Gertsamtkunstwerk

That Renee Fleming interview

My site stats tell me there is no point in putting links in comments to old posts.

So, having discovered that the interview with Renee Fleming that Sieglinde spoofed is still on freeview in Time Europe I thought I would stick the link in here.

But what does she mean by 'twisted'? 'Sexy' I get. 'Crazy', I'll accept. But 'twisted'...?

Three Tenors to sing again

Hardly news, in that Plácido and Josep have already indicated this to be the case. But now Luciano has said so, too, it looks like all three Tenors are singing the same tune.

That having been said, I'd be happy with just one.

Parsifal in LA

A couple of reviews - Plácido's quest for the Grail and Domingo defies age in 'Parsifal'

One not great photo.

Update And another review Parsifal, Music Center, Los Angeles

And one in Spanish that explains a lot more clearly what the production is about (even though I don't actuallyunderstand Spanish...) - ‘Parsifal’ hipnotiza y trasciende

Haitink and Beethoven

It was nearly two weeks ago. Bernard Haitink conducting the LSO at the Barbican in the first of his entire Beethoven Symphony cycle. Well, actually, technically, it was the second, a repeat from the previous evening.

The first half was okay, fine. Leonore #2 and Violin Concerto Frank Peter Zimmermann. They were enjoyable. Fine pieces of music, but neither in my top ten, even in my Beethoven Top 10. I don't like the violin concerto is sufficiently to add it to my collection, thus I don't know it well enough to really get to like it. the vicious circle of a Phillistine, so shoot me!

The Seventh was glorious. Well, almost! The horns were really quite dreadful on more than one occasion. This is not the first time this season, nor from the first orchestra, that I have heard some really quite dreadful horn playing. I think maybe Someone ought to set up an OffHorn to handle complaints about horn playing and remedy the situation. As I exited, I bumped into someone I know who said that basically Haitink had said "As a concession to HIP, pretend you have no valves on your horns." Still they almost redeemed with a glorious fanfare in the final movement. The trumpets were glorious; perhaps for the first time ever I truly understood squillo. And the timpani were superb. I am a big fan of Beethoven's timpani writing. Overall, horns apart, it was a splendid reading and performance, and I am looking forward to further episodes in the Spring, especially the Ninth.

As as an added bonus, as the Final Movement reached its glorious climax, 76-year-old Bernard Haitink leaped into the air. What is it with conductors? So many of them so appearing so splendidly fit and at the top of their game in advanced years? (We're off to see 80-year-old Sir Charles Mackerras on Saturday). Anybody wanting to discover the secret of longevity should study conductors. Although it's no great secret that simultaneously combining cerebral and physical activity in an occupation where expertise improves with experience, combined, typically, with a plentiful sex life is the secret of conductors.

Laughing with attitude

It bothers me.

It bothers that it happened twice on one day.

I ought to be bigger than that. I ought to shrug it off. Outwardly, I do. Inwardly I seethe. It bothers me. Knocks my self-esteem.

In the morning I was standing at the bus stop smoking. Some schoolies approached me and asked - not rudely, not politely - if I had a spare cigarette. "No," I replied in neutral tones, neutral facial expression, neutral body language. I didn't say "There's a shop round the corner sells them." I didn't say "Do I look like I'm suddenly going to give up smoking halfway through today?" I didn't say "Fuck off you scavvy parasite." I just said no. Neutrally.

And they stood there chortling, mocking me, repeating 'no' as if it was the funniest thing they had heard. I might not be the trendiest thing on earth, but I was by no means the untrendiest at that bus-stop on that morning. Did they want me to be confrontational, tell them to go fuck themselves, add to the justification for their massive shoulder chips.

Later on the train. Next stop some schoolies got on. Maybe Sixth Formers, certainly old enough for Saturday shop jobs. I was on the outside of the otherwise empty six-seater. Three of them sat inside me, the fourth sat in the opposite, otherwise empty four-seater, and proceeded to talk to her three friends inside of me. I say talk, but let's cut the crap, she was squawking raucously.

With open body language and non-confrontational tone, I said "Oh, d'you want to swap seats?"

