Gertsamtkunstwerk

ASBOs

It was interesting yesterday being at a family get together. The subject of ASBOs came up, even before Joseph arrived, deliberately, in his hoodie and baseball cap. Laurence was arguing that he ought to have been ASBO'd for firing paintballs out of the bedroom window at passing cars. He and Jack were furious at the signs in many shops that say 'Only two schoolchildren at a time'. Joseph has made it quite clear to me that the wearing of a hoodie and baseball cap does not a criminal make. And I totally agree with all of them.

And, you know, I do agree. But the simple fact is that all three of them, and Dom, who I never got round to talking to, are all nice guys, good company etc and indisputedly, boys. The kind of men that I really like. There again, quite apart from their genetic headstart in life, they've all got good parents, and, in different ways, are all fully functioning members of society.

I can appreciate the frustration expressed by Jack, Laurence and Joseph, that they are being targeted and labelled. Laurence felt it's similar to racism. And, honestly, I agree and understand. I recall as a teenager the indignation I felt at being queue-jumped by old bags who decided that I didn't matter. I also sympathise entirely that whilst they are being banned from shopping here and wearing that, they are also being bombarded with messages to buy this and that, which translates into peer pressure. They've got the intelligence and background to have a sophisticated understanding of that. But who can blame them for lacking the maturity to resist - they are, after all, children, even Jack at 17.

I'm not sure that they ever intended to lobby and persuade me, but they have caused me to think. In my defence, way back at the start of the hoodie debate, I laid the blame firmly at the feet of Bluewater. Perhaps it would be just easy to say, "Hey guys, that's life, get used to it" but that's just not fair.

But, when it boils down to it, I don't suppose any one of them will be ASBOd, because they are being brought up to have high aims in life, to think for themselves, to develop a range of interests. Of course, I'm entirely biased, because it's family etc, but they've got a flying start in life from their parents, and, I would argue, from the extended family, too, and whatever minor hiccups they may have along the way, they'll get over them.

The problem society really does have is with the tiny minority of the alienated. Perhaps it makes me seem like an old bag, but it does feel intimidating to be face a gang of people, of whatever age, with intimidating body language. And I will say, the installing of CCTV has transformed my road in that respect. What is sad s the lack of inter-generational communication. One of the great things about my extened family is the age range - as a child, I had cousins well into adulthood who treated me with respect; the least I can do now is return that respect to the youngsters of the family. But that's easy, because it's family, because I'm showing respect to the creme de la creme. There are so many 'Youth' organisations crying out for volunteers; there are so many adults who moan about the Youth of Today, who moan about the lack of meaning in their lives, who fill their leisure time with crap telly, or whatever. I'll be honest, I'm not prepared to make that time commitment. But I would argue that I have in the past, and probably will do in the future. And I'm pretty damn sure that the old bags who pushed me out of queeues when I was a child would never have dreamed of giving their time.

Did you know that 2005 is International Year of the Volunteer

Over protecting?

Someone writes in the Observer about allowing her eight year old twins to roam away from the coddling nest of home and called it Don't fence us in, Mum

Growing up in a west Yorkshire hamlet, I enjoyed limitless freedom from the age of four. Entire summers were spent playing in the woods and a derelict three-storey mill with perilous holes in its rotting floors...

...incidences of child abduction have remained virtually unchanged since 1950, yet today's 'caution culture' has dramatically altered how young people play...'Traffic is the main factor and it's an absolutely valid concern,' says Adrian Voce, director of the Children's Play Council. Although the volume of traffic-related accidents and deaths is falling, Britain still has the highest child road-death figures in Europe.

A number of people tell me that they could not survive without their cars. I don't dispute that fact at all - it is pretty obvious to me that much of Britain is constructed and designed to make people dependent on their cars. Even if that isn't the intention of many planning decisions, it is the inexorable consequence. An out-of-town supermarket eventually forces people to use it as it destroys the pre-existing town centres, not to mention the stranglehold the supermarkets have over the suppliers. A few years ago I visited a friend on the Cambridgeshire/Essex/Suffolk borders. We had fun going into a show home; for the rest of the day I saw a plethora of signs for new housing developments. As far as we could discern, there were no new schools being built, and certainly not within walking distance of these non-communities. For decades, it has been said that a major cause of social breakdown on council housing estates is the lack of community infrastructure. On the prosperous designer estates of Silicon Fen I can't imagine the anomie taking on quite the same characteristics, because the Henrys and Jessicas will be ferried from gym sessions in French to judo on horseback to structured play with Clementine and Rupert, but I would imagine it being pretty soul-destroying to be a child or teenager growing up there, cocooned from human contact by the hermetic seal of the motor car. The peak commute into Cambridge seems far more stressful, as a matter of routine, than my half-awake stumblings from bus to Tube to bus. (Admittedly, I have the dream commute, the worst aspect remains the bit down Brixton Hill, and I'm afraid I can't afford to live in Central Brixton - actually, I couldn't afford to live here if I hadn't bought ten years ago...).

