Gertsamtkunstwerk

Totally knackered

The latest locum thinks I have Chronic Fatigue Syndrome. My blood tests are okay, except for my Anti Nuclear Antibodies - an immunology thing - that are weak positive, and he wants to discuss with the practice partner.

I tell you, having been to the doctors, and then filled in my booking forms for the Proms and Royal Opera Booking Period 1, I'm only fit for sitting in the garden...

It's beginning to look as if my June off may turn into reality: opera, football, tennis.

And, hopefully, sunshine.

The bugger about living here is we get the same weather system as Wimbledon, so when Rain Stops Play, it also Stops Sitting In Gert's Garden.

Longer term readers will remember my rantette last summer about Fortnight Tennis Experts. I stand by that. However, if I am going to be off, stuck at home, I might as well take in some of Wimbledon which will be dominating the TV. It won't make me an instant expert. And I won't be supporting Tim Henman. If I'm at work, Wimbledon will be lower in priorities than Euro 2004, Opera Month, watching paint dry, cleaning the toilet...

Is that nice Mr McEnroe still playing?

Or, more to the point, Martina?

How Gay Are You?

How disappointing! This quiz is aimed at men. I want to know how gay I am.

For many years I have been fascinated by the attitudes of straight men to gay men. The attitude I like is epitomised by my partner. He really does not like the idea of having sex with men, but is entirely comfortable in the company of gay men, and rather enjoys being a bit of a gay icon. I have found this attitude in a number of straight male friends over the years. And, coincidentally, they have always struck me as being the 'real men'.

Whereas the blokes who strut their masculinity, express horror at the thought that a man might fancy them, and are generally knocking homosexuality, however benignly (if that's possible...) are the ones that I see as being less masculine, and, ultimately, less attractive.

I don't know if this thesis will stand close scrutiny.

I once described myself as bi-curious without the curiosity. A friend of mine described herself as a gay man in a woman's body.

What a laugh!

My November 1987 diary is seriously hilarious. Take this

Paul F came up to me, straight out of Stats Tutorial. He said that Dr S is most interested in who I am and would love to meet me. I checked that he wasn't going to seriously beat me up.

But there's also loads about me as seriously Loony Lefty Political hack...

And December 1987

Oh why the hell can't I handle my emotions. Especially over somebody who is an arrogant, self-adoring, humourless Tory. And in thirty or forty years time, I'll read this, when I'm Prime Minister, and James is Leader of the Opposition, and I'll wonder. No, I have this dream that when we are in those positions it is marvelled often in the Press that although we occupy totally opposite ends of the Political spectrum, we get on so well, until, of course, someone points out that we had a wild passionate affair at Nottingham

Hmm, I think if the PM and LofO, who are a mere thirteen months difference in age, happened to have been at the same University, the Press would probably have started quite early on by asking whether they knew each at the other at the time.

And, oh flip, a picture of us together is still on my back room wall. I so have to revamp those photo frames...

Unexpected wow moment

At the Festival Hall tonight, during the Lacrimosa in Mozart's Requiem, I realised with delight that my plastic water botttle was tuned to exactly the same note as the lower timp. I feared to sip a drop of water, and I am sure that the timpanist saw me looking at him in awe and amazement. Then I started panicking - was it merely the water in the bottle, or was it also where and how my hand held it, was the way I rested it on my thigh of any significance?

If I had tried to tune my water bottle to a timp, I would never had succeeded!

As for the rest of the concert, it was the Philharmonia and the Bach Choir under David Hill, with soloists Carolyn Sampson (soprano), Catherine Wyn-Rogers (mezzo), James Gilchrist (tenor) and Michael George (bass).

The programme was Brahms' Alto Rhapsody, Beethoven's Christus am Ölberge and Mozart's Requiem.

I had never heard the Brahms before. As I was listening to the first half, sung by the mezzo, I thought it a bit dull, but then the male choir voices came in and I heard a little bit of magic.

As intimated below I was excited and nervous about the Beethoven. The orchestra was very very beautiful. The final Chorus of Angels caused goosepimples of ecstasy, which don't happen with the CD. The bass was okay - although it is only a small part. I didn't like the tenor very much. He kind of spolt it for me by a very weak entry on the first, powerful phrase, "Jehova, du mein Vater!" And he was less than impressive in the Terzetto, which is my favourite bit of the oratorio. I did think that he would be better off singing nice little Leider about flowers, lambs and falling in love.

I found the soprano Carolyn Sampson very interesting. She only looked young - in her twenties maybe - and her biography seems to support this "She currently studies with..." Her voice was not big (she sometimes was barely audible over the orchestra in the Mozart), but it was beautiful, to the extent that I am now considering booking for Monteverdi's Vespers at the Proms and Semele at ENO in order to hear her. I was really wowed by the sweetness and clarity of her voice in the Beethoven.

I also found it fascinating watching the orchestra - despite the many times I have played my CD over the past few weeks, I had not realised the extent of the timpani part. Also, sometimes when I'm listening, I get confused between clarinets and bassoons, and between French horns and trombones, so it's good to see the live performance.

And even with the poor acoustics of the Royal Festival Hall, it is still a thrilling experience to hear the music live.

The Mozart was gorgeous. I especially liked the Bach Choir. I gazed on them with envy. I would so love to be able to sing in a choir (they are all amateurs, but very good). Also, the tenor and mezzo were more impressive - more confident? - and the bass was solid.