"Nah, 'salrigh'" she replied and continued her raucous squawking.

"I don't particularly like people talking across me," I said, again, neutrally, non-confrontationally. She sniggered. I stood up and without saying a word, moved to another sixer at the other end of the part-carriage. I passed a woman in her twenties in a four-seater, who smiled supportively at me. I sat diagonally opposite a railway employee who briefly opened his eyes to give a small smile of sympathy. I read. The schoolies continued squawking at high volume. "Like, no one tells me where I'm gonna talk. Like what knowhatimeaninnit. Like I talk where I wanna talk." And that horrible laugh. It's not really a laugh. It's not a chortle. Or a snigger. It's forced. It's an exhibition of disdain, supercillious. Over what?

I tell myself they don't matter. One day they'll grow up. One day their mouths will get them into trouble. I remember girls like that from when I was at school. They were not well liked. I did nothing wrong. I had the tacit support of other reasonable adults. I did not make a big deal, I did not call them names. I like to think that in some small way they realised I was, in this context, better than them. But I doubt it.

And they achieved what they wanted, they knocked my self-confidence. They made me feel inadequate.

Why?

I don't need the affirmation of the ignorant to make me feel good about myself, so why should their disapproval make me feel bad? Should I have just ignored them, let them squawk across me without batting an eyelid? Should I have meekly handed over a cigarette or five in the morning?

Or would I have looked bigger and cooler in their eyes if I had launched forth with a stream of foul-mouthed invective (and I bet my foul-mouthed vocab is more extensive than theirs)? Why is it that the tiny number of morons can make me feel that way when the buses and trains are packed with people of all ages, including teens, quietly going about their business, not attracting my attention and my ire?

Scary does Al-Jazeera

Our favourite Duck-like commenter, in his alter ego as Robber Rabbit covers Bush's bombing of Al-Jazeera.

Egypt

Although I'll probably end up sounding like Tom "Who" Baker, I think it's programmes like this that make Britain great. Along with its people, of course.

I include both the dramatic reconstruction on BBC1 and the Don Cruickshank on BBC2. As a BTW, I do like the fact that the Beeb are doing more and more of this programme-linking.

Three mini-series of two episodes each. Not being an Egyptologist I can't tell how accurate these dramas are. But I haven't yet found something I know to be false (unlike last night's drama "The Queen's Sister" which implied Douglas-Home was PM in the late Sixties. As if)

The Howard Carter one was fascinating; Don Cruickshank saddened me by saying that Carter was never honoured in his lifetime and there are no memorials to him. Although, of course, there are statues all round London and elsewhere to people long forgotten, whilst we all know Howard Carter. Even so, I think he deserves at least a Wing of the Brit Mus named after him.

I thought that after Carter the others would be less interesting, but in some ways they were even more compelling. the BBC have a comprehensive-looking website devoted to ancient Egypt but bizarrely not the programme. I found the one about Belzoni to be utterly fascinating, and what a tremendous portrayal by Matthew Kelly. did anyone see him on Parkinson? How crap is Parkinson nowadays he's on ITV. Didn't dare mention Egypt. Too intellekshool for an ITV viewer, thinks the coked-up ponytailed jackass who tells Parky what to ask. If he'd have been on BBC1 we would have had a discussion about Egypt. And I only tuned in for Thierry Henry, and missed him, really. But Stevie Wonder was pretty damn cool. Raquel talked a pile of pish, I'm afraid to say.

And the current one about cracking the secret of the Rosetta Stone. Wow! We did all this sort of thing in history in First Year. I sort of found it fascinating then, but lost interest subsequently. A day trip to Cairo is enough only to skim the surface; now we want to do likewise at Luxor. Or perhaps, some time in the future, a Nile Cruise. The thought of Cruises in general make me feel ill, but I've been led to understand that Nile Cruises are more Nile and less cruise.

I suppose there is an argument that it's only proper history if some boring geezer is walking round the Brit Mus lecturing us in the style of Kenneth Civilization Clark. Nah, give me drama, give me CGI, give me an insight into the personal circumstances and motivations of these unsung heroes. And give me Don Cruickshank and his brilliant photography team, too.

