5 reasons Basingstoke locals should flock to The Anvil

I've just returned from our third visit to The Anvil since I moved to Basingstoke, and I left repeating the same phrase that comes up every time I go: Why don't we come here more?

The Anvil is Basingstoke's performing arts centre, named for the unusual shape of the building. It's approaching its 20th birthday, built to address a perceived "cultural desert" in the area. It has aged well, the modern lines blending well with other new development, while glass walls in the atrium take in some of the town's older architecture. Management pursues a "something for everyone" policy, with acts including stand-up comics, kids shows, musicals, pop acts and tribute bands. Of most interest to us, it has forged a reputation as one of the best classical music venues outside of London, regularly hosting touring orchestras and opera companies.

Yesterday found us at Philharmonia at the Movies, where a full orchestra plus guest mezzo soprano Heather Shipp took us on an assured and entertaining journey through the history of Oscar-winning film music.  From the opening drums and trumpets of the 20th Century Fox fanfare to heart-rending orchestral swells of Out of Africa to the closing strings of the latest James Bond film theme, it was pure fun. A feeling exacerbated by playful conductor Carl Davis, who sported outrageous tailcoats, included the audience (whistling chorus from The Bridge on the River Kwai, anyone?) and gamely offered vocals for a few comedy numbers. Classic FM host Andrew Collins compered the concert, giving insightful introductions with the same light touch he uses on his weekly At the Movies radio show.

While any classical music fan would have been delighted by the sweeping film scores and well-chosen variety, the concert was particularly engaging for children. Film scores are the perfect bridge from pop culture to classical music, and this concert was studded with recognisable favourites like the Star Wars theme and songs from The Muppet Movie, Toy Story and Frozen. (Singing along welcomed.) A great tragedy, then, that there were probably fewer than 50 kids in the audience.

In fact, I'd guess that at least a third of the auditorium's 1,400-seat capacity remained unsold. About the same as when we saw Milos Karadaglic here in 2013. (More about that here.) I can't imagine how you break even when you need to assemble and pay more than 80 performers for your show, but have that many empty seats. Especially when many of those seats ... including ours ... were booked through a last-minute sales promotion at £10 each. Great for the audience, concerning for the future of classical music.

It's a common refrain in the UK that everything good gets sucked to London. Jobs, events, culture. Here, just an hour's train ride from the capital, we have our own cultural scene that can be just as good (often, the same performers on tour) but much cheaper and more accessible. I worry that if we don't use it more, we'll lose it. Once culture is in London, travel and ticket prices make it far more exclusive. Exclusivity means shrinking audiences, which ultimately endanger survival. So, if you live in the area ... make an effort to discover classical music at The Anvil. Here are five reasons why.

A friendly starting point
Like any branch of "high culture", classical music can be intimidating if you're new to it. When to clap? What will you like? What's happening up there, and why? Touring companies make a great effort to make things accessible by offering popular music, familiar hosts who help you to understand what you're hearing, and generally work to make things fun. Snobs ... the same types who hate Classic FM's pop music format ... will call this "dumbing down". I think it's precisely the way to draw new people into music. Once they discover their enjoyment, they can move on to more challenging stuff.

Intimate environment
Compared to London's concert halls, The Anvil is tiny. A 1,400-seat auditorium (especially when it's only 2/3rds full) means easy parking and a civilised experience getting interval drinks. There are places to sit and you don't have to queue forever in the toilets. Once in the auditorium, you'll have a good seat wherever you are. You'll be close enough to see what the musicians are doing, allowing your eyes to enhance the experience of your ears. Ah! So it's a xylophone that makes that sound... Best of all, in surroundings this close the music washes over you. No matter how good home stereo equipment is, it can't equal a live performance.

Bargain prices
Even at full cost, performances at The Anvil are less than half of what you'd pay in London. The most expensive tickets are usually around £40, and you can regularly get seats for less than £20. Once on the mailing list you may get offers for discounted seats they're trying to sell at the last minute. That's how we got to our most recent concert, where two tickets plus booking fees cost us less than just one of the off-peak train tickets we would have needed to see the Philharmonia at their regular home on the South Bank.

