Gertsamtkunstwerk

Erotica, porn and obscenity

Everything in this post is about consenting adults. If they ain't adults or they don't consent, it's an illegal act. The law exists for an overwhelmingly benign reason. In fact, I don't think children should be reading this.

My  views about pornography are muddled. As a feminist, I am concerned about many exploitative and coercive aspects of the sex industry . However, the history of industrialisation and capitalism has been that of exploitation and coercion, but we fight those aspects rather than saying that industry is, ergo, wrong.

Many people say the worst aspect of pornography is the sexual objectification of women; that it normalises a widespread view that women are ever-ready always up for sex with anyone and it is always for the gratification of men.  To some extent, that is true. But for me,  the knowledge that R18 films exist graphically objectifying women worry me a lot less than the mainstream sexual objectification of women. I detest the Page 3-type stuff and I strongly object to the disgraceful way that Tesco prominently displays Nuts at eye-level. There was an advert a while ago for Oil of Olay which used the pornography clichéd imagery of the facial. To me, that belongs in classified and restricted porn films, not in glossy magazines.

I am a woman, I am sexual. I love sex, I love sexy thoughts, I love talking about sex. But always on my terms. I am not available to just anybody, and  guess what, I'm not gagging for it, and especially not with the sort of Neanderthal who thinks I am. I think that makes me just like the majority of other women.

Although I am predominantly straight, and tend only to feel sexual frissons in the flesh with men, when it comes to looking at naked or semi-naked bodies, I generally prefer female bodies. I don't know if that's just my social conditioning, because I have grown up bombarded with media images of women as sexual objects. I suppose this is designed by male capitalism, and specifically patriarchal (misogynist?) Advertising to target men. I wonder if other women are like me. I've never gone for the 'male model' or the soft porn hunk, always preferring my pin-ups to be of men who do something, and do it with talent. Even though they may not have the perfect Advertising-Industry-Idealised body, their sexiness is fundamental and inherent.  I believe that women's sexiness is also something from within, not something created by artifice and capitalism.

I never used to understand why men (some men - most men?) went for the passive pin-up, now I understand that it is because the passive always-available bimbo is never going to be a challenge to their self-image or their power. The thing is, I don't find anything erotic in those pictures.

I was delighted recently to discover Anna Span:

...Britain's first female porn director. She also understands the view some women - especially lesbians and bisexual women – have that porn is made to titillate straight men, with women's sexual pleasure coming a poor second. She says: "There is an awful lot of sexist, dreadful porn out there but women need to learn what it can be like."

When Anna, aged 35, was a teenager she was anti-porn. It was after going to Central Saint Martins College of Art and Design in London in 1995 to do a BA Honours in Fine Art (film and video) that her mind changed. "I realised that my anger at porn was jealously that men had their sexuality catered for in so many more ways than women." She wanted to make female-orientated films and wrote her dissertation on porn, called Towards a New Pornography.

and then her website Anna Span's Diary. From there, purely in the interests of research, I downloaded-on-demand some of her film scenes. Although the scenes tend to carry an R18, the DVDs are available from Ann Summers and seem to be 18s. I like her approach, but, in the end, I don't find them that entertaining.

Don't misunderstand me, I do enjoy watching them, I especially the explicit nature of them. What I don't like is the hammy acting (although I've seen worse on ITV) and the imperfection of the actors (oh hypocrite me!). I don't like the acne scars, the insect bites and the bruises. I really don't like the boob-job scars and - this is about my taste, not about being judgemental - I can't stand the tattoos. Is it too much to ask to gaze on a tat-free body? Tattoos have to be one of the biggest turn-offs for me.

I have read many books over the years, many of them bought from staid high street shops, that feature very explicit descriptions of sex. I don't get particularly hot reading them, but they are stored away in my head and used in the future. Perhaps if I read more slowly I would get more turned on. I am surprised that so few of these chick-lit best-sellers (see, it's not just me)  don't get made into films or TV series. I think the problem is the sex. It is very difficult to be true to the book without pushing the boundaries of mainstream film/TV. Obviously, there may be difficulties in finding the actors; I don't see, say,  Zoe Telford or Stephen Campbell Moore going for it with quite the verismo I demand.

I do think there is also a problem with the patriarchy of the film/TV industry. My perception of the world of books from high literature to Mills and Boon is that it is surprisingly pro-women.  There seem to be few rules about sexual description. nor does there seem to be any bar on women being portrayed as being powerful, in control and even predatory.

I sense that there's almost this feeling that it's okay to have that in books, because anyone who reads a book is by definition an intellectual (and probably a closet lezza, too) but start putting it in films or on TV and Ordinary  Women might start getting Ideas. If they do portray powerful women who know their own minds, one feels that it is a decision made by Big FilmTV reluctantly to pay lip-service to a demographic group that has purchasing power, rather than as something that reflects their world-view. Most of the time, the woman portrayed as powerful or in control is unhappy or flakey or gets her come-uppance. Rather than 'merely'  having autonomy and contentment.

I have often wondered about the purpose of the Obscenity Laws that for years have forbidden or severely restricted the portrayal of sexual intercourse, ejaculation and erections in films and on TV. I fully accept that some people might not want to watch it, but there's loads of stuff I don't want to watch on the telly, so I don't. Some people say it's offensive. I think they just want to be offended, want to parade their...whatever. I mean, compared to the fact that over a billion children are living in poverty, or that the Amazon Ranforest is being destroyed, I don't think that it's worth getting worked up about a stiffy on the telly.

I have always suspected that it's a male plot. These laws were made by men, who, I suspect, were petrified their own honourable members would not stand up to scrutiny. How many women (like me), on their first time, had the thought 'Oh. My. God. It looks like that...! And it's going...where?". Maybe, if we had seen a bit more on the telly we wouldn't have had the screaming ad-dabs. Surely, these ridiculous laws weren't to protect women. They can't have been - shouldn't have been - to protect children, because we already have 18 certificates, watersheds, PIN protection and that thing called 'parental supervision' to protect children.It's just so that men can avoid having to unfavourably compare their bodies to a professional actor. Well, hello, that's what women have to do constantly. Believe me, we get over it.

I have come to the conclusion that visual porn is not for me. Either because it is,literally, not for me, because I am not a man. Or it's laughingly badly acted (so yeah, I applaud what Anna Span is doing, but why should I demand less from my porn than I do from my pre-watershed comfy viewing). Or it simply isn't graphic enough.

Over the years I have read more than my fair share of erotic fiction on the net. I have come to the conclusion that it's not worth it. Occasionally one can find some real gems, some beautiful writing that has me howling with desire. So much of the rest is poorly written. I spend so much time wanting to correct the grammar, the syntax, the dialogue, the scenarios, the back-story, the woeful characterisation. And even when it's well-enough written in those respects, ultimately, much of it is just a narrative of a sexual act, which very soon gets very boring.

So, I decided, with free erotica you get what you pay for; if I want enjoyable stuff, I will have to pay for it. This isn't just about me enjoying porn for the obvious reasons, but it's a sort of research. If I am going to write a book, I have to get a better idea of what is marketable. But I am going to have to read a lot, and a variery, because otherwise I might be unduly influenced by one or two voices which will affect my own style, to the detriment of my own writing. I will also have to read some vanilla middle-brow fiction and some great works of literature, in addition to my usual fare of history and politics, in order to flood myself with good writing and cleanse my palette of the instantaneous unedited internet stuff. No offence to anybody, I am as guilty as anyone of not reviewing, of lacking brutality in the edit, of using slang and colloquialisms, clumsy phrases and poorly chosen vocabulary. Internet writng is a craft, novel writing is an art.

