'I'll take the stairs'

I took my daughter to see the opening of the 'David Bowie is…' exhibition at the V&A. We stood in a 45-minute-long queue - not to get in as such, because as a member I can swan right past the average punter, and anyway it was members-only at the opening night. No, we were queueing for the headsets which delivered music and information about select exhibits. As we waited, and shuffled slowly towards the desk to collect our headsets I had a chance to weigh up the other visitors. They were a motley crew, as you might expect. A fair few were like me, middle-aged mums with shiny teenagers. Some had younger children with them (who must have found the whole thing quite bewildering, like some mad circus, which it was).

And some were what I had hoped for - the poseurs of that era, still dressing up to show off in public, as they had back in the day. They came singly and in couples, and had made such an effort to stand out it seemed rude not to stare. One woman, 60ish, wore half her short hair black, the other half white (like a '30s Cruella DeVille). Her skirt suit was black with white trim, and her stockings white and black the other way round from her hair, if you see what I mean. She tapped the floor with an elegant walking stick. I'm not sure she wore a monocle - but she should have.

A couple stalked past. He was impossibly thin, she sported middle-aged spread. Incredibly angular, he appeared to have traveled at such speed that the top of his head was still trying to catch up with the rest of him. They gleamed and glittered with lurex and post-punk plastic, and were very smart and disdainful, raising their eyebrows in pity and pursing their lips in disapproval at the rest of us. How exhausting it must be to be elevated to so lofty a position.

The exhibition was spectacular. I'm sure there are many reviews for those of you who are interested. For me, some of the most interesting pieces were: footage of David performing some spectacularly embarrassing mime which made me laugh out loud (he is brave to allow us to see that), a lovely photograph of Lindsay Kemp looking very beautiful in full make-up and glittery cozzy, DB's ridiculously impractical asymmetrical knitted jumpsuits and the two dolls with DBs animated heads projected onto them. There was no mention of Angie at all, which seemed a bit peevish, considering…

As we passed through the exhibition, our dodgy earphones delivered music. Every time a new song played I felt 'That was my Bowie era…no, wait, this was…'. What a versatile musician, and what a lasting impression he made. Number one child thinks him a marvel and she's made a little shrine to him in her bedroom. I had rather forgotten how much I love his music, and now I have Hunky Dory playing in my head all the time.

Treading where I trod before…

Yesterday I went to see my friend Kinny Gardner and watch his production of 'Pied Piper' at the Tricycle Theatre in Kilburn. I should explain here that Krazy Kat Theatre Company are the only company in the UK to sign throughout using BSL to translate the dialogue for a young deaf audience. They are trained signers, and their terrific skill is to make the signing a part of the show, beautifully choreographed. The effect is to seamlessly reinforce the story. It must be seen to appreciate it, and if you ever get the chance, go see!

The Pied Piper was signed throughout, as ever, by the two actors as they skillfully manipulated the puppets and the set to created the story and make us all laugh, gasp, cheer and clap all the way through. Jim changed hats, and accents, to become the town baker, toy-shop owner, shoe-maker and milliner in turn. And the rats themselves were very rat-like, with thick black fur and rather horribly muscular tails. The Hamelin children became blue, ghost-like creatures as they were led away during the night by the piper, and Tinca's Mayoress was gracious in her apology for her bad behaviour in order to secure the safe return of the children, her deaf son being the only child who was not lured away by the piper's music. An autistic child in the audience got very upset and ran up and down the auditorium looking for his favourite seat, crying loudly, while his mum anxiously made sure he was safe (the seating is on three levels). But Jim and Tinca, the actors, kept it all flowing smoothly, outwardly relaxed, and sustained our interest despite the distraction. I loved it. I earnestly hope the current grant applications secure enough money for Krazy Kat to continue to wow us with their incredible, magical and inclusive theatrical experience, as what they offer their hearing and deaf audience is absolutely unique and therefore incredibly important to support.

I remember the Tricycle when it opened in the early eighties. I was living in a huge shared house in Kilburn, with two of the acting McGann brothers (Paul and Stephen), Helen McCookerybook, and my cat, Patta. The Tricycle was a friendly, innovative space, with a feel of the Traverse in Edinburgh, but small. The local cinema was a small ramshackle affair, which often showed cheap all-night horror films (the prices were cheap and the horror was 70s). The patrons thought (charmingly) that they were either in their own sitting-room or perhaps visiting a very relaxed friend, because they would talk loudly throughout the film, and if they identified a friend in another row, climb over in a very informal way to catch up on the latest goss. Nowadays I would find that annoying, but at the time I found it refreshing and nice that people thought connecting was more important than viewing. That cinema is long gone and perhaps the Tricycle has soaked up its custom, as it now has an inbuilt cinema (apparently, though I haven't seen it), a bar and a restaurant. The theatre itself books a lot of very interesting productions.

I retrod my old stomping ground and saw the big old house. It hasn't changed very much. Still divided, though the flats now are bigger. Still a bit ramshackle and tacky. Minus us, though, so front door firmly locked (it was always open when we lived there). Ah well.