Someone pointed out to me that she has no choice but to use her car, there isn't an integrated transport system. Fair point. I had a conversation with someone else (who I dislike intensely) who was moaning about her local council. They refuse to empty her bin because it's too full. She's been told they should be recycling more 'but I don't have time to recycle'. I giggled and said bluntly "Why not? It's only the future of the planet." She also complained that she wants a bench on a local patch of land, which seems an entirely reasonable demand. So I suggested that she did something about it eg drop a short note to her councillor, for a start.

It was illustrative to me. Benches don't appear on the local greenspace by magic. But if people don't ask for one, lobby for one, campaign for one, hold their local elected representatives for one, they will never be able to campaign for an integrated transport structure. Or even for a bus route to include in their Tudorbethan Housing Development. London does have an integrated transport policy, not by magic, but because for decades people have campaigned for it. When it goes wrong, as it often does, it goes wrong spectacularly, but when it works - more or less - it is amazing. I was quite shocked yesterday that a short bus trip up Mansfield Road, in Nottingham, which prides itself on its public transport cost us £1.20. That is the cash fare for a bus journey of any distance in London. I was also struck by the demography of our fellow passengers on a half empty bus (early Saturday afternoon), which, apart from us, seemed to consist entirely of pensioners and teenagers.

I think it's sad when I see people I know become tied to their cars when they have children, and yet as this article illustrates, the quality of childhood is being ruined by cars, curtailing their freedoms and causing dramatic increases in childhood asthma, both over time, and where traffic congestion is high.

I believe in, say, fifty years time people will see the turn of the century dependence on the motor car as a lunatic aberration. To get to that situation requires more than just observing the craziness of the current situation, wishing for change, and operating congestion charge schemes. It requires an analysis of the whole way we live our lives, from obesity and the junkfood culture, anti-social behaviour, climate change and world poverty. I think we are all 'against' these. I was going to make some quip about how many Edinburgh protesters will be going by car or plane, but actually, going by coach or train is not environmentally neutral. The simple fact of holding a mass demonstration in a central location is arguably part of the problem, not the solution.

And yet it would be idiotic to wish for a return to some mythical age when - allegedly - good quality food products were available at affordable prices in every local shopping parade. It's fanciful to assume that this was a happier era, because it only really worked because women knew their place was in the home, perhaps on valium, and men were expected to follow the same job and precisely same routine for forty years, only getting promotion when it was his turn, and woebetide if your sexual preferences didn't fit this model, or your skin was the wrong colour, or you rather fancied spending a day partying with relatives in the Midlands, and the night dancing with one's cohabitee in an 80s disco in a Kings Cross pub with late licence, and a Sunday nursing a hangover, happy in the knowledge that it is not necessary to prepare Yorkshire pudding and roast beef because you will just be heating a King Prawn Makhani and Rice conveniently procured by car from Streatham's out-of-town Sainsbury's supermarket.

ENO to introduce public executions surtitles

About time too, I reckon.

Sean Doran explains why.

Not everyone is happy

"Surtitles are," said David Pountney, "a celluloid condom inserted between the audience and the immediate gratification of understanding."

Sir Peter Jonas, now head of the Bavarian State Opera, said: "If ENO are doing what the audience wants, they should have public executions on the stage of the Coliseum. After all, the public wants capital punishment."

Dennis Marks, who succeeded Sir Peter at ENO, said: "It's yet another undermining of the principles on which ENO was founded."

So, Pountney is saying that people have no right to understand - that to do so is instant gratification and thus to be deprecated; Jonas is saying, that an organisation, largely funded by people who buy tickets and by tax payers, has no business being responsive to public demands and needs. By his logic there should be inadequate female toilet facilities at the Colisseum. And Marks is contradicting him perfectly, because ENO was founded, long before anyone imagined surtitles, supertitles, subtitles, or whatever, precisely to make opera accessible to, erm, the paying public.

The BBC is clearly blissfully ignorant that English operas at Covent Garden, for example, are performed with surtitles.

Séan Doran explained the reasons cogently on Today whilst the Editor of one or other opera magazine was snootily dismissive.