And, because I have a blog I might as well share a few thoughts about the books as I read them.

Just be warned, Wetlands arrived in the post this morning.

Reading and writing Part 1

As long as I can remember I have been reading. The writing came soon afterwards. I can't think of any other solitary activities I enjoy so much and have been such a constant throughout my entire post-toddlerhood life.

Every child should have an ambition, a dream that burns inside. I have never really known what I have wanted to do with my life/career.

Perhaps to be Prime Minister. And, indeed, if Gordon Brown knocked on my door tomorrow and said "Gert, can you take over for a couple of years" I would be there like a shot, drop everything. I would love it and I know I would be bloody brilliant. The best ever. But that's not how one gets to be Prime Minister.

I don't want to be a junior minister, responding only to the caprices of one's seniors and one's officials. I certainly don't want to be a backbench MP, dealing with the complaints and problems of those who can't be bothered to find out the truth or won't help themselves (casework is always more satisfying for those who can't,  either because of their own vulnerability or because of the complex intricacies of the situation). And I certainly don't want to be a Parliamentary candidate or on the panel of hopefuls, having to keep a permanent smile, not offend anyone, and doing the rounds of dull community events and meetings to show one's commitment.

But if there is one 'job' I could do, which wouldn't be like a job, at which I would willingly work away at all hours and even on holiday, it would be 'writer'. There has never been any doubt in my mind that I can write a book. I know all the stuff about everyone having a book in them. I also know that there is only one way to prove oneself as an author - to produce a book. Lots of people do it, why won't I? The actual difficult bit is getting published, and getting the product marketed sufficiently.

I write all the time. But most of what I write is excerpts and disjointed stuff, things that trail-off, stuff that is full of vivid descriptions and characterisations, but lacking a linear narrative - so a lot like life, really...!

I believe that all I have to do is actually to write a book. That isn't difficult. The difficult bit is the same weakness that affects every part of my life - the tendency for enthusiasms that trail off, the lack of stickability, the habit of getitng bored before a project is finished.

But I am not a young woman, and there is no point me going round with this idea in my head 'I'm a writer, inside, really'. Some time, I am going to have to knuckle under or confront the cowardice of reality.

Best advert ever?

Regular readers will know that I am not a fan of TV adverts. I very rarely watch them - one of the main advantages of Sky+. I particular do not like any TV adverts that attempt to make you feel guilty or inadequate, or suggest that the key to happiness lies in their product, or that some frippery is essential to your social status.

As I write this I am watching the Railway Children, the real original one, where Jenny Agutter is Bobbie, not the remake we watched at Christmas, where she is Mother, which is remarkably good for a remake, although the original is still one of the great films!

I had to sit through the advert break. And I saw this.

Seems it's been around for a while, and award-nominated, and I also notice that the iconic Hovis ad from the 70s has been voted the most popular ever.

Overheard and overseen

Sometimes one overhears phrases and snatches of conversation that makes one laugh. Usually, because you know there is a story behind this. I think someone who was a natural storyteller would use these triggers to launch a best-selling and/or critically acclaimed novel. I know that proper writers sit in cafés writing descriptions of those around them. I don't; I like to speculate on the whys and wherefores but never get very far. Or deep!

Most of us have a range of telephone voices. I have one I reserve for situations where I want to make a good impression and ask for something, in a situation when I'm nervous. 

I overheard a woman on the phone one evening. Her voice was restrained and excited simultaneously. she formed proper sentences of fully enunciated words. "It will be exciting to go out with someone new and different". A blind date! I thought. And I chuckled with happiness. But there is little I can add. Other than that this woman is going on a blind date!

In a pub two men were talking. The conversation was about an unknown and absent third person. He has negative-charisma. When you are talking with him, you want to be in another room. There is something about him that makes you feel yeuch. It's not just that he's boring, but he's one of the very few people you really want to hit. You feel unclean after being with him.

I empathised. Been there! Negative-charisma? I like it!

At a bus-stop, in the middle of the day, in broad daylight, in public. Two women exvhanging the caresses that can only be shared between lovers. My eyes were drawn. Not onlyis it very unusual to see open affection between two women, and in daylight, it was particularly unusual because one was Asian and one was Afro-Caribbean. Mixed-race heterosexual relationships are so common that I don't even notice them as such. Although, I tend to see a lot more white-Asian or white-African/Afro-Caribbean than Asian-African/Afro-Caribbean.

Intellectually,  I don't give a stuff about who is with who, but I have a failing that my eyes are drawn to the unusual: be it 'odd couples', people with obvious facial disfigurations or tics, or stunningly beautiful people or those who wear simple inexpensive clothes with elegance. In no such cases is my fascination judgemental, it's just a fascination. Indeed, I had had a similar fascination less than an hour earlier in seeing  David Trimble walk down the street. As we approached each other to pass-by it was obvious that he had realised that I had recognised him as 'someone off the telly'. I should grow up and stop being so rude as to stare. A few weeks ago I was in the lift chatting with a woman of about my age* (no, not that one, she's five years my senior). We discussed the lifts, as one often does with colleagues. It was only as we parted that I realised she is one of our ministers and I had a celeb-spotting moment.

The bus came and we all moved to get on. I approached slightly from the right. They approached slightly from the left. The Asian got on, the Afro-Caribbean paused to let me go first, and we exchanged eye contact and a smile. I was immensely disappointed to realise that 'she' was in fact a 'he' albeit a very metrosexual one who probbaly only has to shave weekly, if that.

* A year and a week younger, actually

The Legend Looks Back

Interview with Plácido on the Met's website.

Not actually saying anything I haven't read before, but, still, it's nice.

Whilst on the Met website I also discovered a photo-album

Plácido Domingo’s 40th Anniversary Celebration

Away from Her

I don't go to the cinema very often these days, certainly not for films. It seems quite an expensive way to see them, particularly considering that I go to a fair few live performances and have a fairly extensive/expensive satellite TV package.

I have watched a fair few films of late, but many of them are old, many of those are rehashes for me, and several of them were inconsequential and forgettable. 

A week or so ago we settled down to watch Away From Her. A fascinating work and probably not one for young people.  The basic plot is that a woman develops early-onset Alzheimers and eventually moves into a residential home.

It's a film that focuses the mind somewhat. I suppose we all prefer not to think about Alzheimers, certainly not about it happening to us, especially not if we have one or more parents alive. I think that the woman was the same age or younger than Jimmy is, which is young, and I suppose seeing it happen to someone who lives a healthy and active life is poignant.

Jimmy reflected that it must be very difficult for the one who is left behind in good mental health. I suppose what made me sad was the early stages when she knew it was happening and was lucid as often as she wasn't. That must be very frightening. It's probably less frightening when the mind goes. I did reassure Jimmy that I'd tell him if he started showing early signs, such as forgetting people's names. He gave me a look (he's spent his entire life forgetting people's names). I then ran the same theory past a friend who is a bit of a Julie Christie fan - and he gave me an identical look, for identical reasons!

A plot spoiler, a bit. I wondered about the part where the husband-left-behind started dating a woman whose husband was also in the home. Jimmy commented that there would be people who would condemn them, but he doesn't see anything wrong in it. I don't see anything wrong and I certainly don't think the malicious outrage of village gossips is ever a reason for not doing something. I think I have always accepted that such a relationship doesn't really count as infidelity - often what keeps people going on caring for incapacitated partners is the emotional release they get from a functioning relationship. I suppose my concern is that when people feel a bond with someone going through the same turmoil, they can confuse that with something more enduring. But I don't think that the risk of one of them getting hurt should ever in itself be a moral argument against two people getting together.

