This Tuesday 1st December sees the return of Vodbull hosted night, Billionaire. This is a brand new event hosted at bluu, one of Birmingham’s most prestigious venues.

Billionaire at bluu is an upmarket event, offering guest list entry, cocktails, cutting edge music, a speed service bottle bar and a chill out lounge area, whilst featuring exceptionally competitive prices on premium drinks.

On offer this Tuesday:

Click on thumbnail to visit B&W Gallery

]]> http://deadlinescotland.wordpress.com/2009/11/18/11557-2185/ Wed, 18 Nov 2009 16:28:11 +0000 shaunmilne http://deadlinescotland.wordpress.com/2009/11/18/11557-2185/

by SHAUN MILNE

THE historic site of what was once the former ‘Fleet Street of Scotland’ will be relaunched tonight as a multi-million pound luxury hotel.

Fraser Suites have taken over a restored Grade B Listed Building, which was once home to the Edinburgh Courant offices in the 19th Century.

As one of the UK’s first regional newspapers its editors included such well known names as Robinson Crusoe author Daniel Defoe.

LANDMARK: Fraser Suites Edinburgh

The street near the Royal Mile in Edinburgh, also housed a number of national newspapers, making it Scotland’s press headquarters of the day.

It also marks a ‘homecoming’ for Frasers, whose pioneering Scots founders, John Fraser and David Chalmers Neave, ventured to Singapore to found Fraser & Neave Limited in 1883 – the Singapore-based conglomerate which now owns Frasers Hospitality.

Opening

Several top Singaporean executives from Frasers Hospitality travelled to Edinburgh for the opening of the Fraser Suites on St Giles Street today.

The move – which comes in the face of the worldwide recession – is now being viewed as a major sign of confidence in the Scottish tourist market given the increased importance of travellers to the economy.

Sinead Feltoe, VisitScotland’s Regional Director said: “Tourism growth is critical to the future of Scotland and so it is extremely encouraging to see Frasers Hospitality opting for this expansion in Edinburgh city centre.

“With its rich heritage and an innate sense of style, Edinburgh is the ideal destination for such a development.

Outstanding

“In the current economic climate this sort of confidence and investment is more crucial than ever and today’s launch further strengthens Edinburgh and indeed Scotland’s position as a truly outstanding visitor destination.”

Councillor Tom Buchanan, Economic Development Convener at the City of Edinburgh Council, said: “Business tourism is a vital element of the city’s economy and Frasers Hospitality’s decision to locate here shows that Edinburgh is seen as a well-respected destination for businesses across the globe.

“We look forward to working with the company, which has its roots in Scotland, to harness the opportunities of their extensive business network.”

The Old Town site had lain empty since 2007 after being laterally used as university student accommodation and as Edinburgh City Council offices.

Landmark

Today (wed) the new venture was hailed as a “landmark” event.

Guus Bakker, Frasers Hospitality Chief Operating Officer for Europe and the Middle East, said: “Our other premises across the world are all luxury serviced apartments, so Fraser Suites Edinburgh actually represents the first ‘boutique hotel’ investment for the Group.

“Because of the nature and location of our building in Edinburgh, we realised that it would be better suited to hotel accommodation rather than comprising exclusively of apartments.

“This represents a significant multi-million pound investment for the Group and one which we hope will help us strengthen our position in the Scottish tourism industry.”

Heather Gilchrist, Regional General Manager Frasers Hospitality Scotland, said: “We have gone to great lengths to preserve and reinvent this fantastic building, retaining the original features, including high ceilings and ornate cornicing, and carefully blending these with contemporary designs and finishes.”

“It is a landmark development, not just for Frasers Hospitality, but Edinburgh as a whole. It’s brought back to life a prime city centre site and provides a new benchmark in high quality accommodation.”

Boutique

Acclaimed architects Holmes restored the historic building, working for to transform the derelict shell to a luxury boutique hotel.

The new hotel has seven room types including four top-of-the-range themed suites, such as the Princes Suite which boasts historic stained glass panels bearing the motto of renowned Edinburgh city planner Sir Patrick Geddes.