In a way it's such a familiar piece, and it's nice to know exactly what phrase is coming next. Having heard so many different interpretations over the years, it is also much easier to retain an open mind, which is healthy, I think.

And in the audience I spotted John Sergeant. I'm afraid I glanced just a little bit too long as he was walking in (I was already in my seat). He went bright red. He's not so ugly in the flesh.

Back to my Beethoven CD. God, I'm sad...

Or off to bed. I'm tired. I have to go to the doctors tomorrow, and in a stroke of genius planning, I have another concert to attend.

PMQs abandoned!

Blair hit during Commons protest

I have absolutely no sympathy for that pressure group, Fathers 4 Justice, and, at risk of sounding pompous and old-fashioned, I actually believe that hurling missiles - however innocuous - at the Prime Minister in the Commons chamber is actually an assault on Democracy.

Legend - Bob Marley

What a fabulous record to play on a gorgeous sunny day in Brixton Village! Mellow chilling, with just one ingredient missing. Still who needs weed when you've got coffee and nicotine?

I didn't especially like Bob Marley when I was young, and wondered what all the fuss was when he died. Time and maturity have enamoured him. This album is relatively new to my collection. I bought it in August 2000, when I was temping. I used to take my timesheet to the finance office of my agency, dangerously close to Tower Records at Piccadilly Circus.

14 tracks, most of them classics. I love the harmonies from The Wailers on Buffalo Soldier.

Favourite tracks include: No Woman No Cry; One Love/People Get Ready; and Redemption Song.

If you are feeling melancholy, play this: it soars the spirits...

Okay, what comes next alphabetically?

Kidnap

Just in case you don't peruse the comments, I thought I would draw your attention to something I discovered on the notice board for Friends Reunited from my old school. This was posted by someone who left 10 years after me:

Then of course there was the day that Miss Clarkson's world fell apart-yes baby Jesus was kidknapped from the manger and held for ransom. That was it, security was tightened and 6th formers were left guarding Mary n Joseph as staff feared for their safety. Jesus was later found in a yr 11s classroom above a roof tile. I havent any idea how he got there (!)but I do know who told the teachers where he was, but im not sayin (n no it wasnt me!)

Excellent!

Miss Clarkson was my RE teacher in 3rd year.

May 1986 - Part 1

Eighteen years old, with exams looming, but still naive about non-celebrity men. Virtual Brownie Point to whomever guesses the celebrity man on whose rhetoric I now think I subconsciously modelled my written style

I have decided to take today off, a very arrogant attitude, you might say, with public exams so close at hand. But, I think it's the right attitude, because all my teachers are away today, so I am off school. Apart from reading the paper, I did two hours work in the morning, far more than I would have done at school, you can be sure, and after lunch I ironed my summer clothes.

I watched a programme, a schools programme, History File, about Keir Hardie. It was quite interesting, not particularly profound, but I learnt a great deal about him that I didn't know before. I then got back to work, and I reckon that I have done about six hours work today. Apart from the fact that I did the work, it's really nice to know it's possible.

In the evening I went canvassing on the Wimpey. There were six of us out - John and Jim, obviously (the candidates in the local election, which, in our ward, consisted of the normal cyclical electionand a byelection), Alex and I who went round together, and two people from Hale and Bowdon, Jill and Guy. It was fun - I love canvassing.

The weather has been beautiful today, although at about half past five the storm clouds gathered in, and it went very dark, and at about quarter to six there was light rain, but the skies are visibly lightening now.

Well, there's news on the telly now, fallout from Chernobyl has reached Britain - there's no danger they say. It remains to be seen.

I had my Maths session at lunchtime (I was put on lunchtime detention for repeatedly skiving Maths lessons, oh the humiliation and mortification at age eighteen...!), and I still managed to be home soon after half past two. I have done about two hours working, quite reasonable I would say. And I don't have to worry about skyving General Studies next week, for we have a Pure mock.

While I was waiting for the Dangerous Brothers (John and Jim the candidates), I couldn't decide whether to listen to Jim Hancock's political programme, I didn't, then as I approached John's car, I half registered that the radio was on, then it took me about half a minute to realise that Neil was on - talking about Trafford council!

I went out canvassing, round the Poco. It was reasonable, some real Tories, some I would say dyed-in-the-wool Alliance - can you be dyed in the wool Alliance. But there were a couple of supporters, one man and his wife had been considering joining. I gave him John's phone number and suggested I asked John to call on him. He said it wasn't so convenient this evening because his parents were up from South Wales, but he'd contact John. I hope he does. I would like to think I was catalytic in recruiting two new members. Also, if we could get a couple of activists, or even semi-activists, it could be useful for the branch Labour Party.

I went round with Alex. He's a nice bloke, amusing and serious. We had quite a chat walking round and then we sat in the car chatting about life, sex etc - quite an open, frank conversation. I think he fancies me - I know that sounds daft - but he is making fairly physical advances. He is very anxious to give me a lift, and the thing is, I know that John realises this, but John wouldn't say anything. And it's life isn't it. The married man I fancy, I wouldn't dream of making advances to, meanwhile a cohabiting bloke fancies me - and I like him tremendously - but I don't fancy him, there isn't that sort of chemistry.