It was a very beautiful film, beautifully filmed and full of light. Julie Christie and Gordon Pinsent both delivered performances that were the more poignant and dramatic because they were sparse and understated.

I suppose what troubled me was that it was too clean. The residential home seemed perfect. Perhaps it's like that in Canada, but it seemed unreal to me. I don't just mean the absence of abuse but although there only seemed to be one nurse, she was able to take a close interest in the life of the patient's husband. And all the residents seemed happy and occupied. And the husband seemed too accepting, too full of equilibrium. He didn't seem to be angry or depressed, a bit lost maybe. I got no sense of chaos or crisis. Made for an enjoyable film, but not particularly realistic.

Winterstürme ~ Du bist der Lenz

Does it get any better than this?

This being where Plácido Domingo and Waltraud Meier demonstrate perfectly the art of acting-singing (or is that singing-acting?) whilst transcending the appalling tempo from the pit and the lack of scenery, (which worked superbly).

Act 1 Scene 3 of Die Walküre from Barcelona last May. I'm guessing from Waltraud's dress it was the night I was there - Curtain Call,  Act I,  Acts II and III

Thanks to the Villazónistas of the Liceu

And, of ocurse, once one starts on YouTube, there's always more to be found - Il mio tesoro - I hope nobody misunderstands my comment

And in case you miss Raffe's comment on an earlier post here yesterday, the comment on YouTube under this performance of Bésame Mucho from 'bbpearl365' just had me ROFL

I remeber when he sang this to Queen Sophia of Spain, and King Juan Carlos had him ESCORTED to the airport!!!LMAO

In the Pool

I went swimming again on Friday. This was the first time in a while I had been with Jimmy. We chose an almost perfect time to go. When I got in the pool, there was one man swimming very slowly in the fast lane, one woman swimming moderately slowly in the middle lane, one woman swimming not very fast in the slow lane, one woman doing some resistance exercises on the side of the non-laned area and two women in shower caps floating on rubber rings  in the small pool. The woman in the slow lane left to be replaced by a suspiciously young and posey man. When we left the non-laned area we were replaced by a heavily pregnant woman. It was nice, no one getting in anyone's way.

Of course, when I went in the changing room, the school kids and mothers were beginning to assemble. There was one boy walking and half running round the changing room - he barged by me when I was going to my locker, nearly causing me to drop my towel. Then he got into one of the half cubicles (the walls are about 5') climbed on the bench and started looking around.

I ended up having a word with his mother, who, surprise surprise, was at the other side of the changing room. She said he was eight but she couldn't let him go in the men's changing room. I refrained from saying it's about she unfastened him from  her apron strings and instead went all empathetic. But I insisted she kept her child under supervision, and stopped him running round and climbing up. I also pointed out that it wasn't a child only session, and I understood why she wouldn't let him go into the men's changing room, but it works both ways, my privacy matters.

I just wish sometimes that people would apply a bit of common sense and, more importantly, accept their responsibility for their child. I am sure she would be uncomfortable to be dressing while a pubescent boy (he was a mature 8, more like a 10, I think, at least) leered at her. I am also sure that the older larger women, and the pubescent girls resented it as much. I do get so very sick of these parents who think that the world should stop for their brats. I also think that running and climbing in a swimming pool changing room - it's wet -  is a very stupid thing to do.

Just as a parenthesis I was reading a website recently. I wanted to learn more about portrait photography and came onto a site of a photographer who takes pictures of women naked. He stated the rules by which he works and that models should reasonably expect from other photographers. Bear in mind that these women (and men, too) are being photographed naked. For all I know,  they may include sexually provocative shots. Also, this is a contractual relationship between two professionals. He stated that the model must have a private area for undressing and dressing, behind a screen or curtain if not a separate room. This chimes with my feeling - and discrete passing observation of other women in changing rooms and on beaches - that the act of (un)dressing is far more intimate than the act of actually being naked.

Blood donor

There is a weird evangelical christian centre across the road from my office. They seem to entertain coachloads of teenagers on day trips and they have twee, down with it signs in the windows. They have various groups meeting regularly, the sort of thing you'd expect from any church, but they have such cool names like 'E-teens' or somesuch.

For several weeks now,they have had a sign in the window which has been irritating me profoundly. In a way I find it a bit offensive. I say 'in a way' because it isn't a visceral sense of being offended, and I'm not sure that an intellectual response is really about being offended.

I have been meaning to take a photo of it and keep forgetting in daylight. So I decided to search the internet, and not at all to my surprise found that it is possible to buy t-shirts and beenie hats with the exact same logo on it.

I understand what message they are trying to get over, and I understand that it is entirely consistent with the corny twee slogans that seem de rigeur throughout christianity.

I think what sticks in my gullet is that using this play on words they are just advertising their brand. For me, and I think probably for most people, the words 'blood donor' mean that voluntary activity where people act as close to altruism as is possible*. Yet there is nothing in this slogan, this poster that I pass most working days, that encourages anybody to go and give blood, or gives information on how to, or in anyway suggests to people that maybe they should consider doing something positive for the benefit of a random stranger. Just a smug claim about how 'I've been saved'.

And I suppose that's one of the things I dislike about particularly evangelical christians. Apart from their general hatred and their sex-obsessions, I really dislike the self-absorption. I don't think this is universal: I have known many people over the years who cite their christianity as the reason for their commitment to humanity and society. But I really despise this self-satisfied form of christianity which is all about demonstrating an imagined superiority and utter disregard to those who haven't been persuaded into their clique.

* I believe that pure altruism is almost non-existent. One could argue that the incentive to give blood is the hope that when one needs a blood transfusion, there will be enough blood available from other people's generosity, but actually, people who have never given blood are not refused transfusions**

** I know that there are many people who can't give blood ever and I am one who hasn't been able to for several years but would like to start doing so again

Going swimmingly

I went swimming this evening. I have to confess that it is the first time I have been in over two weeks. And I haven't been out on the bike in the interim. I have reasons, well, excuses. Well, pathetic really. Laziness, probably, getting dangerously close to a vicious circle or a spiral of decline.

There is a natural slump at this time of year. It has been unusual locally to have such a sustained period of unbroken cold weather, and I haven't handled it well. I do not regard myself as a Seasonal affective disorder (SAD) sufferer, but, I think, like most people, I do find the disproportionate darkness gets me down. To be honest, for the past few cold weeks, I can't really complain about a lack of light. Many days have been gloriously bright. I had a 5pm meeting in another building this evening, so I left my building at 1640 and my spirits soared that it was still light, just about. By the time of my birthday, it is still light at 5pm, and even though it will still be weeks before the Equinox and the clocks going forward, my mood lifts considerably. I wouldn't want to labour a point, I'm not sure it's even a mood. But there are certain thing I do hate, the most significant being standing at the bus stop in the dark waiting to get the bus home.

With more digressions than a Ronnie Corbett monologue, I was saying how I went swimming. I had been putting it off - took my kit into work last Tuesday, took it home Thursday. Took it in again this Tuesday, remembered to take it out of the cupboard, and so I went swimming.

During the autumn I had built up my muscles quite impressively, especially my thigh muscles and my biceps, and there was a noticeable slimming down of my face. I won't say I have lost all that, and I have said before, it's a bit like a game of snakes and ladders. People of my age and with my excess bulk do not lose fat overnight. My objective was not intended as a short-term fix but a drastic and permanent change in lifestyle, aimed firstly at not gaining any more fat, and secondly at reducing the fat (which ought to go hand-in-hand with better tone and firmer muscles) and thirdly re-establishing a healthy lifestyle which will hold me in good stead as the years progress and I face challenges such as osteoporosis* and Alzheimers, and everything I read persuades me that a sustainable exercise habit is the key to a healthy middle-and old-age. I don't think that angsting or guilt-tripping about winter slacking is particularly productive, but incorporating swimming, cycling and leisure walks into a year-round pattern.

