A Wilde Weekend – Act III

The Wilde Weekend was 72 hours long. If you thought I had forgotten about Sunday, the final 24 hours of debauchery well-earned indulgence, I don’t blame you. This weekend took place in June 2018 and we are already at the end of January, with no sign of Act III until now. There is a limit on how long one can draw out a single weekend as blog fodder. But one will do one’s best.

(If you missed it, or need a refresher, this was Friday and this was Saturday)

Sunday
After all that delicious dancing, we have an even more delicious lie-in which is necessary to replenish depleted energy and aid muscle recovery. It was not just dancing, after all. It was a full-blown workout of cardio+strength+style. So we sleep.

“In England people actually try to be brilliant at breakfast. That is so dreadful of them! Only dull people are brilliant at breakfast.”
Upon waking, we whip up and devour scrambled eggs and avocado. As we are now well-fed and more likely to partake in brilliant conversation, we head to the Putney Tavern to watch the football, the sport that launches many a brilliant conversation.

“Football is all very well as a game for rough girls, but it is hardly suitable for delicate boys.”
It is England vs Panama in the Group stages of the World Cup. Some interesting manoeuvres to get a G&T safely from the bar to our prime vantage point, some rowdy fans, and thank God for an English win. It is a 6-1 thrashing and (most) people cheer Panama’s lone goal with the generosity of those who know they are still comfortably superior.

Time for refuelling at Wagamama, then a spot of shopping in Putney. We head home and make a decision to end this weekend in the manner to which we have become accustomed: in style. My sister has found the perfect activity to close this weekend – Gatsby Immersive Theatre.

“Man is least himself when he talks in his own person. Give him a mask and he will tell you the truth.”
We dress to theme and step into the 1920s. F. Scott Fitzgerald’s world of decadence, champagne and sparkle is brought to life by a cast of talented actors who take us through The Great Gatsby in a unique and fun production. The characters mingle with the audience (my sister and I are welcomed by the Nick Carraway character loudly proclaiming that he is ‘SO pleased we could make it!’), have impromptu conversations that become part of the show, and we even get a dance lesson – the quirky Charleston. It is the perfect way to end our weekend.

My sister tells me I am ‘fun in London’ and I have been striving ever since to channel some of that London vibe and make it a part of everyday life. Full immersion. Sequins and feathers optional.

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©2019 Seetha Nambiar Dodd

 

Weather with you

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Tourism Australia’s 2006 campaign was memorable, controversial, and criticised for its clichéd portrayal of Australia and for its cheeky tagline. Despite the attractive prospects of a cold beer, a spot on the beach saved for you by a bikini-clad Lara Bingle, shark-free swimming, kangaroo-free golf courses and Sydney nightlife, the success of the campaign was never quantified. The ad was temporarily banned in the UK for the use of the word ‘bloody’ (wait, what???), edited in Singapore to simply say, “So where are you?” and didn’t go down as well as that cold beer with Japanese, Korean, Thai or German tourists. The campaign cost $180 million and was pulled after 2 years. 

So, Australia. Here we are at the end of December, 2018. It is too cold to be on the beach, let alone to save a spot for anyone while wearing a bikini. Your drink of choice may well be warm, mulled wine rather than a cold beer. And the legendary Bondi surfers are taking shelter under their surfboards. Because two days ago, Sydney was subjected to a hailstorm with hailstones THE SIZE OF TENNIS BALLS that pelted the seas, the streets and Instagram. Never before have there been so many Insta-photos of palms. Palms holding “insane” hailstones in various shapes and sizes. 

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In the days before and after this catastrophe (that sent tourists and locals rushing outdoors to obtain evidence), it rained, and rained and rained.

So the question remains:

Summer, where the bloody hell are you?

 ©2018 Seetha Nambiar Dodd

A Wilde Weekend – Act II

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In an earlier post, Oscar and I illustrated the first 24 hours of the Wilde Weekend in London. If you thought my sister and I may have used up all our energy on eating, drinking, shopping and comedy-ing, you would be right. We went to bed exhausted. But nothing that a 7-hour sleep didn’t cure.

Saturday
If laughter is the best medicine, a cooked English breakfast comes a close second. Better yet when cooked at home and washed down with copious mugs of hot tea.

Later, we take a walk along Putney High Street, but this is not a stroll without purpose. It includes a stop at Putney Market where a delightful Malaysian bakery sets up a stall every other Saturday.

“With freedom, books, flowers, and the moon, who could not be happy?”
Agreed, Oscar. But you have not tried these pineapple tarts. Or these peanut cookies. This is not just happiness. This is bliss. The cookies are melt-in-your-mouth delicious. The pineapple tart is love at first bite. When the buttery exterior gives way to the generous filling,  I am transported to my Malaysian childhood where jars of these tarts are abundant at Chinese New Year. Oh, Pandan Bakery, there was not enough time or belly space for all your deliciousness, and don’t get me started on those spicy sardine curry puffs which are a true triumph of pastry over perception. [Photos from Pandan Bakery’s website]

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Are you drooling yet?

