Nisha Pillai

Watching events in the Arab world move with cyclonic speed, I have the weirdest sense of deja vu – back to 1989, when as a young BBC journalist I covered the crumbling of the Iron curtain across Eastern Europe. In the space of just six months the Communist dominoes collapsed – first Poland, then Hungary, Czechoslovakia, East Germany and finally, Romania.  Who can forget Nikolai Ceausescu’s Christmas day trial and execution?

So my question is this: how long will it take for the Arab dictators’ dominoes to be swept aside by the forces of history? What will the political landscape of the Middle East look like by the summer of 2011? Answers on a postcard below please!

Summer on the Isle of Wight – what could be more traditional than that? “It’s like entering a time warp,”  visitors exclaim, “everything’s so slow, and quaint, like twenty years ago.”  But if you actually live the Wight lifestyle, nostalgia doesn’t play a big part.  What I’ve discovered is a  new media hub, brimming over with creative, co-operative, make-it-happen types. By leaving London and becoming an islander, I’ve learned how to crest the internet wave. Here’s how… (more…)

The Boat House along the Duver in Seaview is a wonderful venue which just didn’t work – until now.  It was once a decrepit old  pub, which was expensively revamped a  couple of years ago with high hopes. But never quite hit the mark with the holy trinity of eating out – food/service/price-point.  All of a sudden it’s buzzing, what’s made the difference? (more…)

Saturday was Oscar night at Casati, the Isle of Wight’s most welcoming drawing room. What an elegant  parade of  gowns, sparkles, and vertiginous heels teetered across the  (minuscule) red carpet on West Street.  It’s such a treat to see a house full of people who’ve really made an effort, sartorially speaking. Not the usual case of glamourous girls buffing up for a night out, accompanied by who-can-be-bothered partners. No, the males of the species were veritable peacocks, resplendent in tuxes, bow-ties, pocket handkerchiefs. Bated breath, of course, for the  awards themselves.  Nothing so prosaic as Best Actor/Actress/Motion Picture - instead we had Oscars for Fabulosity,  Disco Divinity,   Text-Dexterity and Blingbombast - altogether more festive qualities. Joseph, as ever, was the quintessential host, twinkling with bonhomie towards  new faces and familiar friends alike. Thank you, Casati.

What to do on a dismal day on the island? Wet and wind-swept, why let’s visit the Bembridge Windmill. And what a good decision that turned out to be. The guidebook says… it’s the Isle of Wight’s only surviving windmill, dating back to the 1740s. We say…it’s a gorgeous building which assaults all your senses. First, the smell: yeasty, floury, wholesome as bread. Next the warmth of wood: great hefts of wooden machinery in every direction, so seductively solid, you just have to stroke it and press it, and aim surreptitious kicks too, if you’re a nine year old boy. Then the peering into dimness: forcing eyes to adjust and squint and scrutinize  – so that’s what the vertical wheel is about, and oh look – there’s where it attaches to the wind sails. Lots of oohs and ahs and figuring out. We left all wanting to live in a windmill.

Handel’s glorious Messiah swelled through All Saints church in Ryde, courtesy of the Rowland Singers. Such a treat to enjoy Handel’s masterpiece in the right setting, with the gem-like nave of All Saints resplendent above the choir.  Musically the biggest surprise was tenor Neil Turner’s exquisitely pure voice, soaring into the vaulted space above us, and contralto Gillian Jackson’s moving performance was a lesson in quiet control.  Dramatically, though the surprise of the night was Helen Emery, who started the evening conducting her fellow musicians, and then swept round to peform as soprano. Astonishingly she convinced in both roles, conductor and soprano, and commanded both choir and audience, who tumbled into the spring night humming with satisfaction.