All rooms include kitchens, satellite television, iPod docking stations and broadband access. The hotel also features an on-site gym, restaurant and bespoke paintings commissioned from Edinburgh College of Art.

Tonight’s opening event sees actors dressed as historic Scottish characters bring the likes of Sir Walter Scott and Burke and Hare back to life to entertain guests viewing the new 75 bed venue.

CHARACTERS: opening night brought past to life

Frasers Hospitality now operates 12 European properties, with eight in London, one in Glasgow and two in Paris.

Frasers Hospitality also has serviced residences in the Far East and Australia, and will open new properties in New Delhi, Osaka and Doha next year.

See more of our pictures at our Flickr site and videos at our dedicated channel,  Deadline TV.

Returning to the metropolis after a few years working in various country theatres, I embraced a new calling, that of a line reporter in connection with the daily and weekly press. A very independent and creditable employment and, because of its independence, especially agreeable to me. An account of this pursuit may perhaps be of some interest as this is how I began my journalistic and radical political career.

Calling in the forenoon at the offices of the various metropolitan coroners and obtaining from their clerks a list of the inquests with the places and hours at which they would be held that afternoon or evening, I assisted thereat by taking notes of the evidence and results. On returning home I wrote out a concise statement of each case, sending copies to each of the daily newspapers. This occupied me far into the night. Next morning I anxiously noted the insertion of my communication, counting the number of lines and booking the result against each publication. On the Friday the accounts were sent in, charging for each line three halfpence; a very Irish origin for the term “penny-a-liner.”

For a copy of superior interest or of intelligence obtained by superior vigilance, or good fortune, it is the custom to mark it with the words “exclusive,” intimating that you did not send a duplicate to any other paper; and when the weekly account was sent in that item is left uncharged, being marked “exclusive” and the remuneration being left to the conscientious liberality of the editor.

Ordinarily, a reporter of average merit and industry can earn from three to five pounds weekly, and frequently much more; nor had I ever a reason to complain of the pecuniary result. Of course I supplied the evening as well as the morning and weekly journals with copy of various species of intelligence; and one Saturday on calling at the office of The British Traveller for payment of my week’s account I was told that the editor (Mr. Willett) desired to see me. I left that office with the permanent appointment of sub-editor with the valuable benefit of a seat in the gallery of the House of Commons. On my own suggestion, it was my daily business to write an epitome of the Parliamentary proceedings down to an early hour of the evening. I would then rush down the gallery stairs, jump into a gig and by the aid of a fast trotter make my way over Westminster or Blackfriars bridges to reach the office in Black House Court, Fleet Street. With all due haste I would scribble out my copy to enable the publisher to get out a special edition somewhat earlier and with somewhat later intelligence than any other paper.

One Saturday afternoon I received information of a horrible murder committed some twenty five miles from London. It was at a time when London was murder-mad, not being long after the murder of Marrs and Williamson and when people went to bed with the expectation of having to struggle against the application of the Burke’s pitch plaster over their mouths. It came to me at the time when it could not be used for our paper, and I asked Mr. Willett if he had any objection to my sending the information to the Editor of The Times; and with his consent I did so.

My messenger brought back a note of thanks and a request from Mr. Delane that I should step round to Playhouse Yard and see him. I went and being told that as it was Saturday and all the staff were beyond his immediate reach, and that he was unable to avail himself of my information unless I would kindly undertake the work. According to his request and receiving for my guidance, “a full report by three o’clock on Monday morning and spare neither labour nor expense to secure its superiority over all other newspapers”

Mr. Delane handed me on account, and I started on my errand. Procuring a good horse I was on the spot that night; called on the coroner; borrowed his deposition, copied them and returned before midnight. It fortunately happened that I was first in the field, no reporter having attended the official investigation, and early on Sunday I visited the locus in quo and had a ground plan taken; after which I called on the several witnesses and obtained much additional evidence which had then to be arranged and re-written, all of which occupied me until long after dark. When I remounted my thoroughbred and galloped to Ludgate Hill, my nag fell and threw me over his head, as St. Paul’s stuck two But I was no worse for my tumble; and, too well pleased with the success of my enterprise to make mountains of molehills, I walked to The Times office sent in my report and got home and to bed as quickly as I might.