The sardine-pineapple snack will tide us over till dinner. It is now time for the man himself. We head to the Vaudeville Theatre for a masterclass in quick-witted dialogue. The play is ‘An Ideal Husband’ – a study of moral flexibility, forgiveness and class hypocrisy, all wrapped up in a fun, theatrical package. Wilde’s genius lies in, among other things, his use of paradox to comic effect. His humour is unexpected: “I like looking at geniuses, and listening to beautiful people.” He combines ideas that shouldn’t go together, but somehow, do: “When the Gods wish to punish us, they answer our prayers.” A bit like sardines and pineapple. The play was a real treat.

“I hate people who are not serious about meals. It is so shallow of them.”
Not wanting to be shallow, we have already planned our next gastronomical adventure. My sister has an immensely talented friend who has set up a Malaysian Supper Club (hosted at different venues around London) called Wild Serai. The menu is clever, the ingredients are authentic, the labour is clearly one of love, and the result is pure pleasure on a plate. Nasi lemak with chilli crab. Never have 5 words held so much history, mystery and delight. And just when I thought it could not get any better, we sample the best ikan bakar (literal translation: burned fish) I have ever tasted outside of Malaysia. This is stingray, barbecued to perfection and served with a tamarind-chilli dip. We are in the middle of Soho but my taste buds are in a hawker stall in Petaling Jaya, and my appetite is suddenly teenage. Yolanda, terima kasih!

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Fish with attitude. 

While the appetite is teenage, the metabolism is not. There is now an undeniable need to burn some calories. We head home, and for a brief moment, contemplate pyjamas and channel-surfing. But this weekend is a rare one, and not meant for sitting on the sofa. So we get changed and head to a local Putney bar.

“She wore far too much rouge last night, and not quite enough clothes.”
Oscar wrote this in 1895. In many ways, still relevant today but certainly a matter of opinion. And anyway, in the words of Taylor Swift, haters gonna hate (hate*4). May as well wear whatever you like. We have opted for flat shoes so we dance till closing time. This bar is cool, friendly and unpretentious, and they play Blackstreet’s No Diggity, which is my yardstick for a good time on the dance floor.

Putney, I like the way you work it.

©2018 Seetha Nambiar Dodd

A Wilde Weekend, Act 1

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A few months ago, I spent a wonderful weekend in London with my sister. Part of her plan to ensure maximum fun in 72 hours included tickets to the Vaudeville Theatre in Covent Garden for my favourite playwright, Oscar Wilde.

Oh, if you were hoping for wild tales of alcohol-fueled madness or hazy recounts of debauchery, I’m so sorry to disappoint you. Those were (mostly) contained on stage. Oscar is as Wilde as it gets. But here is my travel log of the visit, with some help from my pal, the Master of Wordplay.

Friday
On the Underground from Heathrow airport, my suitcase and I are not welcome amongst the suited, city types who are jostling for elbow room while simultaneously avoiding eye-contact. It takes a certain skill to show disapproval without looking up from one’s mobile phone.

“Travel improves the mind wonderfully, and does away with all one’s prejudices.”
Fortunately for my mind, once the tube deposits the Disapprovers at their stations, it is left with Tourists, Students, Musicians, Non-City Workers, and Others. It is as if the air in the carriage has filtered out the busy-ness. People now smile. They give their seat up if required. The closer we get to East Putney, the happier everything seems. A kind soul even offers to help me with my suitcase. “It is absurd to divide people into good and bad. People are either charming or tedious.”  

I surprise my sister with an earlier than expected arrival and we catch up over a hot mug of (what else?) English Breakfast tea. She opens up a world of possibilities that the next 72 hours may present. But first, we must eat.

“Nothing can cure the soul but the senses, just as nothing can cure the senses but the soul.” What better cure for jet-lag than food that nourishes the senses? We sample tapas and Tempranillo at a local place called Home. After all, we are only 2 hours from Spain. It would be rude not to. The ‘cheeky bar food’ is delicious and the atmosphere is friendly and comfortable. So you feel at home, except with plates of tapas brought to your table. #win.

Home

As we are already out, we take a stroll along Putney High Street. There is plenty of temptation in the form of shop-window displays and SALE signs. Oscar offers a reason to yield: “Fashion is a form of ugliness so intolerable that we have to alter it every six months.”

I don’t know if it is the jet-lag or the Spanish wine but a 3-hour nap follows. Then it is time for more food. We jump on the tube to an old haunt, C&R Cafe, a Malaysian institution tucked away in a back street near Piccadilly Circus. I resist my favourite dish, nasi lemak (pictured), for other, smaller dishes to share. “Everything in moderation, including moderation.”

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“My doctor says I must not have any serious conversation after seven. It makes me talk in my sleep.”
So our next stop, for the opposite of serious conversation: The Comedy Store! Stand-up comedy in a venue that’s small enough to be intimate but big enough to be comfortable. I am delighted that one of the acts is Larry Dean, a hilarious Scottish comedian who I recently saw in Sydney. We leave after lots of hearty laughter and also get to chat to Larry on our way out. He may or may not think I am a groupie.

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Nothing left to do but crawl into bed and dream sweet dreams of the next 48 hours of indulgence. To be continued….

[Exit Stage Left]