It's comforting to know that in these troubled times, when so many people are watching the pile of cack that passes for entertainment in some parts of TV-land, and bemoaning its darkness, or else claiming it gives brilliant insights into psychology that on a terrestrial TV channel not far away is some excellent TV that is teaching me about the wonders of creation. And the amazing people that create and rediscover it. There's a part of me that says why isn't everybody watching it. But there again, I'm not watching David Attenborough's Insects. Jimmy's watching it without me. It simply isn't me. But, somehow, it makes me feel a better person just to know that it is being transmitted at Prime Time on a popular station.

But other than this, what do we get for our £10 per month licence fee?

Binge drinking

London's 'binge drinking past'

Immoderate quaffing by fools

Search requests

Someone's just landed on my site with a search request for "BBC4 Routemaster Night"

Have you any idea how trembling with excitement I am at that?

And you do know how pissed ff I am that I shall be in blooody Coventry on the very very last day of Routemasters. At my local garage. As in so local it's three bus-stops away.

Really pissed off.

Dissing Renee Fleming

I was amused by Sieglinde's very bitchy take on Renee.

If I had read it a few weeks ago, I would have been outraged at the bitchiness.

Then I went to her recital at the Barbican. Very disappointing. So disappointing, I walked out at the interval, fearing that otherwise I might have lost the will to live.

At the time I didn't review it here, leaving my sore words to rmo.

But why not stick it in here:

Quite frankly, I think I would have preferred to have heard a Cheryl Studer recital.

The first half consisted of some Purcell. (The Blessed Virgin's
Expostulation; Sweeter than Roses, from /Pausanias; /I Take No Pleasure
in the Sun's Bright Beams;
I Attempt From Love's Sickness to Fly, from Indian Queen; Oh, Let Me
Weep. from The Fairy Queen).

What would the headline be: "Fleming Comes to London and Murders
Purcell". Actually, it wasn't bad, it's just that it was no better than
one would expect to hear on the provincial semi-pro circuit.

Then there was Apparition by George Crumb. I have tremendous respect
intellectually for someone who decides to perform such banal pretentious
unmusical drivel. Walking through the bar I heard a fragment of
conversation "It was *performed* beautifully". Steady on, I thought:
yes, her voice sounded better in this than in the Purcell, but by then I
decided I wasn't going to sit through unfamiliar Previn and Berg on the
off-chance that the Schumann might sound nice. Or, in the words of
another overheard fragment "The first half of the first half was okay. Ish."

And as I was leaving the PA announced "Ladies and gentleman, please
take your seats in the Barbican Theatre, the second half of Michael
Clarke is about to begin."

Michael Clarke! I thought. Bad call. I did wonder if I could swap my
Renee Fleming ticket for a Michael Clarke ticket. But by then, I was
disengaged and uninterested. Oh well, some you win, some you lose.

and later:

There were a number of factors that added up to dismal. There's a particular quality I really like in Baroque singing, especially on the trills and ornamentations, which has a certain effortless sound to it (even though, no doubt, the singers have worked hard at achieving that), a sort of floatiness. Ms Fleming's sounded effortful and forced. From the middle of the range down the voice sounded very thick and too heavy with overtones. Her diction was absolutely appalling, with indistinct to non-existent consonants coupled with mangled vowels. The top sounded almost screechy, when it was audible, because most of the higher notes seemed to be taken sotto voce. And it did cross my mind that she seemed to be parodying a sort of Purcell-gospel crossover. Frankly, I did not hear one note that I could say was beautiful. And I felt that she was attempting to project a sense of drama that just came over as rather am-drams OTT. I didn't feel that any of it was coming from within. Lack of an Inner Voice perhaps.

The Crump was just a gimmicky mess, I'm afraid. Lack of anything that
resembled a melody, and when it includes whispering into the body of an
amplified piano, well, I'm not really sure what that was about.

I will freely concede that one's concert-going experience can be
affected by a whole range of factors such as the environment of the hall
or indeed how one is generally feeling. But there were no obvious
factors I can identify - the temperature of the hall was just fine, it's
a hall I know well, I'd had a good day at work and a decent journey, I
was feeling physically fine and was quite mellow and had been looking
forward to the concert. I've heard her before doing arias and liked her,
and I have a CD of her arias that I often play and definitely enjoy, and
I have a couple of performances on DVD or video which I find satisfactory.