I went swimming this evening. I only did ten lengths. I should have done more. I could have done more. But I am going again tomorrow and Saturday looks possible for cycling, even if only for an hour or so.

* actually with my dairy addiction and my astonishingly healthy teeth I am well low risk for osteoporosis

English Fail!

What do you think of this quote from Obama's Ingratiation speech? - Yahoo! Answers.

Although, as English Fails go, it is sheer inspired genius.

As for what I think of the quote - well, it's empty rhetoric and self-contradictory. I mean, read it and think what it actually means:

know that your people will judge you on what you can build, not what you destroy

I think it means, as long as you do loads of good things, it doesn't actually matter if you also do lots of evil things. So, if, for example, you make the trains run on time or, say, mass produce the Volkswagen Beetle, what else you do, whatever you destroy,  just fades into insignificance beside that what you have built.

Really, it's the sort of bullshit you'd expect from a 27 year old working in Starbucks, not a professor of constitutional law

On RTAs and related matters

Last night coming home, I was very nearly witness to a horrendous car crash. I was walking from my bus stop to my road. My road crosses the South Circular at a junction with traffic lights, and pedestrian crossings, and car smashes are commonplace.

From behind me came a bus. It had just started its long journey to Kings Cross. My bus is only the second on its route and strangely, there was no one waiting to board. Even more strangely, I was the only person to have got off my bus at my stop. More strange still was the almost complete lack of other vehicles on the usually busy S. Circular. This was 7 pm. The bus driver put his foot down, determined to get through the lights before they changed. I don't think he was exceeding the 40 mph speed limit, but it seemed fast because it's rarely possible, not at that time.

It was alarming to actually watch a potential car crash unfold before me. I could see the blue Fiat move away from the gap in the Central Reservation to complete its right turn* into my road. I could see the bus seemingly gathering speed as the noticeable incline plateaus. I was visualising the impact of a speeding bus driving into the side of a flimsy car. I even looked to see if there were passengers were on the bus. I reached into my bag for my phone. The Fiat driver accelerated sharply and the bus managed to pass by with inches to spare. Crash averted!

I then fell to thinking about what I should do? I was the only person on foot - where was everybody? My instinct was already to dial 999. For whom should I ask? By the time I got home I decided that I would ask for police and ambulance. I wouldn't know if an ambulance was actually required. But better to err on the side of caution. It's hardly a crank call - a bus has just ploughed into a car. I don't know the number of casualties. I can give precise location.  How calm would I be?

If there were casualties I would not really know what to do. Except, dial 999, make sure no clever clogs tries to move someone who may have a neck or spinal injury, and try and persuade the dazed but otherwise unharmed from fleeing. Do I then have to hang around for the police and ambulance to arrive, particularly important considering that I had an increasingly urgent need to get home? Have I done my duty by calling 999 and giving my details. If I am required to give a witness statement they will know how to contact me.

Inconsequential in the end, but it was an experience that made me question my ability to react correctly. I then read Mr Reynolds account of being cut out from a crashed car Under the Plastic - all in a day's work for him.

And then, while reading a completely unrelated news story I came across Accidents on Long Island. My first reaction was that it is sensationalist or mawkish, but then I decided, it's clever.

There are no bodies, dead or maimed. Just smashed up car after smashed up car. Obviously, many of the recent ones are in snow or ice. Irrespective of the weather conditions, most of the explanations given are 'lost control of vehicle'.

I would imagine that many of those drivers thought they were in control, many probably thought they were good drivers. I would imagine that many misunderestimated the road conditions, which is pretty unforgiveable.

What also struck me, not as a hard-and-fast rule, but as an underlying theme, is that most of the SUV/4x4s etc overturned, whereas most of the normal cars remained upright.

All these tales and pictures of car smashes are common place. Sometimes people leave with no more than trivial injuries and a tale to tell, but so often, lives are destroyed, or changed beyond recognition. We treat it as normal, as an inevitable side-effect of the convenience of being able to go wherever and whenever.

I know many people who justify driving around for personal safety reasons, which I'm not knocking - it's about perceptions - although I think I'd rather be momentarily terrified by a figure emerging from a shadow then be cut out of twisted metal, or worse.

But what does amaze me is the number of people who think I am putting myself at risk by walking around an urban area at night (I am) but seem to have no perception of the risk of driving. I have a friend who has remarked, "I know I'm safe driver but there are so many arseholes out there I drive as if everybody's an arsehole" - which, of course, increases the safety of her driving. (Although no doubt in ten or thirty years time,if not now, the arseholes will cariacature her as timid 'old woman' as they speed on towards their encounter with a telegraph** pole).

* in Britain, Ireland, India, Australia, New Zealand and a few other places we drive on the left, so if you drive on the right, mentally reverse these terms

** why do we call them telegraph poles when they generally carry telephone wires?

Happy birthday to the King of Opera

68 Today

  

Perfumery - studies in small objects of desire

It's funny, I was never that much into perfume. Nevertheless a few years ago I was very grateful for a 'travel set' of four perfumes received as a present. Ideal for me, because I just waste big bottles - they evaporate or go off.

Going through Heathrow just over a year ago, I happened to notice that they had some of these travel sets on display, and I bought a Yves St Laurent one; then, again at Heathrow, en route to Barcelona, I spotted a Christian Dior set. Bought. At Valencia, heading home, I found a Givenchy set. Sold to the woman who suddenly has a collection of mini perfumes.

I decided to mess around with my camera. My initial objective was to photograph them as some sort of easy documentary. Then I realised it was silly using a red background - although I didn't grasp the silliness until I put them through the PC.

So I re-shot them again, rigging up a more neutral background and using the (fading) daylight coming through the bedroom window. Then I messed around with the editing software and came up with something...interesting. I am very very poor at capturing tiny images at close distance, so these sorts of things are ideal to practice with.

There are several more that simply haven't photographed well and I might revisit, but below is just a snapshot of "The Collection"

Tony Hart RIP and John Mortimer RIP

BBC NEWS | UK | TV presenter Tony Hart dies at 83.

Obituary: Sir John Mortimer

When I read that John Mortimer had died, I was momentarily saddened, but then remembered that I had never been a Rumpole fan. I did hear him deliver an after-dinner speech on one occasion. I then discovered that he had translated Brideshead Revisisted into its TV version, which must count as one of the monumental achievements of TV, and he also wrote the screenplay for Tea with Mussolini, which, again, is noteworthy.  It seemed slightly spooky that BBC4 had already planned a John Mortimer night last night.

I am saddened by the demise of Tony Hart. A major part of my childhood. I loved Morph (in fact, I think that - Grange Hill apart - the very best children's programmes of the 70s and 80s were those short animations shown at 5.35) and I thought Take Hart was excellent programming. I think I got most into it when I was a bit older than the target audience (having a brother 7 years younger). I don't see any modern-day equivalent, and to me, that is a sad sign of a sort of dumbing down that is insulting to today's children, depriving them of the inspiration that we had back then.

YouTube - recent additions

Plácido Domingo with Katherine Jenkins Press Conference

As someone commented

Great! He's such a nice man and his manners are those of a real gentleman. Thanks for sharing this clip.

Plácido Domingo Recital sketch & Rehearsal in Seoul

with Lee Ji-young

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And seven clips which together make up a wonderful hour's viewing

Plácido Domingo - The King of the Opera

Omnibus documentary from 2001

If you only watch Part 1, which is 10½ minutes, you get a real sense of the greatness of the man (not just his greatness as a singer) - and I do urge everyone who can watch this to do so.