London quality
You're paying bargain prices, but you're getting the same artists and quality of performance you'd see in London. (Coming soon: More from the Philharmonia, Nicola Benedetti, Nigel Kennedy, the Orchestra of the Age of Enlightenment.) Shows at The Anvil are often warm-up runs before big acts head to the capital for their higher-profile performances. The ease of commuting that makes Basingstoke a popular home for so many London workers works both ways; London-based artists can get down here easily for a show ... and no doubt enjoy the more casual, intimate atmosphere.

Impromptu booking
Having seen so many empty seats at both of my visits, I suspect it's usually possible to walk up the day of a performance and buy tickets. In London, things regularly sell out and you have to plan months in advance. We often pass on things we're interested in, simply because we're hesitant to block up our diary so far in advance. At The Anvil, you can make an impromptu decision to take in a concert, and probably be able to snag a last-minute seat with no problem.

All of which is why, I'm telling myself, we need to go back again soon. Hope to see you there, neighbours.

England's oldest wine vendor reveals: we're not taking our rum seriously enough

Like most girls of my generation, my introduction to spirits came with rum.  Rum and coke was sweet and easy to drink, had little taste of alcohol and was trending high in my teenage years along with Miami Vice and big hair.  My propensity for beach holidays, decades of family Christmases in Florida and a continuing sweet tooth have combined to keep rum a constant friend.  But it's usually a subtle one, hidden behind fruit juices, coconut milk, handfuls of greenery and festive barware.  And that's where it's remained for most drinkers.  Whether they love it or hate it, people on both sides tend to dismiss rum as a hard-working back player in the bar, providing an often muted alcoholic kick to fuel your cocktails.

Rob Whitehead wants to change that.  He's a spirits buyer at Berry Brothers and Rudd, one of the oldest and most prestigious wine shops in the world.  He believes rum can be sipped like, and taken just as seriously as, single malt whiskys.  And why not?  The distillation and ageing process is almost the same, differing only in the starting materials.  (Rum from the by-products of sugar production, whisky from barley.)

This isn't, of course, a completely novel idea.  Almost eight years ago, the sommelier at the much-missed Roussillon rounded out our evening with a blind tasting of a magnificent post-prandial selection that turned out to be a boutique rum.  (For a recap of that wonderful meal, click here.)  But he was unusual.  And though we're currently seeing a swarm of boutique distilled gin and vodka, "rum" and "connoisseur" are words that don't often go together.

While Berry's is best known for its fine wines, the company has an equally prestigious history supplying spirits.  If you search "rum" on their web site you'll come up with three pages packed with options.  Though heavy on Caribbean suppliers, options come from all over the world and many bear Berry's own label.  Last night, Rob took us through an informative tasting of five at the Warehouse Shop in Basingstoke.  One was the Mauritian "Penny Blue", the other four Berry's own labels from Panama, Haiti, Jamaica and the Caribbean.  These were all fine sipping rums, free of the added sugars and colours in their commercial cousins and meant to be slowly savoured neat, or with a little water.

My first important lesson was in what Berry's "own label" actually means.  In supermarkets, where we're most familiar with the concept, companies are contracting out to food producers who often make the same stuff for many others.  One Christmas Pudding manufacturer, for example, might churn out own-label treats for Sainsbury's, Aldi and Waitrose.  The stores' involvement is as simple as picking the flavourings and ingredients to give their version an individual twist, and designing labels. They don't actually make anything.  Berry's process (for both rum and whisky) is completely different.  They identify small distilleries they like, keep an eye on their production and buy casks of young, freshly-distilled spirit from years they think are worth betting on.  They then take over the aging, often deciding what kind of barrels to use, where to age (most of their stock is laid down in a warehouse outside of Glasgow), what to blend (should any blending take place) and when to bottle.  In this way, Berry's is at least as responsible as the distiller for the final product, if not more so.

Secondly, I discovered that the choice of barrels, the length and condition of ageing the rum is exactly the same as in whisky production.  The Caribbean rum (in this case, from Trinidad and Tobago) was aged in situ in wooden barrels in warm, humid conditions.  It had lots of tannins and an almost smoky flavour.  Glasgow's more temperate conditions led to a softer end product with other examples.

Rob explained that there are traditionally three styles of rum, tracing back to the countries that originally colonised the territories now producing.  Spanish style is light.  British is heavy, suiting the bulk procurement for the Navy that fuelled most of its production.  And French, said Rob, "is just weird."