But last week I was heard a gorgeous performance by a gorgeous soprano,
with a crystal-like effortless voice with shimmering coloratura and
immense musicality, and Renee Fleming, in contrast, just came over as
third rate. There are plenty of third rate sopranos around who turn in
creditable performances on the concert circuit, but when someone is
billed in a "Great Performers" series, I expect them to be something a
little bit special. I'm afraid I was just left with the feeling of
someone who is over-hyped. And I shrugged.

TV

I have been watching a lot of TV recently.

We record a lot of things on the Sky+ and watch then it suits us. It works brilliantly for us.

Over the week I shall offer a few thoughts on various programmes, as the various episodes come up on the Gert Cottage watching schedule.

I tried watching the documentary on the 7 July bombings but could only last ten minutes because of the deeply irritating druggy-disco music that persisted as background, even over talking heads. I was not sure that I found it more disturbing that someone so drugged up could possibly have thought that that was a suitable way to present a documentary on such an important subject, or the fact that it bothered me so much I had to turn off.

House of Cards. Currently on repeat. One of the great drama series of my adult life, and delighted to find it has stood the test of time. Of course, it was blessed on initial showing with superb timing, just as Thatch was being gloriously demised. The opening sequence is interesting - no London Eye, and the notorious Three Sisters standing on the site of my present office.

But what really struck me was how very male it was. When I watched it fifteen years ago, I did not specifically notice this. I can only assume that it was an accurate reflection of British Politics at the time. All the main protagonists, except Mattie, are male. The Cabinet meeting shows two women, both of them faceless washed-up nonentities. There seems to be an absence of female backbenchers. This is not a criticism of the programme. It reflected politics at the time. At that time there were more MPs called John than there were women.

We watched the first episode of Broken News. I wasn't sure, thought maybe of dropping it. It was obviously a good idea, but was it sustainable for a series. So it was almost accidental that we watched the second. By the third, it became obvious - it's a slow burner, takes time to get into. But definitely worth the effort. And definitely improving the enjoyment of watching 24 hour rolling news.

I think I like the East Anglia Regional News spoof best. And the weather forecasts for obscure parts of Central Asia. Melanie Bellamy, Katie Tate and Richard Pritchard. The business correspondent who is not one bit based on Jeff Randle not at all oh no. But there isn't a bit I don't like. Jimmy likes the American duo, her so serious, him such a dork.

On the bus

I was on the bus, upstairs. Some teenagers got on. About four lads and a girl. The boys all seemed very nice. the girl was loud, foul-mouthed, and I suspected, there were some problems there. She was mouthing off and squawking; one of the lads was saying, softly, gently, "Calm down, calm down," really trying to manage her, to manage the situation. when the bus reached the bus station I stood up. The lad spoke to the girl, calmly authoritatively, "Let the woman off. Come on, let the woman off...". I smiled and said thanks.

On the short journey the girl had really made me laugh. She had picked up The Sun Christmas TV guide which someone had abandoned (presumably as not being worth the paper it's written on). The girl commented "It's too early, it's not even December yet." Pause. "What day's Christmas Day?"

"It's a Sunday this year," said one of the lads.

"No what date is it?"

I turned my head away to hide my smirk.

"Are you the stupidest person on the planet?" asked one of the boys.

"I don't know what date Christmas is," insisted the girl.

Eventually they told her.

December 25th.

Georgie Best Superstar

I have singularly failed to blog about George Best, and I am now putting this to rights.

George Best died on Friday. It had seemed likely for weeks, from Thursday afternoon it was officially inevitable. The media is full of tributes to him, and rightly.

I was born a Manchester United fan. I don't think it was especially my parents' intention, but that's the way it was. I grew up in an area which is absolutely Manchester United daft - except for our little road which bizarrely had a majority of Manchester City fans. In those days we even had actual Manchester United footballers living in the locality. On arrival at Primary School, the first question to be asked was "Are you a United fan?" And everyone hero-worshipped George Best. Actually, he had left United by the time I started school. But that was irrelevant. He was Georgie Best Superstar. Before I even started school, I enjoyed reading a copy of a Manchester United annual that lived in the cupboard at Grandad's.