On Tuesday I sent in my account of expenses and the balance of the  The next morning I received a note from Mr. Delane requesting me to call on their City agent, who handed me  together with a flattering expressions of goodwill. This was a lump of money for thirty-six hours labour; but The Times had two columns of good sensational matter, and exclusively, for no other morning paper had even a paragraph upon the subject. Nor do I believe that this liberality of the leading journal in my case is to be considered very exceptional. I have heard of many similar instances; one just now recurs to my mind. An East India man was wrecked on the Goodwin Sands and a gentleman, procuring a list of the passengers saved and lost, posted it to London with the information, which he placed at command of the manager of The Times and was paid  for his expenses. And the policy of this liberality is manifest if it be remembered that the leading journal cannot afford to be second in respect of important intelligence and that the notoriety of its generous treatment gives it the pas of all its contemporaries!

When I was in France as an exchange student all those years ago I wasn’t only an idiot obsessed with letting off fireworks and arguing with Jean-Louis. There was a part of me which was utterly entranced by the fact that I could travel for a couple of hours across a stretch of sea and find myself immersed in a radically different culture. In short, I loved France, which is why I signed up to go back and spend more time with Jean-Louis the following year. He and I might not have got along too well but he dug England when he came to stay with me, I dug France when I was there so it made sense to take the opportunity to go again.

One of the reasons I was keen to return was Paris although, as I will explain, Paris was one of the reasons my school might not have wanted me to go on the following year’s exchange. I’d got myself into a bit of trouble in the French capital, you see. It was all going spendidly well in the morning. Jean-Louis’ mum dragged me out of bed at some ungodly hour so that I could get washed and dressed in time to make the coach. It was barely light as we pulled out of Caen and began trundling 120 miles towards Paris. It was about half nine by the time we spilled out of the coach, hot and bothered and already full of brie and baguettes. As is probably customary with all exchange students, we were first taken to the Eiffel Tower. Either because of cost or because of time, we did not go to the very top but still got an amazing view from the second level. I know London a little because my father worked there and I used to take a train and he’d meet me at Paddington Station whenever I went to stay with him. Usually he’d take me to his place of work – a huge building close to Blackfriar’s Bridge – and he’d shown me around Westminster and Fleet Street and the like when time allowed. But Paris seemed like another world from the tower. Up there where the exhaust fumes did not reach, where the only sounds were of bickering seagulls, squabbling children and harrassed teachers, I fell in love with a place for the first time in my life.

Notre Dame

Our next stop was Notre Dame but I could not get the image of Paris from above out of my head. I didn’t want to stay in some scary old church, I wanted to explore the city. So I did. I edged towards the door while the guide was telling our group about the cathedral and walked out. For reasons I am not entirely sure, I was followed by one of the swottier boys from my class. At first I thought he’d been sent by a teacher to tell me to come back in, but it turns out there was a slightly rebellious streak in him after all. He had already been to Paris twice, he said, and didn’t want to trudge around Notre Dame again so he thought he’d hang around outside until they were done. “Where are you going?” he asked.”No idea,” I replied. “What do you mean?” he wanted to know. So I tried to tell him what I’d felt when we were up the Eiffel Tower and that I just wanted to lose myself in the streets and discover it all for myself. Not sure if he got quite what I meant but he reminded me of when and where the coach was leaving from that evening. “What if you get lost and miss the coach?” he suddenly thought. “No idea,” I said again and walked away. Moments later he was there alongside me and it seemed I’d found an unlikely accomplice for possibly the most idiotic spot of truancy I ever indulged in.