That weirdness splits opinion.  The Haitian we tried was my favourite (I found it the sweetest, thickest on the tongue and most floral of the offerings), while my husband hated it.  The biggest difference in production comes right at the start.  French style rums are distilled from the cane juice normally boiled down to make sugar, while the rest of the world's production comes from the molasses by-products of the sugar-making process.  This "agricole" rum makes no sense commercially, as it gives the cane farmer just one product rather than two.  It's certainly worth a try for the curious, though its limited production and costly start in life mean it will always be on the pricier side.

A world away from the Haitian was the Jamaican, so strong on tar and smoke notes you'd swear you were drinking an Islay whisky.  This, said Rob, was as close as you could get to the authentic taste of the stuff drunk in Nelson's Navy.  You can add this to weevil-infested biscuits, sadistic captains and risk of death tumbling from the rigging as reasons I wouldn't have chosen a career at sea in 1810.  To my taste, the Jamaican was vile.  But plenty of people like Laphroig. If you do, this is your rum.

My husband and I agreed on the Mauritian and the Panamanian.  They both shared a light, honeyed smoothness, with the Panamanian having just a bit more alcoholic burn on the finish.  We decided to buy some of the first.  Not only did we both love it, but it comes from the island where we spent our honeymoon.  Ironically, they don't sell it there.  The distillery sends its less sophisticated products to the local resorts, where they get mixed in fanciful concoctions and served to honeymooners with fruit and parasol garnishes.  More mature drinkers back in cold, rainy England can use the premium distillation to carry their souls back to that paradise island.

Or that, at least, is where my mind will be going when I sip my Penny Blue in front of the fire this winter.

Quiet North Hampshire is a sight-seeing treasure trove

The Vyne, Silchester Roman Ruins, Stratfield Saye, Chawton Cottage, Winchester Cathedral and the Bombay Sapphire Distillery

As a consideration while house hunting, density of nearby sight-seeing spots is probably not high on the lists of most English people.  It's a different story for the American expat.

Twelfth Night at The Vyne

For Americans who can find the time and money to push beyond the local choices of Canada, Mexico, or the Caribbean, Great Britain is the No. 1 choice for foreign travel.  If they're visiting, the effort of trans-Atlantic flying means they'll be staying a while.  (Rocketing good guest accommodation up that house-hunting list as well.)  As their host, you'll probably want to spend time showing them around, so you want a range of sights that won't bore you, and aren't a hassle to reach.  If you can't take time off work, you want locations close enough for public transport, taxis, or easy drop off and pick up.  If you live in London, of course, this is no problem.  Once you move out of the capital, things can get challenging.

Not, however, in North Hampshire.  My Aunt Marian has just finished a long weekend here, reminding me of just how culturally rich our little part of this green and pleasant land is.  We spent three of her four days within 22 miles of home, packing in a delightful range of activities.  Don't let the charmless modernity of Basingstoke fool you into dismissing the whole area; there's gold in those surrounding fields.  Here's an overview.

The Vyne
The more I go to our local National Trust property, the more I love it.  (With the exception, earlier this summer, of a run-in with a particularly nasty volunteer who was channelling every sour, old, fun-hating librarian stereotype known to man.  I'll grant she might have been having a bad day, and forget it.)  The house is a gem.  Grand enough to impress, small enough to digest.  Distinct layers of history telling a story about how such places come together by slow amalgamation.  (Tudor, Carolingian, Georgian, Victorian)  And there's a good handful of blockbusters for history and architecture geeks: A

contemporary portrait of Catherine of Aragon in the chapel stained glass; a neo-classical staircase to make Wedgwood fans pant with desire;  one of the best Regency print rooms still in existence ... it's the supposed inspiration for the Duke of Wellington's rooms at Stratfield Saye;  Fascinating links to Horace Walpole and Jane Austen.  If you can play the piano, which is what my aunt actually does for a living, you can sit down and have a go at their Victorian ivories.

Outside, the gardens are pretty though unexceptional.  The real stars are the riverside and woodland walks.  In front of the house, lawns are thoughtfully dotted with deck chairs for your use, sloping down to a "lake" (created by holding up the flow of the river) graced by ducks, geese and swans.  Walk along its banks, swaying reeds towering above you, and you'll come to a remarkable marsh given over to wildfowl.  There's a wooden hide where you can sit and watch.  Or continue on for miles of meandering through the forest, silent but for the occasional hoot of a child's glee.