I saw him play once, in 1982, in the George Best All Star XI vs the Piccadilly Radio Attackers, at Altrincham's Moss Lane stadium. He was well past his best. But, the point was, I saw him play.

During the 70s and 80s and even into the 90s, all we had to sustain us were the memories of past glories. Let's be honest here, I do not remember the 1968 European Cup Final. But it lived on and lives on as a folk memory. And history tells us that this was no ordinary European Cup win. Looked at only in retrospect, it seemed the ultimate inevitable conclusion of a remarkable story. But who could have predicted in 1958, when half the Manchester United team were dead, that it would be just ten years before the club proved itself to be the best?

Watch the TV footage, watch the sheer genius that was George Best on the field. How to describe him without resorting to cliche - poetry in motion? If you don't understand why people get worked up by football, watch George Best, watch his control of the ball, watch the way he takes on opponent after opponent. It really is the beautiful game. And he was the Best.

A meteor, not a planet. Said to be the most naturally gifted player ever from these isles. The best ever, said Pele. Invidious to make these statements.

A lot of people, not being into football, but being into Slebs, know of Georgie Best only as the dissipated broken drunk. Proper celebs become so because of their talent, their ability to bring happiness to the masses. Not just because they have a good PR agent. George Best's fame remained over thirty years after he retired. Of course the dazzling good looks, the personality, helped. Women wanted him, men wanted to be him. Even in the final months, those dazzling blue eyes stayed twinkling on, when the rest of his body seemed destroyed. But the good looks and the engaging personality would have not mattered one iota if he had not been the dazzling talent on the pitch.

And the alcoholism. What to say about that? His mother died an alcoholic. These things are often hereditary.

The subject came up in conversation on Thursday. Someone got very agitated and said he would not forgive Best for squandering the second chance he had, the new liver. I sensed this was more than an abstract comment on the day's headlines, perhaps there was a more personal reason. I decided not to go there. Someone else suggested, benignly, that medical treatment should understand we are sinners. Again, I did not go there.

Alcoholism is a disease. It's not a straightforward disease, which is cured by a course of tablets. When I worked in Social Services, alcohol and substance abuse came into Mental Health department. Like many alcoholics he said he wanted to give up drinking. He went to extraordinary lengths to do so. And succeeded, sometimes for months. Then went back to drinking. Why this happens, I don't know. what's the difference between him, an alcoholic, and me, a binge drinker? I can go for days without drinking, not even thinking about it. I don't need a drink to get me functioning in the morning. I rarely need a drink as a reaction to shock - maybe once a year. So how can I understand alcoholism? Alcoholics who fail to reform are not wilfully sticking their fingers up at society. It's not, at that stage, an arrogance. It's a mental illness which has a devastating effect on the physical health.

Should he have had a liver transplant or should it have gone to someone more deserving?

I don't know.

I don't know what proportion of liver failures are down to reasons other than alcoholism. I know some people have congenital liver disease. Others are affected by jaundice. Perhaps somebody knows the stats better than me, but I would wager that a fair number of people awaiting liver transplants are there because of alcohol. He said he would give up alcohol, indeed he did for a time. Should the medics have believed him, or should they have considered that alcoholics are liars? I don't know. Did he jump the queue? I don't know. Clearly, an organ transplant is dependent upon a tissue match, so they can never be done on a purely first-come first-served basis. Did he jump the queue by going private? I sincerely hope not, but if he did, I wouldn't blame him, but I would blame the system. Perhaps it's a question that needs to be asked in general - do private patients get preferential treatment over NHS for organ transplants?

But when all is said and done, I will always treasure the video I have of that grainy black-and-white coverage of that glorious victory over Benfica when I was just sixteen weeks old.

And next week Manchester United travel to Benfica desperate for the win that will enable them to qualify for the next stage of Europe.

Benfica.