Actually, he didn’t last long. We’d been heading vaguely North (I now know, at the time I was just wandering wherever I liked, soaking up the sounds of the traffic and the conversations people seemed to be having at break-neck speeds), and began walking down a thinning street. On either side were women in short skirts with tiny handbags, cigarettes dangling from too-red lips. “Oh my god, they’re…” said Swot-Boy. “Hookers,” I completed his sentence. The further we walked along the street, the older and less attractive the women seemed to become. Near the other end one of them winked at my friend. He freaked out, as though a prostitute winking at him was the same as having paid her for services we were not even particularly ready for at that age. “I’m going back.” was all he said. So I let him head off and continued in the direction we’d been going.

Montmartre Steps

I did not know at the time that I was entering Montmartre. All I knew was that the chain stores had disappeared from the streets to be replaced with smaller shops, cafes, tobacconists, and murky looking antique places. Pavement artists seemed to be on every corner bugging the better dressed tourists to have their portrait sketched. This was the Paris I’d imagined from films and television. I had no idea that Montmartre was traditionally the bohemian quarter and down the years had been home to the likes of Picasso, and Renoir and even American writers such as Langston Hughes. All I knew was that this was MY Paris, I’d discovered it all on my own. Nobody had shown me the steps or the side roads: they were all new and all mine.

Feeling thirsty, I stopped in a cafe on the corner of a main street, pretended I could read more than ten words of the French newspaper which was lying on my table when I sat down, and beheld my new domain. I dreamed the normal dreams of impressionable teenagers who read too much Kafka and Orwell and who have stumbled into Paris as if guided by the hand of Fate. In other words I dreamed that one day I would return and live here, in this part of the city, and forget that I ever spoke English at all. And when I rounded another corner on continuing my explorations, I found yet another reason to come and live in Montmartre: The Sacre Coeur.

One of the reasons I adored the film ‘Amelie‘ so much was because of the scenes around the Sacre Coeur. I don;t know what it was that drew me to it as I was not and am not religious. But it was this glorious white building on top of a hill with inviting steps leading up to it. So I climbed the steps and went inside what suddenly seemed like some magical temple. There was a peace and stillness inside, despite the fact of it being quite full with tourists and worshippers, that made sense to me in a way that years of sermons and religious instruction at school had never done. Many people were buying candles and setting them on a specially provided stand, lighting them and, presumably, whispering a silent prayer. I put three Francs into the box, lit my candle and put it with the others. Rather than praying I became somewhat serious and realised that I was going to be in an awful lot of trouble with my teachers. I decided to wander round for ten minutes, drink in as much as I could of the Sacre Coeur, and then make my way back to the meeting point.

On the way back I tried telling myself I’d probably be fine. We were going to have sandwiches wherever after Notre Dame and then the students were going to be allowed to explore anyway. They’d probably not even missed me. I;d only skipped off an hour early after all. How wrong I was. My teachers were apoplectic with rage and also quite shaken with fear. Anything could have happned to me, they said. What the hell was I thinking, they said. The police were looking for you, they said. So I had to apologise to the teachers, and to the gendarme who they’d spoken to and who had alerted some of his colleagues by radio. I was sorry that they’d been so worried, sorry that I had caused disruption and trouble. But I was not sorry at all to have discovered Paris for myself that day. The memories will stay with me forever, even if I never did end up living the life of a bohemian in Montmartre. It’s probably all commercial these days anyway.

I was walking in the Fleet Street area the other day and suddenly spotted a series of stickers on the footpath that spoke about the lost river Fleet. My curiosity aroused, I tried following the trail but lost it after a point. I came home and tried to see if I could dig up any more about it. I found this Guardian article about how the Environment Agency is indeed resurrecting, so to speak, the lost rivers of London, and this map. And then finally this Wikipedia article that says that in January of this year, the River Restoration Centre was set up as a partnership between the Environment Agency, Natural England and the Greater London Authority as part of a plan to reinstate underground rivers of the city by the office of the Mayor of London. Nice one, Boris.

Mulţi ar spune că Halloween-ul e o sărbătoare a horrorului. Este total adevărat, doar că, deşi cam orice horror merge văzut de această sărbătoare nu tocmai pitorească, sunt câteva filme pe care ash dori să le recomand cu toată căldura.

