Ken's 80th birthday
This morning a few last minute tweaks to Ken's poem, and a nip around the corner to score a bottle of Blanquette de Limoux. Then Lorraine and I scurried in the bitter cold to Casa Don Carlos in the Old Lanes to meet Ken and about 20 of his closest mates and family.
We all sat at a long table and plates of tapas appeared in droves. Chatted to some nice new people including Yoshi, a Japanese who had moved to London and is an enthusiastic baritone singer. A lusty rendition of happy birthday from all in the restaurant then all out by taxi or stiff uphill walk to Janet and Ken's house where the party continued. An additional swathe of guests, including Remo last seen as my loquacious guardian angel fixing my locks after my burglary. I had a long chat with Caroline, Ken's daughter who had flown in from Italy for the party, and who is now a singing teaching in a school in Milan. She is also performing, and writing church music.
When it was time for Ken to blow out his candles on what proved to be a wonderful chocolate cake made by his son Nick. I then read my poem, which went down better than could be expected, with laughter and a tear in Ken's eye. Ken at the centre of a ring of affection. Very good to see.
Fun talking to Ken's five grandchildren, ranging from 22 to about 10, and their dad Nick. Really good fun, the older two girls, both funny and chatty, warmed a great deal to Lorraine, and joking that Lorraine and I go out clubbing with them after.
My poem, which was really a long-winded toast, started with this depiction of Ken's love of opera, which I think worked quite well.
Let’s have no kitchen sink drama
for, if life’s a joyful song, Ken sings it.
I’ve heard him perhaps a thousand times
lending his tenor to some libretto
or essaying a buffo in the bath.
For Ken’s passionate heart throbs opera
and I believe that sometimes when he smiles
it’s because he attends to a stage
where a tuxedoed trove of tenors
is emoting con brio in his head.
Bless him. Another lovely day with Janet and Ken.
This morning a few last minute tweaks to Ken's poem, and a nip around the corner to score a bottle of Blanquette de Limoux. Then Lorraine and I scurried in the bitter cold to Casa Don Carlos in the Old Lanes to meet Ken and about 20 of his closest mates and family.
We all sat at a long table and plates of tapas appeared in droves. Chatted to some nice new people including Yoshi, a Japanese who had moved to London and is an enthusiastic baritone singer. A lusty rendition of happy birthday from all in the restaurant then all out by taxi or stiff uphill walk to Janet and Ken's house where the party continued. An additional swathe of guests, including Remo last seen as my loquacious guardian angel fixing my locks after my burglary. I had a long chat with Caroline, Ken's daughter who had flown in from Italy for the party, and who is now a singing teaching in a school in Milan. She is also performing, and writing church music.
When it was time for Ken to blow out his candles on what proved to be a wonderful chocolate cake made by his son Nick. I then read my poem, which went down better than could be expected, with laughter and a tear in Ken's eye. Ken at the centre of a ring of affection. Very good to see.
Fun talking to Ken's five grandchildren, ranging from 22 to about 10, and their dad Nick. Really good fun, the older two girls, both funny and chatty, warmed a great deal to Lorraine, and joking that Lorraine and I go out clubbing with them after.
My poem, which was really a long-winded toast, started with this depiction of Ken's love of opera, which I think worked quite well.
Let’s have no kitchen sink drama
for, if life’s a joyful song, Ken sings it.
I’ve heard him perhaps a thousand times
lending his tenor to some libretto
or essaying a buffo in the bath.
For Ken’s passionate heart throbs opera
and I believe that sometimes when he smiles
it’s because he attends to a stage
where a tuxedoed trove of tenors
is emoting con brio in his head.
Bless him. Another lovely day with Janet and Ken.
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