Let's get this blog back on the road

Moan moan angst angst. I don't think November 2005 will go down as the best blogging month ever on mmofm, what with the idiot who decided to upgrade to a newer version of the Content Management System, but did it via one of the most idiotic mistakes ever - not actually uploading the entire suite of files.

And then there was the week where I had a tricky journey over to West London for work, with two evenings out at the same time.

Then there there was the fried PC.

And in between all those blogstacles there was the repeated and sustained outage of my site, and of others that are co-hosted. Somebody somewhere being bombarded with spam, I suppose.

Even when I had bought my new laptop, there were further problems. It took me an age and a half to get onto my broadband connection. Eventually, I decided to read the instructions for my router and realised that if I had done that in the first place it would have taken me like two minutes.

And I am having to get used tot his laptop. I like it, I think it's nice, but I am struggling with the mouse. It's a metal touch pad and it really is hypersensitive. I have deleted whole paragraphs of blog posts, I have sent important friendly emails crashing into my junk folder. And so on. Not to mention the fact that I need to acclimatise to a new sitting position. I'm sure I will, but as I can't recall using a laptop since 1998, since when I have spent countless hours on conventional desktops, it will take some getting used to. The space bar in particular.

And hopefully, the next four weeks will see something that resembles normal blogging from these parts.

Messiah at Westminster Cathedral

The temporary home-from-home for the Philharmonia plus choir whilst the Festival Hall is being refurbished. On this occasion, the choir was the Bach Choir. The soloists were Sarah Fox, Karen Cargill, James Gilchrist and Roderick Williams. Conductor and continuo, David Hill. This took place a week ago Thursday but all sorts of IT rubbish has conspired to prevent me posting.

I am going to provide a review, but it must be taken in the context that the acoustics from where I was sitting were appalling. I also started wondering the extent to which the environment of the venue has a detrimental effect upon the performers, especially the singers. I don't suppose the extreme cold can help, but I also wonder if there is difficulty with placement if, for example, the sound comes back dead. All of the soloists seemed to take time to warm up, perhaps literally, and the chorus, especially the sops sounded dead at times. I kind of feel almost unable to comment on the orchestra who sounded distant and mute. Except for the clarinet and organ which sounded all wrong. But that might just have been a trick of the acoustics.

So far no review has appeared in the papers, although the Haitink/Beethoven concert of that night (And repeated, in my presence, the following night) has appeared in two. I can't imagine any self-respecting critic wanting to schlep down to the bar-less freezing venue in that out-of-the-way god-forsaken part of SW1...

The work in question is arguably the most well known in the repertory, certainly in the choral repertory. I can't imagine there was a person there who was not familiar with at least the highlights; I daresay many were word and note perfect, or like me, perfect in my hearing of the words, which is not always consistent with the libretto...! That audience familiarity must provide a unique challenge to the orchestra, chorus and singers. Although, conversely, I suppose it is a work where relatively few people have a definitive version engraved on their minds.

I think the work is worth an essay in itself, to allow myself to ponder its very essence. It is of course an overtly religious work, and yet, it seems to me to transcend its religious message.

Musically, it has barely a dull moment, even though it is not inconsequential in length. And it has many sublime or exquisite moments. In so many places the music seems perfect for the words, although I cannot tell whether that is because simply it is, or it is because of my very great familiarity.

Of the soloists, Karen Cargill was the stand-out. I had never heard of, let alone heard, her prior to the Last Night the Proms. Although on that occasion she was rather overshadowed by Andreas Scholl, I nevertheless felt an instinctive liking for her, and resolved to hear her live, then realised that I was already ticketed to do so. It's a shame I had to hear her in such an appalling venue, because she impressed deeply with her rich and luxurious voice, and I feel sure that a more sympathetic venue would show her to be definitely one to watch. I am of the view that the alto - or mezzo-soprano part is the most important in the oratorio, and on the key arias, He was despised, and O thou that tellest good tidings to Zion, she delivered the goods.

As for the other soloists, my remarks must be taken in the context of the appalling acoustics. I did not feel that Roderick Williams was really a bassy enough singer for those tremendous bass of a lyrical-ish baritone voice that sounded lovely higher up his range but lack the ominous sound required for eg Why Do the Nations.