Ultimate Chick Flick Soundtrack

Really not an inspiring name for two double CDs. and, obviously, not fitting in with my image. Eighty or so tracks, inevitably some turkeys. But in my quest to play my entire record collection I am not allowed to skip the turkeys (I make an exception for Cliff Richard's Saviours Day and Mistletoe and Wine which lurk on some compilations somewhere in my collection) There are a few noteworthy or okayish tracks, but frankly, even despite these, or perhaps because of - pearls among swine - this is the sort of two-volume double CD compilation that removes the will to live.

What a winning concept. Chick. Flick. 'Movies' - or what I call fillums often have music to them. Let's categorise, let's make assumptions that no 'chick' can possibly like Shawshank Redemption or Indiana Jones. Let's put together a 2-volume double-CD compilation of these tunes from mainly forgettable films - the most mentally stimulating being Notting Hill and Sleepless in Seattle. The chicks are so thick they will buy it.

And this chick was so thick she bought it. Not once, but twice. I would like to pretend that it was in my reckless youth. But it wasn't. It was this century. When I was well into my thirties. More than Old Enough To Know Better. Thirty odd quid I wasted on these bags o' shite. Enough to get me a seat and a programme, and have some left over for a gin, at Covent Garden. I am going to blame my WankerTosserExManager for forcing me into ridiculous retail therapy at the woeful WH Smith at Victoria Station. After all, immature stupid people blame others rather than taking responsibility for their actions, and the sheer act of buying these CDs - Not once, but twice - shows that I am incurably stupid and immature.

A thousand curses on the Ultimate Chick Flick Soundtrack.

I have been writing this entry as I go along - work in progress - and this evening I wrote the following:

It may just be that this collection is saved by the second disc of Volume 2, which includes Waterloo - ABBA; You Sexy Thing - Hot Chocolate; The Shoop Shoop Song - Cher; Grease - Frankie Valli; and I'm Every Woman - Chaka Khan all of which are at least good songs (some verging on greatness), and ace for bopping round the room singing into my pretend microphone. Mind you, I have a good few on other albums.

But it also contains The Corrs. I saw them on the TV last week, and they were just awful. Bland and boring. And cushion-throwing-inspiring...And Jennifer Lopez, Destiny's Child, Britney Spears, and P.O.D.

Of course, the *beauty* of such compilations is that they also contain utter crud eg All the Love In the World - The Corrs; Madonna murdering American Pie; Let's Hear It for The Boy - Deniece Williams; Feelin' Love - Paula Cole (indeed, the second disc of the first volume is almost enough to make me think: yes, I know I promised that I would not fast-forward through any track, but is my honour more important than my mental health...); Lady Marmalade - Labelle; and Jimmy Durante's very bad version of As Time Goes By.

Dissing Delius

You know, it's a bit silly me blogging the pop/rock records disc-by-disc-by-cassette, and not doing the same with my classical ones.

So, deep breath and here goes. Although not the ones I play spontaneously, because that would become a little bit repetitive...

I'm reclining on the sofa playing Demon Patience on my palm, and listening to Fred Delius, part of a four disc boxset I acquired the other week from WH Smith. I am not very familiar with Fred, and I'm not really surprised.

Paris: The Song of a Great City and On Hearing the First Cuckoo in Spring bored me. In A Summer Garden and The Walk to the Paradise Garden weren't much better.

I can understand why other people like Brigg Fair: An English Rhapsody - it has moments of lyricism, and other moments of plush orchestration. But moments don't a whole piece make and I can leave it. Summer Night on the River is just awful.

A small favour please

I've decided to change my Friends Reunited profile but for some bizarre reason I am not permitted to read how it appears to the general public. Could somebody please do a cut-and-paste into my comments box.

And if you don't know my name, it's in the url for Under Developed...

I'll buy you a drink next time I see you...

Classical classics

I have been playing an interesting CD on repeat for the past twenty four hours (on-and-off, obviously...). The Artist's Album - Herbert von Karajan.

A curious album. I suspect it has not received as much playing as it ought to have in the five years or so I have owned it. The packaging is excellent - basically a CD-case sized book, full of glossy photos and hagiography in three languages. The actual CD holder is just an envelope stuck to the inside back cover.

People say that von Karajan was the greatest conductor ever; him or Richard Wagner. Who can tell? Certainly not me, that's for sure. But I do have quite a lot of von Karajan in my collection. And this album is overall very nice.

Especially lushly gorgeous are the Finale from Das Rheingold and the Presentation of the Rose from Der Rosenkavalier. This is what makes me think the CD is underplayed, because, as you know, I've only recently got inot Wagner, but the Rhinegold finale is so gorgeous, surely if I had heard it enough times, I would have explored further.

And the Presentation of the Rose...what can I say...justifiably one of the most loved duets in the entire cannon. My parents attended Der Rosenkavalier to celebrate their engagement. On the 25th anniversary, my father bought my mother some silver rose earrings. That is romance...

Over the past few weeks I have also jotted down a less-than-exhaustive list of tunes which have grabbed me:

• Enigma Variations - specifically Nimrod - Elgar. Lyrical and climatical
• Kinderscenen - Schumann. I am currently undergoing a sort of yearning for Schumann. As a youngster he fascinated me -as much the person as the music - then as I grew older he faded from my radar, but I am enjoying listening to the few pieces of his in my collection.
• Symphony No 94 "Surprise" - Haydn.

Silly Olympics a step closer

London survives cut

Hopefully, in 8 years time we will have Beach Volleyball on Horse Guards Parade, Synchronised Swimming in the Serpentine, Diving in Trafalgar, Sailing at Brixton Marina, and Archery in Hyde Park.

And football at Wembley (As if...)