Primul dintre ele, e cred că cel mai bun film pentru această ocazie. Deşi nu este horror de loc, ci din potrivă e o comedie-musical, e cel mai potrivit pentru tema Halloween-ului. Este un film pe care l-am mai menţionat în unul din posturile cu şi despre filme. Dar să nu o mai lungesc, vorbesc, bineînţeles despre cunoscutul film al regizorului Tim Burton, “A Nightmare Before Christmas” . Spun că e cel mai potrivit, pentru că personajul principal, Jack Skellington, numit şi “The Pumpkin King” e celebritatea oraşului Halloween. Ce putea fi mai nimerit?. Nu merită să vă descriu filmul mai… amplu ( spre a fi mai elevat), este un film care trebuie neapărat experimentat.

Al doilea film e tot din palmaresul aceluiaşi regizor. La fel ca anteriorul, l-am mai menţionat într-unul din posturile anterioare despre filme. E vorba despre “The Corpse Bride“. Până şi titlul trădează tematica filmului. Citez: “Filmul este despre un tânăr care se căsătoreşte din greşeală cu o domnishoară decedată. Pe lângă povestea foarte interesantă avem şi muzica de calitate, având în vedere că filmul e un muzical. După cum spuneam, la Tim Burton, atmosfera e de toată lauda, iar animaţia asta nu face excepţie.” Acestea fiind spuse cred că pot trece la următorul film.

“Edward ScissorHands” e titlul celui de-al treilea film. Cu Johnny Depp ca actor principal, cu Tim Burton ca regizor şi cu o idee genială, filmul e extrem de potrivit pentru Halloween. Pe scurt, filmul este despre un robot, făcut după om de un savant, care incearcă să se integreze în societate, dar fără rezultat. După cum spune şi titlul, robotul are mâini de foarfece, pentru că savantul a murit înainte să îl termine. Un film excelent. Recomand oricui!

Al patrulea film şi probabil ultimul de care am să vorbesc este, normal, tot un film de Tim Burton, şi anume “ Sweeney Todd: The Demon Barber of Fleet Street” tot un film pe care l-am mai menţionat. Pentru o descriere mai amănunţită puteţi intra aici.

După cum probabil aţi observat, toate filmele menţionate sunt regizate de Tim Burton. Cred… ba chiar consider că acest regizor ar fi putea numit cu uşurinţă regizorul Halloween-ului. De ce? Pentru că toate filmele lui care au o tentă spooky, chiar dacă nu sunt tocmai horror, sunt parcă special creeate pentru Halloween. Tim Burton are un mod specific de a combina morbidul cu amuzamentul, şi asta e tocmai scopul Halloween-ului. Alte filme pe care aş mai putea să le recomand doar în trecere sunt “Sleepy Hollow” sau mai pe limba noastră, “Legenda Călăreţului Fără Cap” din nou, specifică de Halloween, sau orice alt horror cu zombie, fantome, şi multe alte “mascote” ale Halloween-ului.

Sper că v-am sporit curiozitatea cu aceste filme şi până la ceva posturi viitoare, numai bine!!! Trick or Treat!!!!

I was once told that P.R. was the enemy of journalism;  the point of journalism was the search for truth whilst the point of P.R. was to mask the truth. As I sit here with my idealist, rose tinted shades on I would say I still broadly subscribe to that view.

The relationship between these two industries is, as former Whitehall P.R. man Simon Goldsworthy said earlier today, completely unique and extremely complex. The P.R. person is like the goalkeeper to the journalism attack, he can either be your greatest friend or worst enemy. But, unfortunately enough for the hoards of fourth estate strikers currently playing for Fleet Street F.C. the P.R. person rarely makes a mistake. He decides if, when and where you get a goal from a direct attack. Luckily enough for journalists however, there are other ways to score goals.

This one way analogy suggests however that the relationship between the journo and the P.R. person is a parisitic phenomenon but as we all know a football team cannot achieve greatness with just a great goalkeeper. The P.R. keeper needs to feed in balls of information to the attackers on their team in order to ever score goals for their manager/paymaster, and who are their attackers? Thats right, journalists!