I haven't encountered any opera goers who wouldn't welcome surtitles at ENO. There are criticisms of singers' diction, some quite rightly, but, on the other hand, if, for example, you have four different vocal lines, with different words, often creating beautiful harmonies, the words are simply not distinguishable. I find that if I choose not to look at surtitles I don't notice them - for example, in Ballo at Covent Garden, which I know pretty well anyway, and the Italian diction was sufficiently clear (for me, anyway) to render them entirely surplus at times

I suspect that the criticisms may come from those that sit in the expensive seats downstairs, because, I think, they may have to crane their necks a little to see titles above the proscenium. From the cheap and middle-pricing seats upstairs, it does not require contortions.

I rather thought that the magazine editor is rather opposed to people attending an opera who don't know the libretto (as written AND as translated), as well as the score, backwards. Well, sod him. If he were to bother to ask, he would probably find that the majority of people who attend operas, or concerts, or plays, or art exhibitions, are not academic or professional experts in those fields but are looking for an enjoyable and thought provoking evening out without worrying about their purist credentials. They work for a living, and pay - not get paid - to attend these events, unlike critics and administrators. Sod him. Yay for surtitles. Power to the people!

I'm not saying that ENO, or other similar organisation should necessarily bow to every whim and demand, but I always view 'thin edge of the wedge' arguments as the last refuge of people who resist change for the sake of resisting change, lack the intellect to argue their point on its own (by inferrence, dubious) merits and lack the understanding of people - or perhaps disdain them - to understand that one change does not lead inexhorably to another. I think that the 'public want public executions' argument should automatically lead to the disregarding of any point by that user.

The Creation

(or Die Schöpfung). Almost without doubt my favourite Haydn work. Probably the first of his I knew, and knew well, at least in 'highlight' form. As a teenager I was very fond of Haydn, and I am currently going through a 'Haydn is gorgeous' phase. I played the CD I have three times over the weekend - it's not a CD that is satisfied with one play.

Both the concert programme and the BBC Building a Library recommend the von Karajan Version. The BBC also mentions three other versions. None of which include the one I have, which HMV states has been deleleted: David Willcocks/Academy of St Martin-in-the-Fields, Choir of King's College Cambridge/Heather Harper/Robert Tear/John Shirley-Quirk. To be honest, the male soloists are nothing special, but Heather Harper is to die for on this.

Anyway, back to Tuesday night. The Philharmonia and Philharmonia Voices under András Schiff with Ruth Ziesak, Helge Rønning and Christian Gerhaher.

I knew, really, with that line-up that it would be sung in German, but I kept trying to convince myself - no, this is London, it will be in English. So, I was disappointed when reading the programme that it would be in German. As far as I can gather, Haydn set it to two different libretti, one in English, based on Milton, and one a German translation of the English, so it seemed perverse to me to perform it in German in London. As I made my way to my seat I reminded myself not to let the language get in the way of my enjoyment. And it didn't.

There is a performance at the Barbican in July, followed by Lakeside Fireworks, that looks like it will be in English. I'd be there like a shot if I wasn't already booked for Die Walküre at ROH*

My overall impression of the concert: Haydn won with utterly gorgeous music - to quote the Barbican site

...musical gold. As one indelible number follows another, it seems as though the composer’s invention could go one forever.

There were a couple of things that irked me. I wasn't sure whether it was supposed to be period or modern - the timpani and trumpets were period instruments, the rest, as far as I could see were modern. And the style of playing was definitely Romantic, whereas I think it deserves a Baroque interpretation, more crispness and less lushness. My preference - your mileage may vary. The chorus sounded gorgeous - they all looked terribly young, (and thus, sounded fresh and light), or am I just getting old - but I would have preferred a larger choir - 38 are listed in the programme - especially for my favourite chorus - The Heavens are Telling. And I have to say that I found the dancing of the conductor to be very off-putting.

I thought Christian Gerhaher was very special and I would definitely pay good money to hear him again. Sweet, lyrical and with subtle nuances of shading and colouring, I felt that he was feeling the role. Helge Rønning was acceptable, if a bit generic. Ruth Ziesak started reasonably well. As the work progressed I found her increasingly disappointing. Then in the third part, she seemed to totally bliss out and deliver some blissful singing.

Although not a great performance, and one I am certain will be bettered at the Barbican, it was lovely, because the music is so beautiful, so accessible. What isn't there to like about Haydn? Beautiful tunes and orchestration, lovely contrasts between the different voices, changes of mood and tones. And the words. Although the work is religious, I really don't think you have to be religious to appreciate it, as you don't for Handel's Messiah. You have to have a 'soul' (or whatever you wish to call it), but there again, you need that to appreciate a good proportion of secular music.

The Guardian carries a review. Ooh, she describes Christian Gerhaher as mellifluous. I love that word; it's almost onomatopoeic.

The Times also carries a review. Funny, I agree with the overall conclusion but not all the details!

