Greetings from Mykanos.
It has been an unconscionably long time since my last Letter, for which I sincerely apologise.
Part of the reason is having to spend too long in London, another part is coping with La Traviesa, the small harvest, and the other part is having to rework my book, as some of what I had written about has been overtaken by events.
I always love London in spite of all its shortcomings; after all we lived there for 15 years. However this time I found it a bit depressing; maybe because I was there alone, maybe because it was the end of winter, maybe because I am getting old, or maybe because I am just too used to the colour, climate and commodious conditions we enjoy here.
Again I was based in the East End, in Stepney Green, which is characterised for me in terms of surprise, enlightenment and convenience, although it can be a mite monotone as well. It is an interesting mix of trendy and traditional. The trendies all have beards and cool clothing and talk earnestly of tech, movies, music, sport and the arts in fashionable bars and restaurants. The traditionals also have beards, but that is to complement their wives’ burkas. Out in force on Fridays, heading for Friday prayers, I always like to spot the flash of trendy trainers underneath the traditional kurta robes on the kids. It’s like cassock costumed choir boys in England who should be wearing sensible black shoes but who, through lack of time or thought or reverence, sport Nike and Adidas instead.
This mix of cultures, of provenance and evolution is a fascinating feature of a city as old and as international as London.
Take the Brick Lane Mosque, on the corner of Fournier Street and Brick Lane, for example. The building was originally built in 1743 as a church for the French Huguenots who settled in London to escape religious persecution in France. After establishing themselves as weavers they moved west to Kensington and Chelsea, and the church became a Wesleyan Chapel for a decade then a Methodist Church. By the late 19th century the big influx of Jewish refugees from Russia and Eastern Europe saw it transform into the Spitalfields Great Synagogue, and when the Ashkenazi Jews became established they moved to North London, to be replaced by Bangladeshis in the 70’s, and the synagogue evolved into the Brick Lane Mosque. Same site, same building, and a history of shelter, survival and salvation. I wonder who will be next when the Bangladeshis and Bengalis move onto greener pastures?
One thing that has certainly become noticeable in the UK is the popularity and ubiquity of Prosecco. I hadn’t realised the scale however until I had dinner with my favourite Goddaughter Rosie and her husband John. They had just returned from skiing in Valdobbiadene in Italy, the home of Prosecco. They reported that over the past three years annual Prosecco production has gone from 500,000 bottles to 50 million, 50% of which goes to the UK. This does not include the superior, and more expensive, DOCG version, almost all of which is drunk in Italy.
La Traviesa, the smaller of the two coffee seasons, was a minor success. We got our beneficadero going, and processed our own coffee, as previously. It is still not up to proper operating condition and needs significant updating, fine-tuning and service, basically the love and care it did not get under our previous administration, but that is happening now and we will be ready for the Cosecha, the big season, in October. And it promises to be a big season.
That is one of the things that was so noticeable about La Traviesa. It wasn’t a big season but we made a lot more money than we had under our previous administration, even though there was less coffee. One can only wonder where so much coffee, and money, was going until Adriano took charge of the operation. Suddenly every plant … coffee, plantain, maize, and any other cash crop … is producing much more, and earning us much more, and helping us pay off the huge, unexpected debts that we discovered when we took charge. How inexplicable!!!!
It has also been a sad time, as we lost Checho in June to bladder cancer. He was about eight years old, and yesterday Shakira passed away. She was 13 years old. Both have joined Torsalino, Mafeluchis, Pispirispis and Zsa Zsa under the Rose Acacia tree here at Mykanos.
Crispin, however, our previously wild cat, now rechristened Crispincho, is going from strength to strength and it is as if he has always owned us. He is much sleeker than the skinny boy we first met, and he spends a lot of time, when not chasing anything that moves and trying to impress us with his tree climbing skills, hanging around close to us, preferably in paw reach, so he can reach out and touch us whenever he is moved to do so. Up until now I have always hated the use of ‘reaching out’ so popular with US companies, business people, TV anchors and spokespeople when they mean ‘contacting’ or ‘calling’. It is generally agreed that you should only say ‘reach out’ if you are a member of the Four Tops and reassuring someone that you’ll be there, but I will make an exception for Crispincho.
What was truly tragic was losing a friend that none of you, other than Anne and Frederique in Paris, will have heard of … Gregory Gray.
He was born Paul Lerwill, in Port Rush in Northern Ireland, in 1959. His first starring role was lead guitarist in a boy band Rosetta Stone, a spinoff of the Bay City Rollers, and then had his own band Perfect Crime, in which he played support for U2, OMD and the Eurythmics.
By the time we met him he had reinvented himself as Gregory Gray and was living in London finishing his first solo album. He was thoroughly enchanting and constantly questioning and challenging everything, accompanied by the naughtiest imaginable glint in his eye.
The Irish News wrote of Gregory, after they covered the pop idol years …
“He went on to release three albums as a solo artist – Think of Swans in 1986, Strong at Broken Places in 1990, and Euroflake in Silverlake in 1995.
While never scoring a big commercial hit, his music was always in demand and had the distinction of being released under three different major record labels.
However, Gray’s next reinvention would see him turn his back on the business side of music in favour of freely sharing his art online, through platforms such as YouTube and SoundCloud.
He was based now in Hertfordshire in England with his partner Thomas and wrote his music under the name ‘Mary Cigarettes’.
Among his fans was Led Zeppelin guitarist Jimmy Page and BBC DJ Tom Robinson, who raved about his “pure vocal tones and unflinchingly truthful lyrics”.
Hot Press music magazine published a feature about Gray in the 1990’s headlined ‘The greatest Irish rock story never told’, and deputy editor Stuart Clarke spoke after his death of his “endlessly fascinating career”, describing him as “warm and witty as well as supremely talented”.
Gray’s verdict himself, in one of his regular blogs, was: “My life story must read as a manual in how not to become successful. But it all turned out pretty great in the end.”
I was in London when he died. Thomas let me know the day after, and he and I had two lunches in Gregory’s memory. It was terrible for him; they had been together 30 years. Tom Robinson did a segment dedicated to Gregory on his BBC Radio 6 music show, and Gregory featured in Last Word, BBC Radio 4’s obituary programme on May 24.
If you are interested in hearing and seeing Gregory, here is a link to Rocket Science, from 2010, shot through the window of his music room at their home in Brickendonbury.
A class act much loved and sadly missed by Adriano and me.
Love from both of us
Barry