I think following the debacle of Atlanta 1996 and the appalling standards of TV coverage in Los Angeles in 1984, The USA should never be allowed to stage another Olympics, and New York should, therefore, be ruled out. But I suppose money talks, and the US have better resources to fund the necessary backhanders than, say, Havana...

Voice of the 21st Century?

Feature on the amazing Rolando Villazon.

I saw - and more importantly, heard - him in Contes d'Hoffman at Covent Garden. My first blog post was Oh my; my second post was Woot! Yay! and Huzzah!

I bought the Italian Arias CD, and every time I play it- which is a lot - I am startled at how gorgeous his voice is. I would seriously recommend to anybody who has a musical note in their body to buy it.

The last week of May 1985

I was seventeen

On the news they said that Kevin Moran is to get his medal. The FA Challenge Cup Committee met today and decided that the shame, humiliation, embarrassment and suspension were punishment enough.

We were naturally very pleased and full of celebrating today that Kev’s getting his medal.

I phoned Louise’s mother to find out how Lou is, so she gave me the hospital number (it’s a BUPA private one) only it was engaged, so I presumed Andrea was on the line. I tried Louise again – and got through. It was nice to hear from her again. It’s amazing how more attractive friends seem after a few days apart. She’s feeling fairly okay, apart from the pain but as I pointed out it’s better to have the pain of an operation now than risk the appendix starting up and grumbling in twelve months time.

Most people would think that the sort of day we have passed has been boring. But the point is, it is not so much what you do, but who you pass your time with and in what mood you are. When you have messed around all day with Andrea, Andi, Angela and Sandi, you can’t help feeling cheerful. We have laughed, played the fool, and generally had the maddest of conversations

Today started well enough – indeed, come to think of it has continued in much the same vein, only I've just played my Ant ‘A’ sides, and realised that it is four years ago tomorrow that I bought Stand and Deliver. Four years ago – my youth has vanished in a cloud of smoke. Mind you, those Ant records are class – no wonder I was so mad on them as a child! Because, obviously, at seventeen I was old and grown up...

I did some Euro History revision: quite an achievement don’t you think, considering I hate the subject! I spent most of the day knitting.

I caught the bus to Stretford and walked up Edge Lane. I spent the whole afternoon with Grandad and Auntie June. We had a good laugh, first of all struggling with a Z-Bed that they bought yesterday, because Tony’s (Aunite June's son, so therefore I suppose my step uncle) coming to stay for a couple of nights. Then we chatted for ages. We looked at photos, including one of Grandad at the age of about two, and one of my great-grandfather when he was a farrier with the Royal Field Artillery in WW1.

After tea I caught the 41 to Holly Royde College. The lecture was about voting patterns and voting behaviour. Nothing, really, that one didn’t know already. Amazing how you can wait forty minutes for a bus that comes every thirty minutes.

I walked into Sale. It was a gorgeous day – I felt hot with just my pink blouse on I assume I was also wearing a skirt or shorts or somesuch..., there was not a cloud in the sky, and it was so nice that people even smiled at you. I went into Tescos to do loads of food shopping. It was great. I adore shopping. Part of the fun of cooking is the shopping – even when it does make your arms drop off.

On the way home I noticed that Mrs J ex next door neighbour - her ex-husband still lives there was chatting to Mrs M who's still around, aged 102, so I waved and she came over to chat. She’s looking healthier, she’s lost weight, doesn’t look so harrassed, and no longer smells. She’s very cheerful and is living in Hawick (or Horwich- I can’t read my own writing) – she’s just home to collect her things and that.

This is my truth tell me yours

All my recods by forty...

I bought this five or six years ago, when the Manic Street Preachers were the hottest thing in pop for grown-ups. Of course, they had been around for years, adored by all the slightly nerdy Indy guys I call (ed) my friends in the Nineties. We used to laugh about one of the guys from Uni. We met him through the Labour Club; he subsequently drifted to the Socialist Workers. He used to oscillate between the SWP and being a Born Again Christian (man in need of an emotional crutch?). He was from Tredegar in South Wales, and we used to call him the Manic Sreet Preacher.

This is a good album. Not a great album, but one with a number of good rock anthems. It's a while since I've played it, and I enjoyed listening to it, but there's nothing to really tip me into emotional outpouring about the music, and cerrainly nothing to inspire me to select this spontaneously. I expect I shall be in my Forties before I hear it again.

Best tracks: - If You Tolerate This Your Children Will Be Next; Tsunami; and My Little Empire (mainly for the words, which was ace)

A few weeks ago I threw the word Tsunami into conversation. People divided between those who knew the word and those who didn't. Those who knew it did so because of this record.

Virtual Brownie Point for whoever names the next CD artist alphabetically...

Cup Final Omens

OMG - reading an old diary I read that every season that we have two players sent off, we win the FA Cup. Well, both Darren Fletcher and Cristiano Ronaldo (our teenagers...crikey, I'm old enough to be their mother...), got their marching orders on Saturday.

I did warn you - it's the FA Cup final on Saturday.

League football has recently been verboten in my house and on this blog. But not FA Cup football...

1985 Cup Final

and one or two other things besides...

Cup Final Day. Ten pages in the diary, as opposed to the general average of about two...And I'm going to reproduce every single word here...(No, I'm not...).

I'm growing in excitement. This increased during Abide With Me and the National Anthem. Then the match kicked off.

