I love this photo from Ripley, not least because you can just see the “Cafe Arcari” logo in the background.
I remember Anthony being greatly amused when the studio was talking to him about the “Cafe Arcari” scene as if the Cafe Arcari were a real place. When in fact it was a little affectionate nod from him to our Mum, and her maiden name.
On what would have been Anthony’s 63rd birthday, Louisa plays this song from Whale Music, Anthony’s brilliant all-female play from 1981.
I loved those songs, like I loved that brother, with obsessive passion. I made everybody listen.
I still do. I’m doing it now. Listen and love.
STOP PRESS 2021: Facebook has changed its ways, and I can no longer embed this video here. Sorry. Here’s the direct link: Louisa sings Woman to Woman
Happy to see that the New Theatre Royal, Portsmouth, has reopened with a new studio dedicated to my brother, Anthony.
Pompey has a special place in our hearts, for myriad reasons, so it is great that Anthony is remembered and celebrated here.
Anyone who knows grief knows that one of its special horrors is its capacity to surprise.
There you are, going along and minding your own business, when out of nowhere, grief smashes you in the face.
In grief you hunch your shoulders, primed at all times for attack. Let down your guard and you will pay.
Making my coffee this morning – a comforting ritual of grinding and frothing; Percol’s Black and Beyond beans; chrome; pressure – my brother Anthony was mentioned on Desert Island Discs. Apparently he once described conductor-castaway Harry Rabinowitz as “the UK’s best-kept secret”.
Son Giorgio, doing his homework, pricked up his ears. He was proud! “Anthony’s on the news!”
I smiled and quickly turned away, the toasted Vogel’s suddenly sandpaper in my throat, tears squirting absurdly from my eyes. Comic-book tears and my belly shuddering. An hour later, I still have not caught my breath.
I let down my guard. And I paid.
