Bloody good forty-eight hours.
I have an awful lot to write. At the moment, I am still trying to work out whether it was wise to have Wäldercremetorte and Marzipantorte at the Operncafe, Unten der Linden. It's sitting there, you know...
The concert last night?
Y'know, it was bloody good!
Plácido was utterly wonderfully fabulous. Very loud, y'know.
I didn't think much of the soprano, Veronica Villaroel. I can only hope she was very ill, because, otherwise, I will have to say, she was embarrasingly bad.
In future blogging, how only Gert & Jimmy can turn a simple journey to a concert and back again into an intrepid adventure and mission, involving cross-country yomping and out-of-service train lines.
It's a very special talent we have.
It's a very special and rare talent we have,
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