*And no, none of my Walküre tickets are up for sale, not for love nor money nor all the tea in China. Eye teeth and right arms also not accepted

La clemenza di Tito

It seems quite a long time ago that I went to Gluck's La clemenza di Tito in a concert performance at St John's Smith Square, a venue so close to my workplace it's actually closer to the main entrance than my desk is!

It's not a well-known work, indeed, reportedly, it was the British premiere, even though he lived in the Eighteenth century. Clemenza struggles to get a mention in the first few hits thrown up by Google. His most famous work is (probably) Orfeo ed Euridice, from which comes the well-known Dance of the Blessed Spirits and  Che faró senza Euridice.

I thought it was really quite delightful, quite gorgeous music for a lovely summer's evening in a light and airy venue. It was performed by The Classical Opera Company and the Classical Ensemble conducted by Ian Page. There were six soloists, five sopranos, all on the young side, and one tenor.

Sesto - Marlene Grimson
Vitellia - Klara Ek
Annio - Arlene Rolph
Tito - Nigel Robson
Servilia - Rebecca Bottone
Publio - Sophie Bevan (so young she's still at University...!)

OF the singers, Klara Ek was undoubtedly the star. A strong, powerful voice, yet capable of lovely pianos. Although she obviously tired towards the end, it was a triumphant performance. All of the singers were pleasant to listen to, although I liked Nigel Robson les than the sopranos, all of whom I would be happy to hear again.

Structurally, it consisted of recitative followed by aria, which just the closing number being a 'chorus' of all six soloists. The stand-out aria is Se mai senti spirarti sul volto, of which you can hear a tantalising excerpt - or, indeed buy - Cecilia Bartoli's Gluck - Italian Arias

Obviously, never having heard the opera before, I really can't comment on matters on interpretation, but I don't even have to pretend to be knowledgable. It would be pleasant to hear it again, although I'm not sure I would rush out and buy it on CD. And I'm not sure that it would benefit much from being staged - like Mozart's more famous version, it suffers from not having much of a story.

I do not disagree with Andrew Clements' verdict in the Guardian.

Etiquette

I'm thinking of writing a book on Etiquette.

That's crap, by the way. The 'thinking' bit . And the 'writing' bit. Lack of stickability, you see. Not to mention that I know hardly any publishers. And it's probably been done before.

Proper etiquette, I mean. Not rubbish about which knife to eat with*, or how to address the ex-civil-union-partner of the daughter of a retired Rear Admiral.

It started in the pub on Monday. Conversation moved onto Funeral Directors. Jimmy said you should always tip the undertakers, the gravedigggers etc. I'm not arguing with him, but I'm not entirely convinced. Anyway, how on earth is one supposed to find out that you should tip undertakers? Hence the need for my Etiquette book.

Dealing with Tradespeople will definitely be one section. Actually, tipping is at least a chapter in itself.

And then there's way of behaving in a work context. Take this afternoon for example. I went to the lift lobby and called the lift "Lift!" I called. "Lift!" I called. That was no good, so I tried "When I'm calling you-oo-oo-oo oo-oo-oo," and it replied, "I will answer too-oo-oo-oo oo-oo-oo". No, that's a lie, too. I pressed the down button.

A lift (one of six possible) arrived; I was far from it, and two chaps walked briskly along the corridor and into the lift. Fair enough, thus far. Then one pressed the '0' button before I had even had a chance to walk into the lift. He made no attempt to press the door open button, despite empirical evidence that lift doors often close once the lift knows to which floor to go.

These two chaps stood there discussing something that seemed to be a Personnel matter. Or, rather, one did. The more junior made non-specific comments such as "It's a relief...it's not about people...it's not about the hours, as such." Clearly awkward, an awkwardness I felt. The more senior was looking at me as if to say "Excuse me, we're discussing a sensitive personnel issue here. What are you doing in our meeting?"

There will definitely be a chapter on lift behaviour.

It will be a bloody good book, tackling issues of etiquette that are relevant to the everyday life of everyday people.

There has to be a whole section entitled "Your conduct affects others - stop and think - it rebounds onto you" that would cover all those little areas which are not wrong, as such, and somebody could easily put a cogent argument counter to mine.

But, Rose, (wife? of Patrick, friend of Sophie's Mum - Tam?) who sat in front at me the RFH last night. I think you were probably from Hampstead. Don't know why I think that. Rose, if you happen to be reading this, which, I have to admit, I doubt: a bit less perfume next time, that's a dear. Or, if you do insist on bathing in it, less jigging around would send less wafting up my throat, causing me to cough. You can see where we're heading on this one, can't you Rose dear?

Update I was damned sure I'd published this before I left work. Obviously not. And now I feel I should change the time stamp...

Celebrity Crushes

Actually this post isn't really about celebrities or crushes. But, undeterred, on I go.