Every summer The Vyne hosts The Lord Chamberlain's Men, a traditional Shakespearean troop that performs, in a style the Bard would have recognised, on the lawns.  We were impressed by their Macbeth a few years ago (review here), and were equally delighted ... though considerably more cheered ... by this year's Twelfth Night.

Silchester
The Vyne has a fine collection of Roman artefacts unearthed locally, and one legend concerning its unusual name has the Roman Emperor Probus ordering the first vineyard in England on this spot.  Nobody can prove the wine lore, but there's no doubt about Romans being here.  Just six miles beyond the National Trust house, you'll find the remains of Calleva Atrebatum in the sleepy village of Silchester.  At the height of the Roman empire this was a bustling, walled town of more than 20 square blocks, complete with its own forum, government buildings, baths and a small amphitheatre outside the walls.  It was a major crossroads (much as Basingstoke is today), from where the road from London split into branches heading for Bath, Gloucester and Old Sarum.

While universities tend to excavate here every summer, and have unearthed some lovely stuff, you need to moderate your expectations.  No ruined buildings, mosaics or stacks of columns here.  Silchester's claim to fame is the only unaltered ring of Roman urban walls in England.  (You can see some fine circumferential walls in York and Chester, but they're mostly Medieval built on Roman foundations.)  Calves was completely abandoned by the 7th century, usurped by the Saxon settlements of Basing and Reading, and has spent more than a thousand years since as farmland.  At points, it takes some imaginative thinking to see that the tree covered ridge with the gentle slope down to a shade-dappled stream is, indeed, the remains of the old wall and the defensive ditch in front of it.  That's actually part of Silchester's magic.  You'll feel like you're an explorer stumbling on a lost city for the first time.  Other than the occasional local walking his dog, you'll probably be alone.  The most impressive bit is the West Gate, where a good-sized chunk of the wall looms out of the fields on either side, and the gap in its run makes clear where a stately gatehouse would have been.  The pastoral views from here are soul-soothing.  The silence is broken only by birds and wind-rustled leaves, putting you in just the right mood for a slightly melancholy contemplation of how easily the mighty can fall.

Stratfield Saye
Another local estate to benefit from Roman goodies unearthed in these fields is Stratfield Saye, though it's far more famous as the family home of the Dukes of Wellington.  Aunt Marian and I were both captivated by a quadruple-biography called Sisters of Fortune, which explored the fascinating lives of the four grand-daughters of the last surviving signer of the American Declaration of Independence.  Three moved to England and the eldest, Marianne, is reputed to have been the love of the first Duke of Wellington's life ... though she married his brother.  And, in her previous marriage, she was briefly sister-in-law to Jerome Bonaparte, brother of Wellington's arch rival.  A great case of truth being better than fiction.  Marianne is the only person not of the family "blood" whose portrait

hangs in the dining room here, and a miniature of that dining room portrait was found inside the Duke's pocket watch when he died.  Aunt Marian, who, like her historic name-sake, is also from Baltimore, had to make a pilgrimage to see where part of the story took place.

Most people will be more familiar with Wellington's public exploits: building the foundations of the empire in India, the Peninsular Wars, Waterloo, Prime Minister, mentor to Queen Victoria and godfather to her youngest son.  The estate here was supposed to hold a palace equivalent to the one John Churchill received from the crown to commemorate Blenheim, but things never worked out.  The Duke, always a man of simple tastes, made some basic alterations to the existing house.  His descendants followed suit.  Thus these days you have a fairly modest estate, crammed with treasures from the Great Duke's life that are often amusingly wedged into spaces too small to do them justice.  It's still very much a family home, only opened for a few weeks a year.  The tour guides know their stuff and all have more than a bit of hero worship for the man who established the line.

While in the area, check out The Iron Duke, an excellent gastropub in the estate village.

Chawton Cottage

At a big 17 miles from home, this is starting to push the sightseeing envelope ... but the drive alone is a thing of joy if you appreciate the beauty of rolling farmland and twisting lanes overhung by ancient trees.  At the end of the drive you'll find the charming village of Chawton, where a modest house (roughly the equivalent of a modern 4-bedroom suburban home today) saw Jane Austen write her greatest works.  Today, it's a museum to her life, family and novels.