Part 2

Part 3

Part 4

Part 5

Part 6

Part 7

I think it's sweet how talking heads and the narrator make several references to the fact that his singing career is drawing soon to a close. This was eight years ago!

Somewhere there is an audio clip from Lohengrin in 1968 (in which he debuted a few days before I was born), and his voice just hasn't changed in all that time!

Latest links

Pages found in the last day

Ofrece Plácido Domingo concierto en Corea del Sur - El Universal - Cultura

Report (sort of) on the concert, which was mainly in Spanish, plus Korean. Six encores

Tags: placi

Villazón no desdeña la fama - Excélsior

El tenor mexicano dice que no es “víctima”, sino “parte del sistema”; valora residir en Berlín

Tags: rolando

HANDEL: Messiah

HANDEL: Messiah (complete); Bonus disc from other Coro recordings – Carolyn Sampson, Catherine Wyn-Rogers, Mark Padmore, Christopher Purves, baritone/ The Sixteen/ Harry Christophers, conductor

I don't suppose anyone needs another Messiah, but this review serves to create need!

Tags: handel

Help the Aged: We Love Katherine Jenkins:

Whoever wrote this ought to be taken out and shot

Tags: placi, warbling-barbie

View all my bookmarks on Ma.gnolia

Domingo is still king of opera

according to the Korea Times, anyway

At 67, the silver-haired Spaniard sang with the fervent ardor of a young Romeo...

...He delighted the audience with his signature gala-style performances ... eating real cherries with Lee in the "Cherry Duet'' from "L'Amico Fritz.'' His musical chemistry with the lovely starlets was sizzling, and he can still lay claim to his sexy Zeffirelli film roles.

I have to say, even though I enjoy reading such adulatory reviews, I don't think they should be taken at all seriously. If you read closely, you begin to see that the writer's skill lies in their ability to narrate a scene and illustrate an atmosphere, rather than actually to describe the musical aspects which are cunningly summarised with generic adjectives.

Creation at the Barbican

2009, Bring it On!!!

The year is but 10 days old and the gauntlet has been thrown. We are already thinking about our Awards for 2009. Some of them will be hotly contested.

Best German Singer of 2009, a very tight category...Herr Kaufmann and Herr Pape, the heat is on. You have to beat the trio Of Thomas Quasthoff, Julia Kleiter and Maximillian Schmitt...actually, Julia was by far the weakest of the three and she was well above average.

Best tenor newcomer to me of 2009: give me someone better than the frighteningly young Maximillian Schmitt and I will be in Tenor Nirvana...what can I say about him - the worst I can say he is no Fritz Wunderlich. Lose  5 10 kilos and oh boy, you are set for Hunkentenor Status...he upstaged the remarkable and faultless Thomas Quasthoff. I worked out from his biog he might be as young as 25 and almost certainly not 30.

Best performance of 2009. there is still 11 and 2/3 months to go, but can I just say to all the opera singers who read this blog...the bar has been set at a very high level: emulate or exceed this performance and you will get my fervent praise

(yes yes, I know that technically Thomas Quasthoff isn 't really an opera singer, but opera/oratorio is interchangeable, and special circumstances apply to him who would be a very great opera singer if opera didn't have unreasonable physical demands...but I'd still love to see him as Don Giovanni, I think he would be excellent)

It was just fabulous. Far too fabulous to harp on the minor flaws and imperfections. Obviously they were off to a running start performing one of the most glorious pieces of music ever written. I could comment that at times Thomas Quasthoff surprised me by being not as loud as I thought he might be. However, the sensitivity he brought to interpreting the role was superb - highlight being the recitative in part two which describes the lion, the tiger, the stag, the steed etc. Jimmy decided not to read the text and, instead, just listen to the German, and he claims he spotted an elephant; I think that must have been the lion or the whale.

And the orchestra! The Freiburg Baroque under Rene Jacobs were incomparable. So many nuances. Initially, with my expectations set so high, I was disappointed that they failed to meet my demands for contrast in the bit that goes "And God said Let there be Light and There was"..."Li-i-i-i-i-i-ght" where I want pianissimo to become cacophony. I also want the concert hall to be in darkness until this point and then for all the lights to flood on. Still, the invisible hairs on my arm did stand up at this point,which was otherwise a low point. The choir - RIAS - was excellent, helped no doubt by their placement which had sops and basses to my left and altos and tenors to my right. They came close to polyphony or a Wall of Sound that reverberated effectively round the Barbican.

It is wonderful seeing Thomas Quasthoff. He comes on stage, and I register that he looks like a freak. Then the music begins, and he sings, and he is just an amazing singer. I would be a bigger fan if his repertoire coincided more with my taste - he does a lot of Bach and a he does a lot of Lieder, both of which are filed more under 'respect' than 'love'. But he's got a partial residency at the Barbican  between now and October, and I seriously urge anyone who can to hear him. He is never going to feature on Barihunks but he is a very great singer...if I can select one moment, he is the man who puts meaning into the phrase 'der leichte, flockige Schnee'.

I psent most of the evening with a smile of delight on my face and I really don't think I was alone. Needless to say, the audience was very very annoying in the intolerable anti-social stuff they did. Some people had the temerity to cough discretely during the loud bits. There was a couple in front of me when, every time Thomas went from spinto tenor to basso profundo - as he does - in one phrase, exchanged glances of approval. And then, in Part 3, when Adam (Thomas) and Eve (Julia) were declaring their love for each each other, there were couples who crept nearer to each other, were touching, some even had arms casually across their lover's back. Really quite an unruly audience!

Overall it was a stunningly memorable performance. Naturally there were flaws, but I really do not wish to dwell, because no live performance is perfect, and yet, every single factor worked so well and gelled so excellently that it turned out to be better than the sum of its not inconsiderable parts. I was so glad I was there.

Earlier today I had been exchanging emails with Alison who expressed a desire to arrive on the Atheist Bus as a suitable balance to the message. Guess what I spotted on my Northern Line train!

Plácido in China

Renowned operatic tenor sings in Shanghai

The world renowned operatic tenor Placido Domingo is staging his first performance in China tonight. Domingo will sing in Beijing with his seven young students.

Shanghai or Beijing, you decide...

There is a video which I have watched but not heard, because for some strange reason my laptop has stopped making sounds except through external speakers which are currently in a different room

Thanks to White Rabbit who spotted this long before I woke up...

The weirdos still exist

I used to regularly post some of the funnier 'search requests' that crop up in my site stats. I got out of the habit, for various reasons, not least that when I changed urls, it took a long time for Google to take me seriously. My old blog had a Google Page Ranking of 6; after nearly six months in existence this one is only at 3. Which makes me sad

Some of these just defy comment

captain corelli mandela's violin - 

i am 24 and my boyfriend is 36 ,i am black and he is arabic what will make him think of me as irresistable ?

what illness are popular in newton heath ones that get them a sick note but don't make them feel poorly, I would guess. Probably like most other places

Geraldine's secret crush on Andrea Bocelli was that you, Faye?

ian paisley summer nights mix my mind boggles

groupies review celebrity dicks the trouble with those sites if they never review the celebrities I want to know about

katherine jenkins is not an opera singer Gosh, how they did land up here!

