Entertained on the train by a young man who was playing the sound track for the movie he was watching on his telephone out loud, rather than into earplugs. I moved rather than challenge him. Then there was a decently dressed middle aged lady who just dumped the free newspaper on the seat she was heading for in the middle of the floor. Which I think dangerous, an easy thing to slip on, so I picked it up and binned it on the way out. Didn't look to see whether she noticed. I hope so.
Given that it was the start of the recent cold snap, with snow, I had opted for full duffel coat, scarf, umbrella and cloakroom, rather than cycling. With the result that I came across a very old block of wood in the cloakroom, maybe six inches by six in section and two feet long, with the upper surface sporting two lines of holes, perhaps half an inch in diameter. Was it some sort of antique umbrella holder? The cloakroom attendant had no idea; not even sure that he had noticed it before.
No picnic on this occasion, but I bought a sandwich from the bar, still in its plastic box, so perhaps they buy them in from somewhere, rather than making them up themselves. They usually go as far as transferring them to a plate and covering them with cling film, as if they had made them up themselves, but not on this occasion. My change included a five pound note which promptly fell into two halves, something which I do not think has happened before. While the Bechstein Room was a bit like a seniors' club, a reasonable proportion of whom were snacking on something or other.
Madžar was introduced by a casually dressed but jolly person from the BBC, who excused her appearance on the grounds of pregnancy. At least she was admirably brief, unlike her St. Luke's colleagues who are all too often rather prolix. Madžar was smartly, but quietly turned out and he had pleasingly modest stage manners. None of the flamboyance you sometimes get with solo performers.
The Beethoven was very good, certainly the first three of the four movements, but I flagged a little in the fourth. Later in the day, back home, I tried my vinyl version by Claudio Arrau - which I did not care for at all after Madžar and I still failed to make much sense of the fourth movement. Perhaps I was tired by then. Perhaps I need to try harder; it is, after all, a very famous work.
Encore short and light, but I have no idea what it was. One of those occasions when I thought it would have been better not to.
Out to 'La Fromagerie' off Marylebone High Street where I took a handsome slice off their chunk of their Allgäu Emmenthaler. Not a whole wheel, but probably the nearest to a whole wheel I am going to get these days. I learn that 'Allgäu' is the name of a place, rather like Cheddar, rather than the name of a particular manufacturer. Popular stuff though, which has made it to places like Walmart and Waitrose, as well as fancy cheese shops in Marylebone.
As it happens, just as on the last occasion I was in the place, a large male customer in the cheese cupboard (a bit like the walk-in cupboards you get in better cigar shops) saw fit to hold a conversation on his mobile phone at the same time as he was selecting his cheese. No doubt in property services or in financial services.
On to Fischers, already noticed at reference 2. Starter in the form of a light macaroni cheese, served in a dinky little dish got up to look as if it was copper. Main course a Strasbourg sausage with potato salad and sauerkraut. Sausage bright pink, probably full of the nitrates that the Guardian had been banging on about a few days earlier, noticed at reference 3. Dessert a sachertorte, a sort of moist chocolate cake. Washed down with a slightly sparkling white wine described as 'Riesling Trocken 2015 Josef Spreitzer, Rheingau'. Very good it was too. Wound down with a drop of brandy, Asbach, a brand of brandy which used to be sold in the better public houses; certainly in the Hand & Shears in Middle Street, near fifty years ago, when I worked there for a short while.
Out to St. Marylebone Parish Church at the top of the street, where I was able to catch a little organ, probably an organ student from the academy across the way. Fine space for an organ, with banks of pipes front right, front left and behind. Unusually, the altar appeared to south facing. Only marred by a party of school children whom I thought showed scant respect for the place they were in: just think of the fuss there would be if the Guardian caught some school children misbehaving in a mosque. The organist had the good sense to wait until they had left.
Jubilee Line to Waterloo, with my carriage being provided with a very cute baby, with very prominent black eyebrows. The mother did not seem to mind my taking an interest.
PS: Wikipedia tells me that 'hammerklavier', literally hammer keyboard, is still the German word for what we would call a fortepiano, rather than the more usual pianoforte. I think that Madžar used a Steinway pianoforte, the usual Wigmore offering. Never heard of early music buffs calling for a fortepiano in this context, but I suppose that they are out there.
Reference 1: http://psmv3.blogspot.co.uk/2016/10/nostalgias.html.
Reference 2: http://psmv3.blogspot.co.uk/2018/02/fake-25.html.
Reference 3: http://psmv3.blogspot.co.uk/2018/03/prezzo.html.
Reference 4: http://psmv3.blogspot.co.uk/2017/10/three-shops.html. The last visit to the fromagerie.
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