Last night I was in the bar at the Royal Festival Hall, when who should I see, standing not two feet away from me, but my favourite soprano Carolyn Sampson. I wondered whether I should go up and say hello, but felt really shy to do so, besides what would I say "I'm a big fan of yours"? "I really enjoyed you in the Nelson Mass. And Silete Venti. And Semele. And Monteverdi Vespers. And Christus am Olberge"? I mean, in the end it would be a bit lame. And anyway, I'm not sure about the ethics of approaching someone when they're 'off duty' but in a location closely related to 'on-duty'.

I was wandering past the main entrance to the office and there seemed to be a gathering of TV crews. I took a sneaky sidelong 'just because you're telly doesn't make you interesting' look and didn't recognise any of the reporters, anyway. So I got to thinking. There's a man on the BBC who reports on politics who's kind of cute. I won't put it further than that; he's far too young to be of any interest to me. But I could imagine, in a parallel universe, having a crushlet - superficial and transitory - on him. I think he's called James. (Looks a bit like Harry Potter).

Anyway, I thought, supposing he was outside the building doing a piece live to camera, and someone went up to him, grabbed him, landed a smackeroon on him and said "I have a superficial and transitory celebrity crushlet on you..."

Well, I figured, if I did it on Work premises it would be probbaly be a disciplinary offence of some sort. But if he was on the public highway and I was on lunchbreak, to which I am legally entitled, Work would have a shorter leg to stand on. If it were a random passer-by member of the public who did it, it would just be, potentially, great telly. If only in a superficial and transitory way.

My blog my rules

I wrote the previous entry in a fit of annoyance last night.

Just to make things absolutely clear.

1. I hate trolling
2. I hate spam
3. I delete Off Topic comments, which are usually pretty much the same as spam/trolling.

4. In blogging, as in life, I get 'included into' nothing. If I join, it's my choice.

And if you don't like that, pogue ma hone

PAFO

The essence of blog is to report about occasions when one's Significant Other (who shall remain nameless to limit his shame...) forces one to go to the pub and forces one to ebriate. "You can take a horse to water but you can't make it drink," he says. Well, Jimmy, have I got news for you. I'm not a horse, and it wasn't water.

So really quite late last night, perhaps even after half past ten, I went into the kitchen. My objective was to put a cup of warm milk into the microwave as a bedtime drink to enjoy during the final act of Simon Boccanegra I was watching on DVD.

From my dining room is a step down to the kitchen. Not a big step. Perhpas one centimetre; certainly no more than two centimetres. As I was negotiating my right foot entirely disappeared from beneath me, and I went over on my ankle, banging my knee in the process. Expletives that I didn't know I knew came issuing forth. Winded and not a little nauseous I had to sit down, but finally concluded that the injuries sustained were only to my pride.

Then I woke up this morning! I have a tiny area of tenderness at the top of my knee cap. Frankly, my knees are so knobbly and scarred it is difficult to tell where the new damage is. However, I discovered that stairs present a whole new set of challenges. They have to be negotiated gingerly, shuffled, one foot forward, the other following. Rather than a hearty left right left right. I have discovered that sitting down for a while causes a certain stiffness in the kneee so the first steps have to be limped. That does funny things to the thigh muscle. Eventually, it eases up and I can walk normally, feeling only a soupcon of twinge. But in the meantime I have attracted strange looks, some of them sympathetic. So I feel a bit of a fraud explaining that I'm not really injured at all, it's just a tiny knock on my kneecap.

And, of course this was the day that there was heavy traffic congestion in Brixton. This caused over-crowdedness on the bus going down the hill to the Tube, and may well have been the reason for over-crowded buses from Vauxhall to work. In consequence, my journey, which I can do in thirty-five minutes (at a pinch) took over an hour, of which only about five minutes was spent sitting.

I wonder what the incident was. Previous such congestion has been caused by, inter alia a shooting at a nightclub and a stolen van. On the other hand, I have also known them to be caused by a tiny utility hole in the road, or by a thoughtlessly parked car. I suppose I will never know. And very soon won't care.

Beniamino Gigli

I am not too sure why I bought this CD - possibly because I saw it in a shop and it wasn't expensive. My father was a Gigli fan - paid to see him at the Free Trade Hall, then, the next day, having heard on the grapevine, heard him again, for free, at Mass in the Hidden Gem

A great singer, of course; conventional wisdom states so. These tracks were all recorded in the 1930s or 1940s, so, of course, the quality suffers through primitive recording. But despite all that I don't especially care for the voice.

There isn't actually a great deal about him on the internet Grand-Tenori,  Opera Italiana are worth a look.

It's strange that I have this in my collection but nothing by Jussi Björling, Richard Tauber or Fritz  Wunderlich, something that needs to be remedied...