This is where the complications arise as despite the perceived hatred that exists between P.R. people and journalists we cannot do what we do without each other, we are both playing for the same team.  Moreover we both have to work to constraints imposed upon us by our paymaster, or our manager. So if the P.R. keepers are constantly feeding the journalist attackers with information, and what information we are fed and how we use it is dictated by our manager, then where does the fact come from? Or in football terms, who makes the ball and more importantly why, when, where and how did they make that ball? This is the question the journalist seeks to discover whilst the P.R. person waits for the ball to burst and then goes and plays for a better paying manager.

Aside from the view of St Paul’s from the office window, and being a mere two minute’s walk from Ye Olde Cheshire Cheese, one of the great things about 107 Fleet Street has to be our lift (as sad as it sounds). Not just any elevator, our lift appears in James Bond’s Diamonds Are Forever. Aside from the fact that we can’t actually call it from the first floor at the moment, and that it probably didn’t calmly announce ‘Mezzanine Floor’ every five minutes in the film – we still think it’s pretty cool.

Check out the photos of our very own Agent Trevor Mill, along with the video of the actual scene (and yes, they added the extra glass in the film just so they could smash it more)…

If you look reaally carefully, you can see the movie poster inside the lift

Portsmouth is the home of the 2009 New Hampshire Film Festival (additional details here:  www.nhfilmfestival.com), which takes place October 15th-18th.

The annual festival is a great addition to the cultural offerings in the city – I’m hoping to make it to a few of my first films this year.  Visit their website for more information on the films that were selected to be featured in this year’s festival along with schedules.  Films are going to be screened at various venues throughout the city, with The Music Hall serving as the focal point of the weekend.

Check out one of the marketing posters for the event hanging in the city (near Gilley’s on Fleet Street), next to a very Don Draper ad for office space at the International Office Suites in a nod to Mad Men (probably the only show I won’t miss).

It’s a busy morning outside the office today, as royals and politicians arrive at the service of commemoration at St. Paul’s cathedral.

I walked down Fleet Street this weekend, infamous for its alcohol-loving journalists who produced some incredible work in their day. This is number 186 where Sweeney Todd worked and killed as a barber to become the number one serial killer in British history.

This post emerged from my participation in the Walk London Weekend on Saturday, 26 September.  I embarked on the “Print, Power, and Democracy” Autumn Amble.

Fleet Street actually earned its name from “the creek or stream of the Fleet, upon the eastern bank of which stood the Fleet Prison, abolished and removed in 1846, after nearly eight centuries’ existence” (London Online), leading one to believe that it would remain associated with its long-standing historical origins.  However, Fleet Street is synonymous with journalists, newspapers, publishing, and the British national press in general.  This era in the street’s history first began in the 1500s, continuing all the way through the 1980s.  The implementation of computer technologies and desk-top publishing signaled a shift in London press demographics as the newspapers that created Fleet Street’s reputation fled to the outskirts of London.

Even though the responsible companies no longer occupy the street, their famous buildings still do.

The Daily Express Building: 121 - 128 Fleet Street, EC4A

The Daily Express Building is an architecturally prized exhibition in 1930s art deco architecture, designed by Owen Williams.  It is still known by the newspaper’s name, and probably always will be, even though The Daily Express vacated it in the 1980s in favor of cheaper real estate: 10 Lower Thames Street, EC3R 6EN.

The Reuters Building: 85 Fleet Street London EC4P 4AJ

The Reuteurs Building (1939) evidences a similar tale.  Now located in Canary Warf, the world-renowned news agency contributed to the aura of Fleet Street and the building continues its legacy, even though is simply a facade that lacks inhabitant sustenance.

The reputation of Fleet Street is completely based in the past with architecture and memory as its only present referents.  This historical trajectory serves as an example of how the function of cities evolve with the times; in the case of Fleet Street, its evolution directly correlates to advances in media technology, speaking further to economic issues.  It stands as an example of how buildings’ functions can change without altering the reputation of the building, street, or area.  Just because publishing isn’t still actually happening on Fleet Street doesn’t mean tourists still don’t flock there, or that Walk London still doesn’t highlight the area under “Print, Power, and Democracy.”  The history lives on in the buildings, and in the name “Fleet Street” alone.  Connotations prove more valuable that present function when it comes to mapping the city via reputations.

