Spectator Life

How far the world of electric vehicles has come in just a decade. Back in 2011, the most prevalent 'EV' to be found on the streets of London was probably a G-Wiz, the Indian-built microcar that was so light, small and slow that it was officially deemed not to be a car at all, but 'a heavy quadricycle.' But the 2012 launch of Tesla's Model S proved that battery power wasn't just for speed-fearing tree-huggers whose idea of excitement was to potter to the shops at 15mph in what was widely regarded as one of the least attractive automobiles ever made. No - electric cars could be fast, fun, glamorous and covetable.

Admit it, the joy of driving is a myth - in Britain at least. Drivers who talk about the thrill of getting behind the wheel should ask themselves, when was it that they last really enjoyed driving somewhere? Because the grim truth is that unless you are on an isolated country road miles from the nearest speed camera – and certain that no one else is around – you simply can’t let rip anywhere now. The traffic never subsides enough for you to get a decent run up and, if it did, you’d be flashed by speed camera or break the average speed limit before you could even hit fourth gear (let alone hit the near-mythical realm of Fifth Gear).

It might seem counterintuitive to say this about such a chatty medium, but what I have missed most about the theatre during its long year in the Covid wilderness is silence. More specifically, the two distinct types of silence unique to this artform, the silences that top and tail a production of import, a piece that matters. The first is the silence of anticipation, as an excited first night audience settles into its seats and stops fidgeting and the lights sink down. The second sort, even better, is the kind that floats and shimmers around the auditorium once the final word has been spoken and the lights come up, before rapturous applause bursts forth from every excited spectator, buzzing with the sensation of having just shared in something special.

As restrictions begin to ease and the possibility of travel grows increasingly closer, Iceland stands out as one of the best-bet 'green light' countries with low case numbers, a solid vaccination programme, and flexible entry requirements. It also happens that summer is one of the best times to visit the country with 24 hours of daylight in some areas, not to mention warmer and drier weather. The flight from London to Reykjavik takes just over three hours, making it a great option for a long weekend. Here are some ideas for how to spend your time in the naturally socially distanced land of fire and ice.

I didn’t make it down to Valencia, Spain, for the weekend Formula E electric car grand prix. Long trips are more or less out of the question now in my Kona electric car, since Hyundai crippled the range of the battery pack to stop the car from bursting into flames. Not that I missed much. On the first day five teams were disqualified for having consumed too much energy, three cars came to a stop on the track, and others limped to the finish as best they could. Formula E superstar Jean-Éric Vergne completed the last lap at an average speed of just under 20 mph. Slower than my horse. On Sunday, the Grande Finale, most of those who had finally qualified ran out of battery charge without finishing.

The news that Australia’s borders could remain closed until 2024 will be a blow to anyone hoping for a trip down under after lockdown. If you can’t wait that long (and fingers crossed you won’t have to) here’s our guide to having an Australian themed weekend here in London. Where to eatBrunch at Daisy Green Though London’s Aussie population has shrunk in recent years, the standard of Antipodean cuisine has been very much on the rise - not that we’re alleging any correlation there, of course. Leading the charge has been Daisy Green, a collection of Australian-run restaurants managing to gain a foothold in London’s already crowded brunch market with their inspired take on Melbourne and Sydney cafe culture.

Bluebell season is beginning. In the next few weeks, woodland floors will have a fine blue mist hovering above them. This flowering season is so sensuous: there’s the sound of bees buzzing in and out of the flowers, the smell of their blooms, the cool spring breeze in the woods where they grow, and that magical blue colour. These plants are protected and you can’t pick them, though it is a mystery why anyone would want to when a bluebell bouquet droops so quickly and looks miserable compared to the sea of flowers it has been stolen from.  You also can’t really enjoy them through pictures alone. Clever photography does bring you an idea of what a bluebell wood is like, but it is still a pale imitation.

The thought of staying in a hotel remains a distant memory for many. To remember how it’s done, and for inspiration of where stay, look no further than your favourite films, and the real-life hotels they feature. The Headland Hotel in Cornwall The Headland Hotel in Newquay was renamed ‘Hotel Excelsior’ for the film ‘The Witches’, the adaptation of Roald Dahl’s classic book. Luke and his aunt Helga stay at the beachside hotel for the summer on doctor’s orders for Helga’s fluctuating diabetes. Here they encounter a convention of witches who are staying under the guise of the ‘Royal Society for the Prevention of Cruelty to Children.’ In fact, they plot the opposite.

It’s no great secret that the Oscar for Best Picture has been awarded to some puzzling choices over the years. Way back in 1944, the musical comedy Going My Way won the award, rather than Billy Wilder’s classic Film Noir Double Indemnity. Then flash forward to 1952 when Cecil B. DeMille’s tiresome circus picture The Greatest Show on Earth trounced High Noon, whilst in later years Dr Strangelove lost to My Fair Lady, Rocky outdid Taxi Driver and (notoriously) Driving Miss Daisy ran over My Left Foot. In recognition of this, here's a purely personal look at ten times when the Academy Award for Best Picture went to a dubious choice, and which movie arguably should have won.

Beneath the polarised political spats that characterise our national conversation, there is a surprising degree of consensus between left and right on what is wrong with society. Selfishness, corruption, tribalism and a failure to build for the long term – these are universally decried. We can all see the same glitching appliances, but we seem determined not to follow the leads back to the same plugs. There appear occasionally thinkers that dig beneath the political fray and offer insight into how these political differences have come about. Three such writers that were published a generation ago, and have since been proved unequivocally right, are now available in my new preferred medium, the audio book. I thought it might prove instructive to revisit them.

A long time ago, a seasoned old hack gave me some wise words of advice: never to trust anyone who did not know the Sunday pub opening hours. This was back in the days when the Nanny State got to decide when pubs could open on the Sabbath. This year, after thirteen long months of the Gestapo State in charge of whether pubs could open at all, I’ve decided to write off anyone who didn’t have '12 April' circled and underlined in red ink three times in their diaries to mark our return at long last, after a long hard lockdown winter, to the pub. It was hailed as the Great Reopening. But when Monday finally dawned, the Great British Weather had other ideas, delivering freezing cold temperatures, sleeting snow and, yes, actual hail to large parts of the country.