I am not getting a great deal of pleasure from listening to this CD. The first disc is filled with arias that feature in the repertoire of any half-decent "Italian" tenor, much of them lovely tunes. But I am enjoying them, despie the voice, rather than because. Far too much sobbing - sobbing, along with scooping and over-emphasising are trademarks of Gigli. But there's also something about the actual voice I don't like. Basically, it's a style of singing that has gone out of fashion, a sort of taking the higher notes in a sort of falsetto. I can't adequately describe it. But I don't like it.

There isn't a single track that I don't have a better version by another singer in my collection*

* and to pre-empt comments, not exclusively one other singer!

Ten Summoner's Tales

I bought this on the recommendation of someone who featured in my life a long time ago. (What's the betting I see him in the next few days...?) To be honest, I rarely play it. There are better Sting albums in my collection.

A collection of cleverly written and not unpleasant, but, ultimately, mediocrely forgettable songs. Best of the bunch is Everybody Laughed But You and Fields of Gold. The latter has been covered by a whole bunch of indifferent singers. It seemed rather lovely a dozen years ago. But, to my mind, it hasn't really stood the test of time.

Although I have always quite liked Sting, and The Police, I suspect I always read him/them as cold technocrats, lacking in passion, so I can never get really passionate or enthusaistic about them. Definitely more a cerebral than a visceral experience.

Overall, it is quite a pleasant album, and if this was part of a small collection, I would undoubtedly play and enjoy it often. But life is too short, and the collection too big for it to have any significance to me.

There is more Sting in my collection, but on tape.

Steeleye Span

It briefly seemed like a good idea. Then for a long time, it seemed like a bad idea.

In truth, it's not really that bad. But it really isn't any good. Most of the songs are Trad. arranged X.

Actually, most folk songs are Trad arranged X.

But this is neither fish nor fowl. Not really folk, because of the intrusion of too many electic instruments. On the other hand it's way too sappy to be rock. And the voices are way too irritating to be anything but, well, iritating.

So, worth having as a curiosity. Worth playing once every ten years or so. 

And I bet it doesn't feature in the Scaryduck Collection!

Thursday night is telly night...

...so Saturday night is Timeshift Telly night.

I can't understand people who say there's nothing on TV. Just look at Thursdays. Because Sky+ can only record two things at once, you end up ditching a programme of apparent interest, or scanning the Radio Times for rapid repeat (BBC4's ace for that).

For a few weeks we have been enjoying 1½ hours of pure comic genius as given to us by BBC2. Well, Dead Ringers is a bit hit-and-miss, but it's worth sitting through the misses for the hits. "Hello. I'm Fiona Bruce...!" Then there's the Robinsons, which I watched sort of by accident on Election night and have been subsequently hooked. Very subversive. A respectable moderately successful suburban family of three generations and myriad assorted, mainly dead (by misadventure) relatives. I suspect it is an accurate description of the silent and tolerable despair of many people's lives.

And then we get Kath and Kim. I have been informed that a second series was shown in New Zealand last year, so, yay! I suspect if it were British, I would hate it, as being too familiar. But being Australian, the strangeness can be explained by the otherness. Larger than life characters living lives of utter banality, thinking they have a lifestyle, as dictated by the media. And really very very funny.

The interesting thing about the Robinsons and Kath and Kim is the characters that I instinctively warm to - Maggie and Kell. Poor Maggie, desperate to be kind, lacking in self-esteem. And Kell, with his ghastly haircut and appalling dress sense, and his strange mannerisms , is, nevertheless a giant of a man. Caring, diligent, conscientious.

But the best of the lot was Ladettes to Ladies. It's a series - if you missed the first, catch the rest. I recorded it. thinking it would be probably be dire but might be excellent.

Excellent. The premise is clever - select ten ladettes and send them to Finishing School. The selection of the ladettes was clever, too. It seems that none of them is really bad - one was jailed for flashing her boobs in Falaraki but otherwise they don't appear to have criminal records, they don't believe the world owes them a living. They drink like fishes and are exhibitionists. But each one of them is intelligent, with strong, engaging, likeable personalities.

It was hilarious watching the women from the 'Finishing School'. One who was so plummy and so busy talking posh that she could barely string a sentence together, let alone articulate a thought; another who claimed never to have met a 'ladette' (maybe she should get out more from a narrow blinkered existence?) and another so up herself she was referred to on voice-over as Mrs English. And they seemed entirely non-plussed at the participant who is a gas-fitter. Shock, horror - gas fitter!

I found myself identifying with the Ladettes much much more than the pickled snobs. I did disagree with the Voice Over that suggested 'ladette' entered the vocab two years ago. I would see it as a mid-Nineties thing - Zoe Ball and Sara Cox were cited. And finally, I found a term I could identify with.