Dragon at Temple Bar outside the Royal Courts of Justice, Fleet Street.

Les Liaisons Dangereuses, Synopsis: In a pair of sumptuous drawing rooms, one in a Parisian mansion, the other in a chateau on a luxurious estate in the countryside surrounding Paris, two aristocrats are very bored. To alleviate her boredom, the Marquise de Merteuil decides to construct a little intrigue for her own amusement and the amusement of her former lover, the Vicomte de Valmont.

The Marquise is aware that a young girl of good family, Cécile Volanges, has just left the convent in order to get married to the Comte de Gercourt. The Marquise has a bone to pick with this particular Comte and decides to extract her revenge.   The Marquise suggests to the Vicomte that he seduce and debauch Cécile to create a scandal and humiliate Gercourt.   

As events unfold the play takes in seduction, rape, a fight to the death and the total destruction of the characters’ lives.   Les liaisons Dangereuses is by no means an easy play.   However, it is full of dramatic incident as emotions run high and lead to violence and death.  

The Spreadeagle players are marking the culmination of their 120th year with Christopher Hampton’s Les Liaisons Dangereuses.   Come and see the play at the Bridewell Theatre, off Fleet Street, London.   The play will peform between 4th and 7th November from 7.30pm each night.   It’s a powerful play and you are guaranteed a treat.

Group Photo from Masquerade on Fleet Street

The photo was taken by the wonderful Rowena Knill, to whom I feel I should apologize, as Father Geoffrey married off the love of her character’s life to someone else, because I thought she was insane. So, sorry ’bout that. In my defense, she was acting kinda crazy.

As we’re lucky enough to be located on the Monopoly Board, here are just a few views we get to enjoy from in and around the office…

Ludgate House (Brand Electioneering Towers)

Fleet Street

St. Paul's

...Do not collect £200

Well, I’m back. It was fantastic!

The game was set in 1900’s London, and was inspired by Sweeney Todd. There had been many ghastly murders over the past month, there were two bandits who had been robbing the rich, there was a Stage Magician named Prospero who wanted to disprove the existence of spirits, and Lady Athena, a mystic who wanted to prove that they did exist. And, among all this, there was the Debutante Ball of Bella Solomon, thrown for her 16th birthday.

I played Father Geoffrey Knight, the local priest. Finally! 5 years of Catholic Education has come in useful! I like to think I sounded quite priestly. I knew the truth (well, I think it was the truth. I knew something, anyway) about Beckett, the man who had been framed for murder 17 years previously, I was trying to encourage a lawyer’s wife to be faithful to him, and to turn away from sin, I was trying to stop a deranged Professor from hurting innocents, and I was trying to save the soul of a prostitute named Charity, because she was a good soul.

My character didn’t believe in ghosts or the occult. At least, not at first. After a ghost revealed himself to me, spoke to me and walked through a wall, I became a believer fairly rapidly. I was trying to help keep an Opera Singer alive, with the help of the ghost of Edgar Allan Poe (who was kinda like the Phantom of the Opera), Charity and Bella. The evil cult of the Raven wanted to murder her, but we managed to prevent that. Sadly, Charity died, which made me quite sad, because Charity was awesome, everyone loved her. Except the cultists, who killed her. So, y’know, I failed the goal of protecting her and helping her get married.

Another of my goals was to prevent Beckett from killing Judge Rex Solomon, the host of the party. I thought I’d convinced him after I asked him to do it as a favour after I married him and his wife, but nope, just before the game ended he killed him. So, another goal failed.

I did manage to provide moral guidance to a few people, so that was a successful goal, and I also found out what the Mad Professor Von Engels was doing. And I called him insane very loudly a few times, so that was nice.