The first half was more tense than exciting, with too many stoppages. Robbo was booked, Gray should have been. Peter Reid had one chance, cleared off the post by John Gidman. Nothing for United.

The second half was another matter altogether. It looked like being a really good match of football. There was a bit niggly, but there were a few good incidents. Norman almost scored, only the brilliance of Southall stopped him. Next talking was a pretty crude tackle – foul – by Kevin Ratcliffe on Frankie Stapleton. He should have been booked. Then Andy Gray was booked, which was justice enacted.

The next incident – probably the biggest talking point, undoubtedly the most controversial event. Peter Reid was going forward, and had managed to get himself into a reasonable scoring position. So Kevin Moran flung himself at Reid. It was a pretty crude – dreadfully uncharacteristic – foul, deserving of a booking…no doubt about that. But it was not deserving of anything worse. So I was shellshocked when the referee pointed to the tunnel.

All hell broke out, Kevin refused to go, and all the United players – and some of the Everton players – were protesting. But to no avail, Kevin was off. He was in tears: I never thought that I would live to see the day that Kevin Moran cried. Not that I blame him, though – I was in tears as well, and I also bit a gaping hole in my scarf. A few months later, I recounted this to Kevin and he laughed...I wouldn’t have minded if it had been a really dreadful hacking down (like Willie Young on Clive Allen in 1980) but it wasn’t. One thing that did cross my mind was that Peter Willis the referee was the same fella who sent Andy May off from Maine Road against Oldham for no particular reason.

Obviously, with Kev off the pitch, and sitting very, very dejected on the bench, United had to reorganise. Strangely enough, United went from strength to strength. Or perhaps not so strangely. A team of internationals, such as United were, a team of thorough…and determined professionals, are going to be stronger than to allow unjust decimation upset them. They were beauty to watch, and Arthur Albiston – of all people – nearly scored a winner.

Extra time began. What a half hour. In every department United totally outclassed Everton. Ten minutes from the end Norman – super Norman – ‘Gripper’ they call him, got the ball on the right, and floated it over in the direction of the goal. Even Neville Southall could do nothing about it, it was such a pin point accurately curling shot…what a way to score in the FA Cup Final! All was needed was to hang on for ten minutes, probably the longest ten minutes of the season, undoubtedly the longest ten minutes of the match.

Finally, the whistle blew…and the happiest fella at Wembley had to be Kevin Moran. The tears forgotten, he had a big grin on his face, and he and Ron Atkinson were hugging each other. It wasn’t until Bryan Robson collected the cup -–the Football Association Challenge Cup – that it began to sink in…it is now ten minutes to eight, and I cannot appreciate it yet. Everybody was marvellous in their own way.

Two and a half pages of detailed player-by-player analysis.

After Piccadilly Sport finished I went out to the garden, needing to work off my surplus energy and excitement.

I watched the news. ITV had a different camera angle…I have never seen a tackle so obviously ball winning. So it was with horror that I learnt that FA Rules say that a sent off player does not get a medal.

I don’t think I have read so many papers on one day. On the way to mass I bought the People and the Mirror and th Express. Pauline got a Mail.

The People describes Kevin as callous. How could anybody describe Kevin Moran as callous. As I was saying to Judy – it’s just not Kevin. He hasn’t even been booked this season, he has never before been sent off in his life, and I don’t believe he’s in the least bit malicious. Judy’s quite philosophic about it – like me, she feels that Norm’s goal more than made up for it.

I went down with Matth to the corner of Woodhouse Lane and Washway Road. Honest to god, there were more people there than 1979 and 1983 put together. There were crowds deep, I saw everyone I know: I’m sure most people came down to see the Cup – I mean there were people there like (next door neighbours), and loads of other city fans. We stood around for ages, every car that went past got a cheer, especially if there were United fans in them. Then the drama began. The traffic lights were switched off, a helicopter hovered overhead, and along came a glare of headlights. Along came a cavalcade of motorbikes – police motorbikes good old outriders. Behind them…the open top bus – the familiar open top bus. What a round of applause they got, City fans running down the middle of the road on each other’s shoulders, United singing “We love you Whiteside, love you, we love you Whiteside, love you, we love you Whiteside…” more applause, waving of scarves, cheers – and there they were! In a few seconds they were gone. But it was enough to see the lads – imprinted on my mind are Jesper, Paul, Hoggy, and Sparky . There could have been others, I don’t recall, but I will never forget Strachy, Dux…and the Cup. They nearly dropped it on me!

Posh goes Kabbalah

Why do stars put their faith in Kabbalah?

Rabbi Barry Marcus, a member of the Chief Rabbi's cabinet and minister at the Central London Synagogue, says:

There's not a single Rabbinic authority on this planet who endorses what they're doing; the condemnation of them is universal.

If I'm being kind, I'll say that most of them have probably done well in their field and have everything that money can buy.

But they don't have the one thing money can't buy and that's inner peace, serenity and stability. So they go searching and they can afford to.

But if I'm being unkind, I'd say that the celebrities I've come into contact with are the most insecure people I've ever met in my life.

Blair to stand down?

Now Blair faces 'Loch Fyne accord'

I get irritated with newspaper talk. I imagine Tony Blair will stand down as Party Leader one day, either voluntarily or through force of circumstances.

The newspapers have been writing about the possibility since at least 1999.

I did read somewhere that he had no desire to go on and on and on like Thatch had done.

Political Gert would be reading and attempting to interpret every subtle nuance to work out who had said what to whom.