I've done it all - drinking like a fish, dancing on tables, removing my clothes. And that was just at Lambeth New Labour 'do's. We shall gloss over the student days, I think...!

Which then got me thinking. I liked all of the participants. All of them are fiercely independent, no one's going to tell them what to do. A couple were very scathing at the necessity of wearing heels. And skirts. You go, girl! I exclaim. All capable of communicating, socialising and enjoying themselves, with lively sense of humour. Not self-obsessed and self-absorbed, they'd be well out of place on Big Brother.

But what struck me was, in general, a lack of awareness of how to adapt one's behaviour to context. One was a PA and her bosses sent her on the course because she has a foul mouth and thought you'd have to go abroad to learn deportment. If she was a bad PA, she'd have been sacked.

None of them seemed to have a clue what to wear for a posh event. Even in my most ladette stage I had an instinct for putting on a posh frock when the occasion called for it. I wonder where I learnt that - maybe at University (Aka East Midlands Finishing School!). Partly from TV and magazines, I suspect. And despite the most 'ladette'-ish excesses of Lambeth Labour Group (one January someone suggested there should be a competition to see who could sleep with the most men by summer: I opted out of that one...!), we nevertheless knew how to behave ourselves in meetings, with officers and with the public. And understood what was needed to being to transform the Borough. I never turned up drunk to a meeting.

What was striking was all the participants seem to be from a working- or lower-middle-class background. Part of the finishing course involves removing their regional accents. I can't be doing with that. I notice regional accents when people are struggling to articulate themselves. But looking at Senior Broadcasters, Ministers, and other members of the 'Establishment', I see no problem with the many with noticeable regional accents. I certainly find that, having moved round the country, and mixing with people who have done likewise, I tend to have a less noticeable accent than I would have done if I had stayed in one place and mixed in a narrow group.

Some of the Finishing School techniques are interesting, but life is way too short to learn flower-arranging. And who wants to wear court shoes and twin-set-and-pearls, and sit with one ankle across the other. That's what DMs, trousers and long floaty skirts are for. the only lesson seems to be that flesh-revealing dresses are not really that nice to look at.

The Observer carries an article
How I learnt to be a lady (just about) - quote

I think it's a mistake to dismiss these sort of classes as old-fashioned or pointless because they build self-esteem and give people confidence.

. I'm all for self-esteem and confidence, I just think they are not things that can be taught and sit on the surface, but they come from within, from achieving something. Anything. Especially if it takes effort.

Grains of Sand

I like The Mission. Not that I'm a Goth or anything. I think I taped this from my brother. The Mission were quite big when I was a student. Gothery in general was big when I was a student and Sixth Former.

I like the dark brooding unrelenting nature of the album as a whole. My favourite tracks include Hands Across the Ocean;  Mr Pleasant - a lovely boppy poppy tune, yet with dark brooding Gothy undertones, and a bit of a Twenties style rhythm. Sophisticated pop. And yet, simple. Kingdom Come is really quite beautiful.

I think what I like about the best Goth stuff - like the best Punk - is that it is extremely tuneful, and also has complex instrumentalism. I guess that's why I find so much modern pop music so boring is that the tunes are predictable and the instrumentalisation is so bland.

Birds of Passage starts with a piano and background strings then that drmataic gravelly voice comes in. Then it builds up into a semi-anthemic chorus, with the drums coming in. There's something gorgeously haunting about the whole song. I think that's partly to do with the key it's written in. Then the guitar takes up the piano theme.

Heaven Sends You is one very erotic song that just builds up. Sweet Smile of A Mystery is yet another superb track.

I don't really know a great deal about The Mission, but, on the evidence of this album, they are gifted musicians. And they're on tour in September. Matt, if you're reading this, fancy a night out on the 20th? (Their only London date clashes with tickets I've already booked to La Fanciulla del West at the Royal Opera House).

I've probably had this album fifteen years and I have just realised how utterly utterly brilliant it is. Laugh at me but I've just fallen madly in love with The Mission. God, this album is good. Quite possibly the most underrated record in my entire record collection!

Così fan tutte

Last night at the English National Opera was Mozart's Così  fan Tutte. Perhaps you might wish to read this in conjunction with my visit to Covent Garden last autumn and a review of a Zurich production last month.

The cast was:
Fiordiligi - Cara O'Sullivan
Dorabella - Anne Marie Gibbons
Ferrando - Gregory Turay
Guglielmo - Mark Stone
Don Alfonso - Robert Poulton
Despina - Lilian Watson

Conductor - Edward Gardner

It is simply beautiful. Right now I am thinking it might just be Mozart's best opera - and this from someone who has asserted for years that Le Nozze di Figaro is the best opera written, ever.