At one point, shortly before (or possibly shortly after) Charity died, I was trying to get into the room where she was, along with Bella and Lady Athena (I think), and Prospero was being a dick and not helping, so I started shouting at him to shut up for once in his life. I felt justified in my outburst, despite being a Man of the Cloth.

I managed to be quite priestly over the course of the game. I provided advice, helped out, married a couple, made myself available to perform Last Rites (fortunately the man didn’t die, as there was a doctor in the house), I spouted out a lot of religious sounding philosophy type things, I participated in a seance (which wasn’t that priestly, I’ll admit) and a hell of a lot more.

I was holding my cross a lot, and apparently I looked quite suspicious, but I was only holding the cross because it was falling apart and I didn’t want it to break. I was actually a good guy, I swear.

Even though I failed in most of my goals, I had a heck of a lot of fun, and I didn’t die (I left right at the end to join a remote monastery), so I count the game as a success. The GM, Anna Klein, was amazing, she did a fantastic job and deserves every hour of the very long sleep I suspect she is about to have. The other players were all great, the costumes were brilliant, and I can’t wait for my next LARP. I think I’m addicted now. Videogames? Bah humbug. Real Life is where it’s at.

This increasingly inaccurately titled blog entry is just to let you know that I’m not going to be blogging today. I will, however, be blogging at some point early tomorrow morning, after the LARP tonight.

So, I shall be writing an article about playing in Masquerade on Fleet Street in about 8 hours. You can all look forward to that. Now, I need to go get my Costume ready. I’ll make sure there’s a photo here too.

If you take a look over to the right of the page, and look down a little bit, you’ll see the newest addition to my blog. My new nzLARPs membership badge. Snazzy, no?

Speaking of LARPing, I’ve got a game coming up on Saturday, ‘Masquerade on Fleet Street’, and I’m looking forward to that. Got another one on Halloween, a Knightshade game, which I’m also looking forward to. So, in fact, you could say that I’m looking forward to any and every LARP I’ve got on the horizon, and all the ones that  I don’t know about yet.

I’ve been working on building my character for the Knightshade game. He’s pretty similar to the one from Chimera. A rogue, with kickass swashbuckling skills. And hopefully a cape. Fingers crossed.

I’m thinking of joining Requiem, a LARP about Vampires and Werewolves and suchlike next year, which sounds pretty fun. Suggestions as to whether I should be a Vampire or Werewolf?

Anyway, Buffy’s on, and it’s the start of Season 2. I’m gonna wrap this up now, because I hear season 2 is one of the best, and I want to concentrate.

Continuing with Things You Don’t Need to Know About London, and the traditional layered wedding cake was designed by William Rich. He based his design on the steeple of St. Bride’s Church in Fleet Street, Central London.

St. Bride's Church.

And the cake wore blue.

The chef had too much to drink.

The Martini. That simple, clean classic favoured by Bond and Blair Waldorf alike. Straight up, with an olive or a twist and served in a glass resembling a woman’s breast, it’s the Michelangelo of cocktails.

5th: The Fellow, Kings Cross

This place has the vibe of a chill out bar and a

decadent cocktail menu. The food is delicious – nice to see potted shrimp on a pub menu. Sip your

Martini in the twilight on their decked outdoor roof space and watch the stars or read the papers.

www.thefellow.co.uk

4th: Lena, Great Eastern St

This Italian-inspired restaurant boasts an elegant bolthole of a downstairs bar offering leather

banquettes and laid back late night jazz. Their

Beefeater Martini is served in a wide, flat saucer and the vibe is part peaceful, part white-hot. A good place to drink alone and discover your own company…

www.lenarestaurant.com

3rd: Lutyens, Fleet St

Within the cocktail bar in the cellar of what was the old Reuters building Julian De Feral uses Ketel One vodka plus crushed ice over cubes to create a

perfectly chilled Martini (think of it like snow on top of a glacier) before serving it in a glass goblet.

Attentive and intuitive, he’ll adapt to any nuance and create your drink exactly as you command. It’s the vorsprung durch technik of Martini-making.

www.lutyens-restaurant.com