But where has Political Gert gone? (Answer she has a bagful of Brixton Roses to deliver before 10 June. She has, however, booked a concert for Election Day...)

Apart from Gordon Brown, my tips to take over are David Blunkett, David Milliband, David Lammy or David Beckham.

Your blogger spontaneously orgasms

Spitting Image plans TV comeback

Oh my god oh my god oh my god oh my god!!!!

Runs round and round and round in excitiement.

Please let it be the Spitting Image of the 80s, not of the 90s when it descended into toilet jokes.

Classic moments:

"And the vegetables?"
"They'll have the same!"

"The President's brain is missing!"

Kenneth Baker as slug

Norman Tebbitt

John and Norma Major filmed entirely in grey tone, except for the peas.

Bernard Manning's fart. The next day, Steph, usually sophisticated, composed and mature had the most stupendously unstoppable and infectious giggling fit at the remembrance of Bernard Manning's fart.

Spitting Image Spitting Image Spitting Image!!!!!

Calm me down calm me down calm me down

Classic classic telly.

Actually I've focused entirely on the political, but it wasn't just.

I so loved Eric Cantona's puppet.

Evening telly

It''s so typical - you go for weeks without there being anything particular on the TV, then in one night you have two programmes overlapping.

I began to watch Panorama, about a terrorist attack on London. It started promisingly, although I thought - explosion on northbound Victoria Line train at Vauxhall. Well, I'll be blown up. Then they said it was at half eight in the morning, so I thought - ha, I'd still be at home in my dressing gown. Hmm, the last thing my employer would need that day would be an auditor. So I'd stay home desperately surfing the internet whilst simultaneously channel hopping on the TV.

So I switched over to the South Bank Show, about the RSC's Othello. About Othello in general. Otello is one of my favourite operas, and in my typical ass backwards style I thought it was about time I got to know the play. Interesting programme, although I am not entirely sure it taught me anything I didn't already know. Which is pretty impressive, considering that I haven't ever actually seen the play.

Someone or other was talking about the fact that constantly there is this contrast drawn between the blackness of Othello and the whiteness of Desdemona, which acts as a juxtaposition to the ambiguities and contradictions in the characters and the actors. I remembered that that was something I love about Shakespeare - multiple levels of meaning can be read into what is a relatively simpe play.

Oh, and I have a ticket for this production. Bought yonks ago! I'm so looking forward! Anthony Sher is Iago. He's famous, innit?

There is so much drama in life, in politics, in football, in opera, in Shakespeare. Yet people rave about soaps, and C-list celebs, and Footballers Wives/Bad Girls. How dull! Give me life, politics, opera, and Shakespeare any day.

And blogging of course.

In the coming week I will read all my blog roll, and anyone else who fancies being a linkwhore in this comment box...!

Observer on Valkyrie

Waterloo for Wagner?

Vote Labour!

Jim Davidson leaves Britain to escape Blair government.

Weren't Paul Daniels and Andrew Lloyd Webber supposed to be doing the same.

In the name of God, go now.

Nothing will be more pleasing than the manner of your going.

Crazy headlines

Today's Opera News headlines read like it was April 1st

Los Angeles Philharmonic Cellist Leaves Stradivarius on Doorstep Overnight, Instrument is Stolen

"Opera Boot Camp" Sets Up Montreal Satellite

German Theater Issues Casting Call For Operatic Swine

Anti-Terrorism Laws Passed to Protect Sydney Opera House

Donald Rumsfeld's Words Set to Chamber Music

Piers Morgan sacked

Bugger me backwards with a traffic cone.

Editor sacked over 'hoax' pictures

Too late for this week's HIGNFY, though...

In the sidebar on the same page is link saying Iraqi abuse claims dog Blair. Is it just me that had to read it three times to work out what it was saying?

May 1985 Part 2

I got three books from the library - Briggs' Age of Improvement; Hearder's Europe in the C19th, and Marx and Engels' Communist Maniesto.

Piccadilly Sport was nearly all City, but who cares. There's a forty five thousand crowd at Maine Road, not bad for a Second Division game - not bad for a first division, come to think of it. There's a second half commentary on City, who are leading 5-0. I said at half past two that if City go up, United will win the Cup.

Going up, going up, going up. Denis Tueart is having difficulty getting his words out...but reckons there's still time for City to throw away a five goal lead. I wish I had gone now, I was thinking of doing so, but couldn't be bothered.

I turned off the radio and on the telly, to see all the City fans on the pitch. United won at QPR.

I listened to Piccadilly Sport - and also Radio Two and Manchester, it's nearly all City. It's true after all - Billy McNeill is superhuman - he was on both Piccadilly and Manchester at the same time.

I watched the News. A stand caught fire at Bradford, killing at least forty people. It would have been worse if there was a fence...it's now got me worrying about Old Trafford.

I watched Match of the Day. There was no music, and Jimmy Hill wore a black tie.

I mowed half the lawn, then Matth took over so that I could change my bed and that while listening to Kid Jensen. I decided to lean out of the bedroom window and hurl abuse at Matth down in the garden. Out of the corner of my eye I saw the sunlight catch the edge of a car. Instinctively, I glanced over in the direction of the car. I just happened to notice it was outside Paul McGrath's house, and it looked like a silver Sierra. "I wonder if that's Kev's?" I asked myself. Then, "No, don't be an idiot." Eventually I went out to Church and as I rounded the corner, I noted that it was Kevin's. "Aha," thinks I "just wait til I see Judy tomorrow." On my way home I noticed that he had gone.