Lambeth Town Hall Ward Gert That's me, but I was almost never known as Gert in the context of Lambeth Town Hall Ward. So, a bit scary that one

being fat superficial symptoms I reckon that visible folds, several spare tyres, a treble chin  and a propensity to waddle are the superficial symptoms

how to enjoy sex by watching others having sex I guess if you need to ask how, voyeurism probably isn't for you

christopher ecclestone son of bernie I doubt it very much

what did mephistopheles say to the one eyed gynaecologist? I don't know, what did mephistopheles say to the one eyed gynaecologist?

comma useage fun always fun to use commas

andrew lloyd webber penis No! no! Make it go away, please, I don't want nightmares

surly strops hissy fits in teenagers I wrote the book!

waft her angle through the sky handel for some reason this conjures up a vision of some stroppy teenager hurling a set-square

smug boring middle class tossers

make chris martin history t-shirt who?

Dildo and Aeneas honestly, these thickies, don't they know it's Dildo and Anus?

holy shit fuck this car sutherland joan dame bonynge  no, me neither...

personal life of steve reed lambeth leader I am a close personal friend of Steve Reed Lambeth Leader and believe me, he doesn't have a personal life; his dedication to The Struggle is total

for which cellist did john travolta compose the protecting veil  John Travolta?

what are some artifical ways to get pregnant if i cant have oral sex Someone needs to explain that 'oral sex' and 'get pregnant' do not belong in the same sentence

voi che sapete masturbation bizarrely, this occurred when I was watching a film in which a man would get off by making obscene phonecalls to random women while Soave sia il vento played on the soundtrack

Racing heart "while having sex" surely that's sort of the point?

virtual currency cognitive appraisal party funnily enough I was at one of those last weekend. It was wild.

panis angelicus statute of angels

why me sex

transexual palace church

channel 4 gay sex leather rugby chaps group feet

fire london 1666 magic grandad

"jonathan ross" ebay but who'd buy him?

mp3 ringtone florence foster actually, This is a different sort of weird; would be quite good fun to do as a joke, though!

alphabet alps aisle almost astronaut action in alphabet order I worry. I really do.

audio file lame flower duet What a difference a k makes

had an affair with a married man.....do I have a legal right to know what he has told his wife about me?  Legal right? Just supposing you had, how exactly would you go about enforcing it

Florida's national anthem lyrics isn't this what they call a 'category error'

una furtiva lacuna I like it!

building what's it called? rockefeller center were going to go up well do this for a late lunch i dont have to wrtie that so why did you

new premiership football kiss 08/09

bryn terfel hairy back so I've been told...

how did people get on hoolidays 20 years ago  Um, 20 years ago, that was 1999. Horse and cart, only way. Oh, you mean hoolidays. Ah well, we didn't have them back then

are katherine jenkins breasts natural  you'll find nothing about that on this weblog

The milkperson of human kindness leaves an extra pint

I have a simple philosophy in life: be nice to people and it will make you feel better. Chances are you will find people being nice to you, too.  This doesn't preclude telling arseholes they are arseholes or engaging in psychological mind games to outsmart those trying to gain unfair advantage.

Twice this week, I felt disappointed as I approached the bus stop in Brixton and saw my preferred bus close its doors and start to move off; twice the drivers have opened their doors for me!

The other day I was walking near Victoria Station. There's a floor surface that is always a bit slippy when dry and slippier when wet. It was wet that day.

I was carrying several bags in my hand and perhaps my centre of gravity was just off centre. Whatever the reason, I sort of slipped and went over sideways on my ankle. If I hadn't been laden, a short discrete flailing would have been enough to right myself. Instead, I felt I was going through a  slow-motion comedy wobble, surely to be followed by an ignominious tumble to the ground.

From each side of my extreme peripheral vision appeared two men, both in their twenties, both with lithe bodies, and both rather easy on the eye. Both of them held out their arms, and as I righted myself,  before the embarrassing fall that never happened, they both asked if I was okay. I assured them of my okayness and thanked them for their concern. They went on their ways and I on mine.

I felt so cool, I thought, I'm a magnet, I have dashing young men rushing to my rescue. Obviously it should be them falling at my feet, or them making me go all weak and wobbly after they entered my life. But it felt good!  It did occur to me later that they thought 'oh gosh that rather middle-aged and therefore ancient woman is about to have a nasty fall', but I prefer the thought that I am not invisible to attractive young men.

English Fail

I have found hours of simple amusement from perusing certain blogs that exist on the www.

Fail Blog

English Fail Blog

the "blog" of "Unnecessary" quotation marks

Apostrophe Abuse

Photoshop Disasters

They are a bit addictive and not just in the reading of them.

I go round looking out for them; sometimes I even remember to take photos. But why submit to them to other people's blogs when I can post them here!

I had three attempts at this one and intended to ditch the rear view of an innocent passer-by, but this is the sharpest of the lot (taken on my phone)

 

I assume that eleksys "design and build" just go in and toss a few things around in acts of demolition. (And they've got their phone number wrong)

 

This has been posted outside the women's changing room at Brixton Rec. I read it to mean that everyone age 9-17 is silent within the female changing room.

It replaced two signs saying "No males over the age of 8 allowed in the female changing room" both of which were freely interpreted as "No eleven year old boys are allowed to get changed in the female changing room but they can hang around bored while Mum tends to their little sister..."

Genocide

The Middle East is not a subject I post about very often on this blog. I learned a long time ago that the only result is to get flamed by nut-jobs who believe that everything that the Israeli Government does is right, irrespective of which party dominates the coalition. Such posts just attract haters, mainly from the USA whose world view is based upon an idiotic, shallow and biased Press and TV news.

I haven't recorded my anger at Ariel Sharon's wall that cuts Palestinians off from their olive groves and from water. I haven't recorded my anger at the constant but low level attacks on Palestinian people and the Palestinian way of life.

I never recorded my disgust when I visited Israel to be told on one hand eg Hotels build upwards in Eilat because there is no land whereas they build outwards in Taba because there is so much land that no one wants, and yet to witness coachloads of prosperous American Students and recent Graduates being given free holidays to tempt them to move from the USA to Israel. 

I have read so much that repulses me about the attitudes of the Settlers (West Bank and Golan Heights rather than Gaza), and yet I have failed to comment, because it probably isn't worth it. Also, I haven't written enough about my anger of the bombing of Iraq and Afghanistan, nor my despair at DR Congo and Somalia, both countries that fascinate me. To be honest, I have never fully got to grips with the conflicts in the Former Yugoslavia.

But there comes a time when saying nothing is tantamount to complicity. And yet there isn't a great deal to say, other than anybody who believes that there is any moral  justification whatsoever in shelling a school, for example, really needs to examine their hands but must also know they will never wash the blood off.

Israel's apologists continue to justify Israel's rapacious warmongering as retribution for the Holocaust. I cannot recall any history book ever suggesting that Palestinians were culpable in the Holocaust. I cannot fathom a logic that carries on hating for sixty years and creates new victims and yet fails to understand that their hatred is an inevitable reaction to being hated.

I cannot find any justification for targeting of non-combatants whether in Afghanistan, DR Congo or Palestine. It is wrong. And no amount of trimming and triangulation will make it right.

Back to life, back to reality

I know that most people had the Big Struggle Back yesterday. As I don't work Mondays, I had to face it today, even though I had managed one solitary day last week.

I don't do Christmas New Year blah de blah but I do do hibernation and slobbing. The swimming baths were closed for the two weeks, which has to be the work of a genius, when so many people are off school and work...!

I kept saying to myself I will go for a bike ride today, but then made pathetic excuses about the weather. That was, until I remembered it is traditional to hibernate and slob at this time, and thought, nah, slob and hibernate!

I seemed to have a series of conversations today either about 'this is it now, it's a long time 'til the next break' or 'isn't it cold? isn't it freezing?'. Which although humdrum and mundane has to be better than discussing Christmas hopes destined to be dashed.

