A little early, so off the tube at Green park to stroll up through Berkeley Square, not to buy a rollers from the big shop there. But there was rather a jolly bit of public art in the square, a sort of small plastic tree. Not too big and a bit of fun rather than designed to shock or irritate.
There were poles to charge your electric car at - and one such was being charged - and if you did not want to buy a rollers there was an interesting looking rug shop, Nain Carpets, possibly a touch out of our league. But, oddly for a shop in Berkeley Street, no web site and having forgotten the name I was reduced to finding it in StreetView.
Then passing by Debenhams, I discovering the source of the shimmering walls, which we had noticed from a distance several times in the past. Made by tiling the walls with what were probably metal tiles, maybe 4 inches square and each loosely hung from two pegs on the top edge, with the result that they shimmered with the passing breeze. An engagingly low-tech bit of public art - a grander version of the bit noticed at Wisley on 15th January.
Arrive at the Wigmore and thinking to take a glass of red joined the queue for same to find, after a few seconds, a rather pushy middle aged lady pretending that there was no queue, agitating at the counter. We all, including the bar tender, studiously ignored her. You get them even in the best places.
And so to the Emersons, whom I do not recall having seen for a long time, and as far as I do recall, last having seen them at one of a series of Beethoven concerts which they gave at the QEH, maybe 20 years ago. But it had been reported that they stood to play, which was not the case on this occasion. Furthermore, the first and second violins sat on identical piano stools and changed places at the end of each quartet, the exception which proves the rule that some people are born to be first violin and some people are born to be second violin. There was a Morse connection in that the first violinist seen from the side reminded me of Daniel Massey and seen from the front of Geoffrey Palmer, both Morse occasionals. And the new cellist seemed to be fitting in well, indulging in a lot more facial communication than the rest of them. Sitting second right rather than the more usual first right meant that we heard a bit more of the viola, not a bad arrangement since the rather stronger cello does not have any trouble getting heard. All together, they produced a very fine sound, rich and smooth, and they could play both soft and high without breaking up, unlike some of the less experienced quartets which we have been hearing recently.
After exchanging a few banalities about the interesting inter-personal dynamics of a long standing group taking in a new member, the chap sitting next to me thought that I needed to know the Chelsea score at half time. He also got quite excitable on the subject of people who ride Bullingdons in Hyde Park, which was interesting. And then he moved onto the difficulty that London schools and clubs had in getting access to playing fields for football and rugby, this line of thought being prompted by my mentioning the Chelsea training ground at Cobham which was once, I now know, playing fields for sundry schools and clubs. Another member of the audience, a young man, had hair down to his waist, reminding me of the young lady mentioned on 4th April.
But we were all very taken with the music. Including, in my case, being reminded at times of both the 18.4 quartet, often mentioned here and in the other place, and the concertos of (Giuseppe) Tartini, probably one of the flute ones. It also struck me as being nicely positioned mid-way between the early and the late quartets, neither too light nor too heavy. And having all three at a sitting, I did not have the problem of changing gear, of losing the first part of one quartet while I adjusted from the tone & mood of the one before. Reception of these matters must all depend on mood: sometimes one likes to span the whole lot, to get the whole gamut of feel & emotion, sometimes one likes a sharper focus.
On the way home I thought a further glass was in order, and having a little time to wait for the Epsom train, thought to nip off a Hampton Court train at Earlsfield. For once I decided against the 'Half Way House' and settled for a bottle from Sainsbury's Little for about the same price that a glass would have cost in the pub. Followed by furtive swigs from the brown paper bag on the platform. Possibly even on the train. Punished by observing the lunar blunder mentioned on 8th April on arrival at Epsom.
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