Over tea, the family got chatting. Mummy was asking if Ollie had been keeping me up to date on the latest prices the touts are asking for Cup Final tickets. I replied that I hadn't really been speaking to Ollie, and I added that no doubt he'd be full of the baptism. So Mummy asked me who was being baptised. I said Paul McGrath's son. Pauline said it had seemed fairly quiet outside his house as she went past. She then added that she had seen a fella walking down the drive in leather trousers, and presumed he must have been a United footballer.

"Well," I said, "Kevin Moran's car was parked outside."

"Was that the silver one?" asked Pauline. I said yes and she said that he had got into it. Meanwhile, Mummy, Daddy, and Matth were kind-of semi-amazed at the way nothing escapes the notice of Pauline and me!

Bits and pieces...

A while ago, you will recall, I wrote to the Beeb asking for a programme to be repeated because I only caught the second half of it. I suggested that they repeat during the planned Opera Month, and, guess what, it's going to be on BBC2 on 12 June.

Other programmes on BBC2 include an 'Arena' profile of Pavarotti (Zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz); Mozart's Don Giovanni (the 'D' of the essential ABCD of Opera, the others being Aida, La Boheme and Carmen - although my fave Mozart opera is Marriage of Figaro); Britten�s' Turn of the Screw, and a feature on Britten's paedophilia (how tabloid...); and a live broadcast from Covent Garden of Faust , starring Simon Keenlyside, thought by many to be absolute delicious, Bryn Terfel National Treasure, and the Lasagnes, who are, well, the Lasagnes...

And, of course, Act 3 of Valkyrie from Glastonbury. BBC4 - available by cable satellite or freeview - has further offerings.

I also moaned about the Colisseum's ban on taking drinks outside. This did not present a problem on Tuesday.

I also promised a while ago to recommend a damn fine production on the Performance channel - Sky 202 - Angela Gheorghiu in La Traviata. It's on on Monday at 10.10; 15.10 and 20.15. I would highly recommend it. If you want some pre-viewing reading, I would suggest this, but it's just fine to kick off your shoes, sit back, and enjoy, arguably, Verdi's most *accessible* opera.

I have one gripe with this. At the beginning of Act 2 Scene 2 (or Act 3 if you opt for the 4-Act version) is a party with Toreadors and Flamenco dancers, supposedly from Madrid. I actually think that this scene is so naff in this production it almost jeopardises the otherwise gorgeousness. Especially in comparison to a wonderful Zefferelli production that Artsworld broadcast that had a genuine Spanish Gypsy Flamenco group that were just ace...(and a genuine Spanish conductor who did try to be a bullfighter once upon a time...)

But this would be worth watching for Diva Gheorghiu's dresses alone...

Valkyrie

It's about time I did a full review of ENO's Valkyrie the other night.

How to pitch this? Hmm. Basically, Valkyrie is the second of four operas in Wagner's Ring Cycle. The Ring Cycle is based on various Nordic and Germanic mythologies. In full, the four operas of the Tetralogy are Das Rhinegold, Die Walküre, Siegfried, and Götterdämmerung. However, because ENO is committed to opera in English, they also translate the titles. (The links are to New York's Metropolitan Opera's detailed synopsis).

The story of the Valkyrie is very simple. Siegmund seeks refuge in a hut where Sieglinde lives. Although she is married to someone else, Hunding, they fall in love and then realise that they are long-estranged twins, the children of Wotan, King of the Gods. Siegmund knows him as Walse, a mortal. He knows he must kill Hunding and calls on Walse for the magic sword (Nothung). Coincidentally, Sieglinde remembers that on her wedding day, a stranger left a sword, which no one has been able to pull out of the an ash tree.

There's going to be a fight between Siegmund and Hunding, so Wotan instructs his daughter, Brunnhilde, a warrior, his illegitimate daughter by Erda, the earth goddess, to protect Siegmund. Incidentally, Brunnhilde has 8 sisters - the Valkyries, who later perform the famous Ride.

Wotan's wife Fricka, Goddess of Marriage, tells Wotan that he must protect the marriage of Sieglinde and Hunding, rather than encourage the incestuous relationship between the twins. Wotan instructs Brunnhilde to destroy Siegmund, but when she realises how much Siegmund and Sieglinde are in love she disobeys Wotan. But Wotan destroys Nothung the Magic Sword, and Hunding kills Siegmund. Brunnhilde consoles Sieglinde with the news that she is with child, and that child will be a hero - Siegfried of the third part.

Because Brunnhilde has disobeyed Wotan, he has to banish her. She is his beloved daughter, existing only to do his will, so it breaks his heart to have to put her on a mountain in a deep sleep. He calls on Loge the God of Fire to protect her with a ring of fire, awaiting the day that a hero who knows no fear comes to rescue her. (that hero, incidentally, will be Siegfried).

Virtual Brownie point if you have got this far...

Die Walküre exists for a number of reasons. One is to explain the background to Siegfried, and why he goes to rescue Brunnhilde; 2 is for the gorgeously sumptuous lush music; and 3 is for the interpersonal relationships between, especially Siegmund and Sieglinde the twins; and Wotan and his beloved daughter Brunnhilde. In addition, of course, we have potentially an amazing visual spectacle.