Your enjoyment of Chawton will be in direct proportion to how much you know and love Austen's work.  Real fanatics can spend hours here, delving into possible influences for different characters and plotlines across her classics.  The casual reader may be more interested in how four genteel but cash-strapped women managed to co-exist in this relatively small space, or spend time wandering in the lovely gardens ... at their peak this time of year.  People who haven't read Austen should probably give this a pass; I know better than to ever drag my husband here!

Winchester Cathedral
Our most distant point, at a whopping 22 miles, is our county town of Winchester.  It never seems to be near the top of the English cathedral lists, perhaps because Medieval engineering and subsidence conspired to leave it without a cathedral's trademark spire.  It's a special place, however, and deserves more renown.  Like all English cathedrals, you'll need to pay to get in; the Church of England doesn't have the revenues to let tourists crawl all over its best assets for free.  Your admission (besides helping to maintain this glorious place) gets you a guided tour, and the volunteers are excellent.

I believe the greatest glory of Winchester is its chantry chapels, some of the best and most abundant in the land.  The rarest treasure, however, might be its Anglo-Saxon baptismal font, probably the best of its type to be seen.  Don't miss the Winchester Bible, the chapel with pre-Raphaelite windows by Bourne-Jones, and the caskets containing the bones of the Anglo-Saxon kings.  In their time, after all, this was the capital of the kingdom rather than London.

Beyond the cathedral close you'll find a provincial market town well worth exploring, with plenty of Georgian architecture enlivened by Medieval and Victorian neighbours.  Other than a ruthlessly ugly, but welcome, multi-story car park, there's not much evidence of the modern world.  Winchester also manages to have a decent proportion of independent restaurants and shops, making it a great place for a wander.

Bombay Sapphire Distillery Tour
Roughly half way between us and Winchester, The Bombay Sapphire Distillery straddles the crystal clear river Test in a wooded valley right out of a fairy tale.  We were early adopters last year, not too long after the company consolidated its distilling here at Laverstoke Mill and made their play for the tourist market.  (Initial report here)  All the essentials remain the same, but the eight months of development have helped them knock the rough edges off.  The plants in the greenhouses ... magnificent structures rising from the river and showing off the botanicals that go into the gin in their growing state ... have matured a bit so the display no longer looks so raw.  The tour guides have polished their patter; delivery was smoother, more amusing and had a few more jokes.  While this is a good option for a mid-winter visit (something not true of many other places in this entry), it's at its

best in the summer.  Pink lythrum and tall reeds swayed along the river bank, trout hung suspended in the water waiting on fat flies and visitors enjoyed the cocktail included with their tour on a broad sun-trap of a patio.  (Despite the clouds in my photo, we got intermittent sunshine while there.)  They've managed to capture the essence of English summer.  Which, depending on your perspective, is either ironic or perfectly logical coming from a brand developed specifically for the American market, relying on British style to generate sales.

I didn't buy any Bombay.  I confess, we're a Tanqueray house, though we've been sampling a lot of boutique, small batch distillery offerings lately.  And this is probably the least repeatable of the activities on my list simply based on price.  At £15 per person, it's the most expensive of the local attractions.  (The Roman walls at Silchester are the cheapest, being free.)  But this visit was worth it not just to give Aunt Marian a special experience ... Bombay is her brand ... but to discover a stunning cocktail called the Laverstoke.  I'll wrap this entry with the recipe.

The LaverstokeGlass – Balloon or large wine
Ingredients – 50 ml Bombay Sapphire
15 ml Martini Extra Dry (autumn season), Rosso (winter), Bianco (spring), Rosato (summer)
15 ml Bottlegreen elderflower cordial
100 ml Fever Tree ginger ale
Method – Pour the Bombay Sapphire, vermouth and elderflower cordial into a balloon glass. Stir with a bar spoon, then squeeze and drop a fresh lime wedge in. Add cubed ice and stir. Pour ginger ale in and gently stir. Garnish with second squeezed lime, two slithers of fresh ginger slices and a sprig of mint, grouped together on one side of the glass.