Stan’s Cafe is a group of artists from a variety of disciplines, though primarily theatre practitioners, working under the artistic direction of James Yarker. The company consists of a core of long term collaborators and a range of associated artists. The line up changes according to the project being worked upon. This project held in the South London, uses grains of rice to provide a visual image for a series of statistics and numbers.
I woke inside a frozen tent. I had curled myself into a ball during the night while wearing almost everything I owned. As I poked the stiff sides of the tent, I knew it was time to move on. Three days before I had said goodbye to my female travel companion. I use that term because we were not just friends, but she wasn’t quite a girlfriend either. A tempestuous, but passionate journey around Spain had come to an end and now here I was shivering alone on this frigid morning in the hills north of Barcelona. As the warm…
One of Japan’s most sacred spots, Okunoin cemetery lies within the boundaries of Koyasan, the spiritual home of Shingon Buddhism and final resting place for its founder Kobo Daishi (also known as Kukai). A steady rain was falling as we entered the cemetery. Mist drifted down from the hills surrounding the town, seeping along the pathways and through the graves. The earthy green was punctuated by the bright red hats and clothing that adorn the small stone Buddha statues scatted along the paths. Home to the remains of over 200,000 people, stretching back to the 7th century. Believing that being…
“When a man is tired of London, he is tired of life; for there is in London all that life can afford.”— Samuel Johnson
The Old Operating Theatre Museum and Herb Garret at 9a St Thomas Street is a museum of surgical history and one of the oldest surviving operating theatres. It is located in the garret of St Thomas’s Church, Southwark, in London, on the original site of St Thomas’ Hospital
I’m always genuinely surprised when I successfully manage to get through an airport and onto the plane. Thanks to a litany of travel screw ups, I always fear I’m moments from disaster. An employee turning to me and asking flippantly, “You’ve got your B7236 per-authorisation form right?” or even the worryingly frequent “this flight is actually tomorrow sir”. On this day however, and despite the body complaining loudly about the rambunctious evening the night before, I breezed through.
Our option was a simple one. A flight from Buenos Aires to Ushuaia, at the far bottom of Argentina, would take four hours. A bus trip would take forty-eight hours. One promised a swift and uneventful passage. The other held possible boredom, sore backsides and potential insanity – but also a great adventure. What better way to see something so vast, so epic as Patagonia.
The line that greeted us on Copacabana beach stretched so far that we didn’t even bother finding the end. Instead we nestled ourselves in front of the second screen. The crowd was still thin – but overwhelmingly Argentinian. A lone German stood proudly behind us in his speedos, a German flag fluttering gently beside him.
On the penultimate day of the World Cup we traveled to Brasilia for the third/fourth place play-off, between Brazil and Holland. Twelve hours in Brazil’s capital, of which I had high hopes. Brasilia is unfortunately an unrelentingly boring city. Unless you have a particular interest in tarmac and fly-overs – or you get a real kick out of grid like systems, I cannot in sound mind, possibly recommend it.