing Broadway.That lunchtime I., but I will be accused of name-dropping. It was good to see old friends including Rachel's Dad who I realize I have known for more than half a century. My first words to him, as far as I can remember, were "Please Johnson sir may I clean your rugger boots". I'm not certain about the sir" but otherwise true. If I didn't clean his boots I'd be beaten for not having enough signatures on my "fag chit". To his credit Stanley was amazed and appalled.
Met up with niece Becky and had a family do to celebrate Tristram and Beth completing a half marathon through the royal parks - Tristram did it in 1 hr 42 which is an improvement of ten minutes on his previous best. Then last weekend I went up to London and stayed with Alexander and Kirsten. A and I went to see London Welsh beaten by Doncaster and afterwards listened to a wonderful sounding male voice choir wearing blazers and looking like massed bank clerks of a certain age. Alexander cooked biryani and dhal that evening. We were accosted at Old Deer Park by Mr. Hartigan who had taught Alexander at the Oratory. And on the Sunday I had lunch at Simpson's in the Strand courtesy of the Mugar Memorial Library in Boston, Mass, which collects my stuff. More old friends and acquaintances.
Anyway am now back looking out at grey drizzle. I finished my book on Jardine in India and have sent it off electronically to Methuen. And, in a way most interestingly, I have been "blogging" regularly for the Daily Telegraph about royalty. I'm rather enjoying this and we've had lots of hits and some comments. Odd that the one that really seems to excite people is Prince Philip and his alleged "gaffes" which seem to polarize opinions amazingly. Some people think he's terrific and saying what we'd all like to and other people say he's appalling, Neanderthal, never done a day's work in his life and so on.
As before I am depressed at the angry, brown paper bag semi-literate quality of some of the responses. And people are astonishingly lacking in self awareness. One correspondent complained bitterly about the laziness and awfulness of various members of the royal family, failing to make a plausible case - I didn't say there wasn't such a case, only that the frothing complainant failed to make it. Check out the comment on the www.blogs.telegraph.co.uk site (I think) and see if you agree. The most bizarre moment was, I thought, when he banged on about our obsession with PC and non PC remarks and then commented that if being PC meant tolerating someone who is offensive then you could count him in. What he didn't seem to realize was that he was the one being offensive and people like me who didn't agree with him but said so in an inoffensive way were the ones being tolerant.
But I suppose I would say that, wouldn't I? Check the site and see if you agree.