I did get a bit excited on the way to work when I realised that there was not a hindrance in my way. All my struggles of the past few months through dug-up roads, diverted traffic and shifted bus-stops  seemed to be over. Same on the way home, it really is amazing, not an obstacle to be found.

Except that when I stepped off the bus across the road from Gert Cottage. I saw cones. I scrutinised them closely and realised that they were turning the two-lane Westbound carriageway into one lane. No doubt to be dug up very very soon. More worryingly there is a man-at-work sign at the end of Gert Cottage Boulevard, as well as a road-narrows sign. So, back to normality on the roads being dug up.

On the way to work I noticed that Woollies was still open. I got a bit excited and resolved that today would be the day I lose my virginity. My shoplifting virginity, that is. I even confided in this to someone, who said it would be closed by the time I got there this evening and anyway it would be completely bare. He was, of course, right. But I peered dolefully in through the shutters, my last glimpse of an institution that has been part of my life since before I can remember: Altrincham, Southend, Streatham, and Brixton. I don't remember there being one in Beeston, nor, bizarrely, can I recall if there was or wasn't one in Sale, ever.

I didn't help my mission to shoplift by going swimming before I ever got as far as Woollies. Oh, that was hilarious. I had confided in a friend that, as I hadn't been for three weeks I wasn't sure how it would go, also I predicted that it would be really crowded. My confidante laughed, knowing as well as I do how many people make short-lived resolutions to get fit in the New Year.

Actually, the pool was only marginally busier than it was in, say, November. Although a helluva lot busier than it was the week before Christmas. What made me laugh more was the gym, which is a sort of balcony with big picture windows above the swimming pool. Now, that was crowded! The most telling observation in the swimming pool was the ratio of sensible one piece costumes to teeny bikinis. Normally, I would say the ratio is 9:1. Today, the bikinis won.

As soon as I got in, I realised that three weeks of near-total slobbiness had taken its toll. I knew that anyway, it was so obvious from the flabbiness that has returned round the muscles I had had oh so briefly. But then after doing a couple of lengths as a warm up, and realising that that was effortless, without increase in pulse or breathing, I felt so very pleased with myself, and remembered that in Snakes and Ladders someone eventually finishes at square 100; given enough time and abolition of sudden-death competition, everyone will get there.

I am not going to pretend that I spent ages in the pool nor that I did dozens and dozens of lengths. I stopped at the point where my thigh muscles started to ache - in a good way - and went for a soak in the shower. For the second time today, a shower simply wasn't hot enough. I don't think there is any fundamental problem with either my home shower or the one at the Recreation Centre. I think it's just about perception and I can't understand it any more than I can understand the ambient temperature in my house.

The thermostat tells me that my house, which feels really cold, is actually no colder than on one of those mild autumn nights when I come home and feel that the house is like a sauna. I know that one of the quirks of living in an old (pre-Victorian) house without hermetically-sealed plastic window frames is that there are draughts, or healthy ventilation, I call it. But surely, surely, temperature is absolute. It might take more work from the boiler to get it there, and a gas meter* spinning like a whirling dervish, but once it's there, it's temperature, surely!

By the way, I'm just being very English moaning about the weather. We don't really do weather, even though we have plenty of it. I know it isn't really cold, like cold places are cold. But it's colder than most of us pretend we can remember. Tonight's minimum is forecast to be -4, and wind chill -10, with freezing at sea level, and the max tomorrow is 3, with a wind chill of -2. So, it's just unusually cold compared to recent winters. But not like cold cold.

I have just weighed myself, purely for the sake of the blog. I now weigh six kilogrammes less than when I started swimming again in August. This means that I am now fourteen kilogrammes heavier than the maximum ideal weight for my height. Perhaps this is because of the muscles wasting away, but hopefully it is also about fat disappearing. I never set out to lose weight per se; I knew I had to get fir for life, also I wanted to reduce my dress size because I would simply have a wider choice of clothes to buy if my dress size reduced.

My muscles have increased, the fat has decreased. Most importantly, I feel better physically and psychologically. Oh, that endorphin¹ glow on the bus! I believe I look better, too, at least, people have told me this. Interestingly, the one thing that hasn't changed is my dress size, because my belly still resembles a small hill and my my back muscles have strengthened. So the loss of some fat from the hips and the increased definition of my waist count for nothing!

However, by doing this slowly, by starting when it suited me not when the calendar said so, by avoiding stupid fad or crash diets, by not obsessing about food, by not deleting from my life the sensuality of taste, by incorporating a moderate and enjoyable exercise regime into my life, I firmly believe that I will transform my body in a way that will endure.

*yeah, I know, it's digital, they don't spin these days

¹ did you know that this is a compound word from 'endogenous' and 'morphine'

Photo update

I have now finished uploading my photos from Valencia, both the touristy ones and those from the curtain call of Iphigénie. All I can say is that they are what they are.

Having thought aloud in a previous post about whether to buy a DSLR camera, I have decided not. I currently own a Canon G3 which I bought nearly six years ago. Canon have updated the series several times since and I was nearly tempted to get a G10, which has more advanced technology that the G3. I have decided instead to learn actually how to  use the camera I have. This includes finding out about functions such as Exposure Compensation, ND filter and manual focus, and also understanding more about what techniques to use in what conditions, and shooting more in RAW format. I am disappointed in the quality of the photos from Iphigénie, especially if compared to Tamerlano. Some of that is down to the fact that for Tamerlano I was in the second row, centre, and for Iphigénie I wasn't, and that the set for Tamerlano was brightly lit and Iphigénie's wasn't,but a large part of it is down to my inability to get the max from my camera.

I have also discovered that models such as the G9 or G10 have a fixed screen, whereas the G3 has a screen that can be unfolded from the camera and rotated to face backwards or forwards or any angle in between. That is such a brilliant feature, and I don't really understand why it was discontinued.

My photos

I have made some updates to the Photo Galleries to the right.

I have added a new album called Valencia, but this is not yet complete.

 I have added to the Performance album with some photos from Les Contes D'Hoffmann and Iphigénie en Tauride. Again, this is not complete. And also, neither collection is anything like as good as they should be: the best curtain call photos happen when they take place on an open stage with good back lighting. Being very near also helps but isn't decisive.  Most significantly, there are no photos from June 2007 to October 2008. This will be remedied in the fullness of time. I am also going to do an album called Stage Door.

Some of the 'Old Photos' album especially including my trips to USA and Canada in1989 and 1999 are far from complete. Some other albums will be updated from time-to-time indefinitely.

Some of the albums, notably Summer, Boring, Me Myself I, Boats and Ships, Other People's Homes, Naked Statues, Steam, Winter, Autumn, Himself, Spring, and Water Fowl, comprise mainly of duplicates from various other albums.

Most significantly, I have added an album called Favourites. The order is a bit random, reflecting the order in which the photos were originally added to this site, which barely reflects chronology. If I remember, I will occasionally edit it to change the photo that appears by default in the sidebar. It currently stands at 98 photos, and I think I am going to be strict in not letting it get above 100. I  tried to avoid it being some sort of proportional representation of all the albums, but selected photos that, for some reason or other, have a 'wow' factor.

These aren't necessarily my favourite all-time photos, many of which are portraits of people, or indeed other photos that have a special meaning or memory for me. There are very few 'Performance' shots because what I take generally are low quality shots from a distance in poor light. Just for fun; like snaps of friends and family the greatest value is who is in them rather than any intrinsic photographic value.