I would say that it is an example of some of the most Mozartianly beautiful writing that Mozart ever wrote, of which Soave sia il vento is really up there as gorgeously sublime.

The Ultimate Three Tenors Concert?

Pavarotti loses voice before show

That's a Three Tenors concert I would give my right arm to attend - Carreras and Domingo, but no Pavarotti...

But don't go believing it will be the last one - where was it I read something about Germany 2006?

Wot, no blog!

Sorry about that - don't know what happened...!

I'm just going for a cigarette and when I get back I might tell you about all the little things that have gone wrong in a small-with-little-impact-way.

Or not. As the case may be. I've got work to do and all that.

Mañana. Inshallah.

A beautiful noise

Tonight, to Earls Court to see Neil Diamond. I booked six months ago, and in the interim I have slightly wondered whether I was wise. Sure, a great songwriter, but, really, not that great a singer, and not as young as he was.

So it was great to read Mike's review from Manchester. But returning to it to post a link made me realise that I ought to change my post title. But I’m not going to…!

I found it an entirely enjoyable evening. He isn’t a singer, at least not strictly. Nor is he a crooner. Nor is he entirely a speaker in the Leonard Cohen mould. But he has a voice that is unique, and idiosyncratic and it’s a sound that I love!

I was a little surprised at the demographics of the audience. Few children and teens, and a lot of pensioners, but whereas I had been expecting a mainly forty five plus audience, I was surprised at the large numbers of twenty-somethings, including quite a few groups of three or four young men. I was chatting with a woman beforehand and we were remarking on this, saying how it just shows that people actually don’t want to be classified like sheep and told what to like and what’s fashionable. She said her hero was Cliff. I was very good and just said, pleasantly, “He’s not really for me.” And I didn’t even mention my hero...

Neil Diamond performed for over two hours without an interval - there was no support act. He didn’t really have a break, except for leaving the stage once or twice between songs, but that was hardly a break, because the music was continuous. He did start by dancing around a little, although he calmed down, and did some songs sitting. I overheard someone comment on the way out – “He just went on and on! At his age!” (Although I heard someone on the radio last week talking about Death of a Salesman, and he commented that when it was written, someone in their mid Sixties was considered old, but that simply isn’t the case nowadays).

I have to say that he really isn’t glamorous or stylish. I was at the back of the arena. Being in a tiered seat I had a great view, but it was a distant view, so I was grateful for the video screens showing close-ups. He looks almost like a parody of a middle-of-the-road singer, or like a stereotypical American tourist.

He is however a consummate professional and a natural performer. I wouldn’t describe him as charismatic, but he knows how to play an audience. It was wonderful to hear live that voice that has graced my record collection for quarter of a century and to hear so many wonderful songs. The entire show was slick and professional, starting with the band rising one by one from beneath the stage. A very competent group of musicians, with some fabulous shoo-wop girls. The lighting was good, and changed with the mood of the songs, but it wasn’t gimmicky and over the top.

From time to time I got on my feet and danced but I was in a section that wasn’t much into dancing. I think the highlight for me was You Don’t Bring Me Flowers. I don’t know who the woman was who came on to sing, but she was much better than Barbra Striesand. It’s a very profound song, and, perhaps, the one that really got me into Neil Diamond. That or Forever In Blue Jeans, which sounds as fresh today as it did back in 1979. America is a great anthem, and the crowd were happily singing, swaying, clapping. Until the bit where he sang “My country tis of thee, Sweet Land of Liberty Of thee I sing…” and I could swear that the audience went very quiet. I’m A Believer, Sweet Caroline, and Cracklin’ Rosie were great crowd-pleasers.

Soolaimon is a stand out as a song I was previously somewhat indifferent to but just adored live, closely followed by Brother Love’s Travelling Salvation Show. As well as You Don’t Bring Me Flowers, my favourite song was I Am I Said. I also enjoyed Beautiful Noise, Desiree, Red, Red Wine. Biggest disappointment was Love on the Rocks, which seemed less live than on the album. And I was disappointed that he didn’t sing Song Sung Blue, one of the very few pop songs I knew before I was into pop music.

I took my camera. The stewards were being a bit zealous going up to people and telling them to put their phones away. So I thought I’d be very careful, and get my camera set up inside my bag. I switched it on, and it came up with the message ‘No CF card’. My memory card is sitting in my card reader on my desk at home… So no pictures, sadly.

To conclude, an enjoyable and memorable concert, and part of me wishes I had a ticket for tonight as well. It has become the sixth item on my list of most memorable concerts of 2005, but it’s not top of the list, a list that I suspect will more than double before the year is out.