On Tuesday night, the orchestra was lush, the music beautiful. Not in a "Oh I recognise that aria" way, but the harmonies, and for me, the way the brass comes through like velvet. I was very disappointed in the visual spectacle. After Rhinegold, which was full of bright dramatic colour and action, I was disappointed that Valkyrie was conducted almost totally in monochrome. I missed the bit where Brunnhilde told Sieglinde that she was with child. I also blinked and missed Siegmund's death - damn good thing there was a film crew on stage to capture it. There were some good gimmicks - trust me, you have to watch The Ride when it is televised from Glastonbury (me, I shall either be walking The Burren, or nursing the hangover of my life. Or both...).

But I suppose what got me was the lack of eroticism. The programme banged on and on about it, but I was not convinced. Sure, Sieglinde lay on the kitchen table and provocatively felt Siegmund up (much to the tutting of seriously elderly people near me - WTF did they expect). But for me a lustful grope is not erotic. Similarly, frequent silhouette shots of the twins shagging is not erotic. Nor Wotan and Brunnhilde romping, firstly on the floor, then on a hospital trolley. the eroticism is partly in the singing, and partly how they interact with each other. You know, the Acting bit - it is, after all, musical drama.

I really enjoyed it, and can't wait for Siegfried in the Autumn., but am looking even more forward to next summer at Covent Garden.

My initial reaction.

May 1985 Part 1

Lower Sixth and the living is easy. Or, Seventeen, not yet a woman...

Before school I had a nice long chat with Esther about the Second World War and Vietnam War. She agrees that all the news reports are really interesting, and that the next week is going to be very interesting indeed.

I spent most of lunch time walking round Altrincham looking for shops that sell black and white film for my camera. The only possible shop is Photo World (just near the new Sainsburys) - only, being a Wednesday, it's shut.

Mrs Bm told me I wasn't needed in orchestra so I went home to watch Romania v England. The final score was 0-0. Maybe not wonderful, but considering it's away, it does a hell of a lot more for England and Northern Ireland than it does Romania.

I spent all the time from six o'clock to eight o'clock doing - and finishing - both Stats and Pure homework while listening to Bruno Brookes and Mozart. I had a break to see an AJP Taylor discourse on the Paris Peace Conference. What he was saying was interesting, but his delivery style is hesitant, intellectual and wordy-mixy-up. Did you know that Harold Nicholson describes going into Woodrow Wilson's flat in Paris, and seeing great men crawling around the floor discovering cities and areas unknown to them, which they duly distributed to various states.

I did some Govt homework, helped by the wonderful Andy Crane.

I then watched a fascinating programme made in the 1960s called Leningrad, a City at War, about the seige of Leningrad that lasted for 900 days. Throughout the winter of 1941/2, the worst for 100 years, the citizens of Leningrad survived on three times below starvation level, electricity for an hour a day. It was very moving to see the strength of will against adversity; a fine example of the better aspects of Communism was the level of organisation and the acceptance of dreadful conditions - the only way to prevent a Nazi take over of the city uninvaded since the days of Peter the Great.

Do you realise that I have had seven - yes, seven - free lessons today. Both Mrs Mc and Mrs Pe were at Ironbridge.

I went to Stats (it was quite novel having a lesson) and then with the library being so crowded, Sam P and I went to the Common Room, only that was pretty crowded too. So we just chatted to Katie and Iyla.

After lunch Louise and I went to the library, but decided to find a quiet corner to work. Instead we just chatted and messed around. After school, we had Italian.

Today has been okay, in fact I have really enjoyed today. Not once have I felt frustrated about the relationship between work to do and the time to do it in, nor about the relationship between things wanted to buy and the money with which to buy it. Nor, come to think of it, am I the least bit concerned about my relationship with Andrea. We haven't made up yet, we will only make up if I make the first move, and as I won't do that, it's up to her to make the first move. Both of us may be as stubborn as hell, but if she doesn't do anything by the end of next week, it will prove to me that I mean nothing to her, and that will make me even happier than I am now, which isn't bad, because I'm pretty happy now, having spent most of the freetime today with Andi and Sandi. Andrea and I had fallen out - the day after Steve Davis lost the World Final to Dennis Taylor, she arrived at school when I was reading the Sports pages and assumed I was doing it as a wind-up

I watched 'Berlin - The Doomed City'. It wasn't as moving as Leningrad, but interesting.

I got up early and I went out to town. I returned my book to Central Library. I went to the Hallé Ticket Office and chatted to an old lady because the queue was really long. I queued for three quarters of an hour, because it is members first day booking for the Proms.

I tidied my bedroom while listening to Dave Ward. Andy 'Crazy Legs' Crane was also on. United won at Norwich.

I watched the scoring of the Eurovision Song Contest. You wouldn't believe it, but Norway (you know - Norge null points) won. Mind you, after having said that, if you bear in mind that handicap of being in the Eurovision Song Contest, it's not a bad song "Let it swing let it rock and roll, let it swing let your feelings take control."

The news was all about Reagan's trip to Belsen, and to the Bitberg SS cemetery, which has caused worldwide controversy.

I played Dominoes with Matth, and we also looked at slides. I then phoned Andre, and said I was sorry. Being Andrea, she just said "It's okay" and seems prepared to let the matter rest. It's great to have good friends. I suggested that she came to Old Trafford, but her bedroom tidying is of pressing urgency - she's turned it into a total mess in order to tidy it. Mind you, she wouldn't really get the full satisfaction because I heard on the radio that Mark Hughes is out of the game with a groin strain. Andre claims she knows all about that.