I also realise that quite a high number of my photos are standard tourist snaps of well-known tourist landmarks. With the best will in the world, my attempts are never going to emulate the professional and highly skilled versions that proliferate on the net. Where I have included standard tourist subjects, it may be because there was an unusually good light quality or maybe I got an interesting viewpoint. 

I also realise that many of the photos don't amount to much as 'standalone' but as part of a set or sequence, they start to tell a story. Indeed, perfectly conscious of my inadequacies of ability, equipment and time, I never set out to create photographs of any artistic merit. I originally got a digital camera in 2001. Initially my use of it was no different from how I had used film cameras - an occasional arty insight* - but mainly people and uninspired tourist snaps. When I started blogging, I began to get inspired by other bloggers, and go for slightly more quirky viewpoints or seemingly mundane details. I am still very poor at capturing the smaller details, but I welcome the 'development opportunity'.  Nevertheless, the fundamental principle is to tell a story - my life.

*eg Aberystwyth 1974 I saw a sailing dinghy heading out to sea and saw the potential for a great photo, which I insisted on taking. I later copied it for an Art lesson at school and that was probably the best picture I ever drew. One of these days I shall get hold of it and scan it! It was bloody good for a six year old and 'not bad' by any standards, IIRC. Similarly a great shot of Lincoln Cathedral 1977.

Weird and wonderful Valencia

I was looking at the Google Map of Valencia and suddenly decided that I would have a look at the satellite view of the Palau de les Arts Reina Sofia, which is quite weird in itself

In the process of doing so, I found this

How did we ever manage to look at the world before Google Maps Satellites Images? How did we ever cope with the internet before Google?

Composition: so near, and yet, so very far

Another object lesson on the need to concentrate more when taking a snapshot.

I was so lucky with the light. This was about a half an hour after it had gone dark. But look at that sky! A sky to die for.

I actually did take care in the camera settings. Shutter speed of 1/15; with f2.5. That speed is quite slow, and not being the sort to carry a tripod around on the off-chance, I knew I had to improvise. I strolled round the square using various street furniture. Best was when I could actually rest the camera on a wall or somesuch. Failing that, just getting a lamp post  to brace myself against would just about do it.

I was trying to get the light dancing off the fountain, maybe get a sense of individual streams or even drops of water. I also had my eyes on the varied skyline: the wedding cake building, the rococo dome and the structure that probably isn't a cable car tower, but could be. The palm trees add an exotic flavour, and although I have mostly cropped them out, the Christmas decorations were an extra element.

I timed it perfectly, watching the traffic lights to catch a pause in passing traffic. I regretted the presence of parked cars, but knew that as I was aiming high, they would not intrude too much. So, I actually gave some thought to this cityscape of the Plaza de Ayuntamiento, Valencia, especially of how to combine the various eye-catching elements.

And I forgot one thing. Or failed to notice. I think the the auto-correct function of brain processes it out, like cars, to some extent.

So ladies and gentleman, this is how I ended up taking a photo of a telegraph poll and angle-poise light.

Best Live Performances of 2008

To be honest, I haven't really been to a great many live performances this year. No orchestral concerts, nothing in Period 4 at ROH. A lot skipped at ENO. Only half a performance at Holland Park. Two disappointing vocal concerts at the Barbican. No Proms. An avoidance of Puccini this autumn. I didn't review everything I went to - A gorgeous Handel evening with Carolyn Sampson at St John's Smith Square - I couldn't really say more than 'I enjoyed it very much'. I didn't review Juan Diego Flórez at the Barbican because he was suffering an allergy and couldn't give his all in a programme which, in any case, was never going to be my ideal evening out (too much Rossini).

I didn't write reviews of either Cavalleria Rusticana/Pagliacci or Boris Godunov at ENO. In summary, the Cav was so-so, the Pag was brilliant and the Boris was probably better than I thought it to be (ie it was well performed but I have decided I don't like the opera, so it bored me).

Turkey of the year was undoubtedly La Gioconda at Opera Holland Park. I went with Jimmy. We left at the interval, which seemed a long time coming. Some people argue it was so bad it was good in a car-crash sort of way. Maybe. Roberto Alagna must also be mentioned in this paragraph. He was bad but I did stay until after at least some of the encores.

I have had some bad luck with cancellations - Anna Netrebko in Traviata, Anna Christy and Mark Stone in Lucia di Lammermoor, Marina Poplavskaya in Don Carlo. I have scored a hat-trick of last minute substitutions. When I say 'last minute' I mean 'during the course of the performance'. Mark Stone in Eugene Onegin,  Marco Vratogna in Simon Boccanegra and Jennifer Check in Iphigénie en Tauride.

Of course I had trips abroad for Plácido and I think these should be placed in a separate category. Travelling abroad naturally means one's expectations are higher than when one just has to hop on an 87 bus. My readers know how much I adore Plácido so, of course, that also raises my expectations and also makes me more fearful of disappointment. And, of course, he is Plácido. He is legend, he is outstanding, arguably unique in the history of opera. He is the benchmark against which every singer will be measured for ever more. He is a phenomenon.

I enjoyed all four performances I caught of him. If I had to rank them, I would say Die Walküre (Barcelona), the Monday performance of Iphigénie en Tauride (Valencia), Tamerlano (Madrid) and the Saturday performance of Iphigénie. The best non-Plácido aspect of these Spanish performances was Waltraud Meier in Die Walküre. And René Pape in Die Walküre. And the personenregie in Die Walküre. In fact, also bearing in mind that the Liceu is the best opera house visited in almost all respects, Die Walküre Act 1 in particular should have knocked all competition out of the water and closed the debate, but for the lousy conducting. 

So without further ado, here, in no particular order or logic are my highlights of the year, excluding my Spanish trips:

Best aria: Batter My Heart from Dr Atomic (okay, I'm cheating, the nearest I got to live was at the cinema). Second best, Vittoria, Vittoria from Cavaradossi Tosca

Aria that ought to be cut because it holds up the action too much: Vissi D'arte from Tosca

Best night out considering I didn't know what to expect. In second place, La Calisto. And in first place, The Minotaur

Best overwhelmingly wonderful vocal and dramatic performances, in no particular order: Gerald Finley as Eugene Onegin, Christine Rice as Arsace, Christine Rice as Ariadne , Jonas Kaufmann as Cavaradossi, Rolando Villazón as Hoffmann and Barry Banks as Edgar

Accolades to singers in vocal categories that don't normally do it for me: Iestyn Davies and Ferruccio Furlanetto

Operas I enjoyed the least proportionate to the Praise heaped on them and the undoubted genius of their composer, and despite sterling performances from Simon Keenlyside: Die Zauberflote and Don Giovanni.

Most disappointing Verdi performance: In 4th place La Traviata, in 3rd place Don Carlo, in 2nd place, Roberto Alagna's Viva Verdi, and 1st place Simon Boccanegra. Okay, I'm being harsh on Trav and Don C, but my memory tells me that they were less than the sums of their parts, and spawned an award...

Roles that I would have reversed if I had a say in it: Rolando Villazón as Don Carlo and Jonas Kaufmann as Alfredo

Best production: La Calisto, Partenope, Minotaur, Pagliacci (or The Comedians)

Special award to three singers, all tenors as it happens, that I want to hear more of in the future having heard them for the first time this year: Ed Lyon, Ji-Man Park and Ismael Jordi (I'm cheating on this, I heard him in Spain).

Overall best performance of the year (outside of Spain): The Minotaur

Overall best non-Spanish singer of the year: Joint Runners Up - Gerald Finley, Jonas Kaufmann and Rolando Villazón. And the overall winner is, drum roll, Christine Rice!

Will my challenge for 2009 be to design a small award eg a certificate and see how many I can get to present in person?