I felt Sarah Fox took longer than everyone else to warm up her voice. I had considerable misgivings about her in Parts 1 and 2, but she redeemed herself entirely with an exquisite I Know that my redeemer liveth.

As for James Gilchrist. I have never heard him sing an ugly note and I believe him to be a very musical singer, but there is something about his voice that simply doesn't do it for me. His technique seems faultless, but I am not sure he is able to metaphorically project off the stage, grab the audience and take them with him. His sequence rebuke broken his heart/Behold and see/He was cut off out of the land of the living/But thou didst not leave his soul in hell was possibly the highlight of the evening, musically exquisite, and , lacking the that I wish was there.

The Verve

Time to get this 'all the records by forty' project back on the rails. Time is running out. But - and remember this, crucially - there is still plenty of time.

I've had The Verve's Urban Hymns queued up for months. I have had a block on progressing because I did not want to play it. It's all Chris Martin's fault. I can't even remember who Chris Martin is, but he's married to somebody who's less famous than the tabloids would wish us to think.

Then my former next door neighbour "Howls Like A Wolf" compounded it by playing Urban Hymns, loudly, a couple of days later. The best I could say about it was that it was significantly better than the woeful efforts of Howls Like A Wolf - hey, even Mrs HLAW considers his singing woeful. But they've moved out now. Live8's an age ago. I expect many of the performers can no longer remember what it was about.

I bought this record back in 1997 when it was fresh and cool, and I was damn cool back then. Well, I'll let you believe that, most of you didn't know me then! It certainly sounded like a breath of fresh air then, but listening to it now and I'm not sure what to think.

I had a discussion with my brother the other day. I don't want Christmas present but instead I want double birthday so I can buy an MP3 player. He asked me whether I was intending to put my entire CD collection onto it. I said, in principle, but I'll soon find plenty of tracks and possible even entire albums that I might discretely erase. He said he refused to countenance the possibility that he might ever have made any mistakes in his record buying life. I countered that even on other wise great albums there are turkeys - I cited Christy Moore's appallingly twee cover of the Fairytale of New York. I didn't go on to say that there are albums that actually only contain a small handful of tracks worth wasting three minutes of your life on.

If I was listening now on an MP3 I would most certainly delete Catching the Butterfly. Maybe I'm getting old but this is just noise. Similarly Weeping Willow.

Perhaps I wasn't cool as I thought I was back there. Perhaps I only bought it for Bittersweet Symphony, that staple of Pub jukeboxes, certainly round here, and, quite possibly, across the nation. And just looking at the CD liner, it's just dawned on me that, unlike the rest of the album, which is written either by Ashcroft or The Verve, this track is written by Mick Jagger and Keith Richards. Okay, perhaps I'm the only person who doesn't know that, I've never been able to get into The Rolling Stones. But, I'm thinking, even though I don't especially like Sir Mick, I would far rather hear him sing it. Indeed, I would far rather hear just about anybody - Mariah Carey, Celine Dion, Dido, Andrea Bocelli - sing it rather than this grating annoying toss-pot. Maybe he's not a toss-pot, maybe I'm just finding him guilty  by association with that nobody whose name I've already forgotten and can't be bothered to look earlier in the post.

I also like The Drugs Don't Work. Although probably not as much as I liked it back there. It's one of those songs that's desperate to be a standard, used at least once, in my experience as music-over music in some schmaltzty TV documentary or drama.  But that bloke's  voice is intensely irritating.

One Day has the potential of being a reasonably good song, if only it were sung by someone better, like, oh I don't know How ls Like A Wolf.

But the overall effect is one of banal sentimentality masquerading as emotional depth. I'm glad I've got that out of the way for another ten years or something. I can't see this being a priority to load onto my MP3 player. I decided to rate it on Amazon with two stars and thus I got recommended Katie Melua and McFly. Not that I pay the slightest attention to the Amazon star ratings, because people who love aproduct give it five stars and thosse that are indifferent or hate it don't bother registering that.

The packaging is rather dire. Five sheets of paper stapled into a twenty page booklet full of mainly abstract photos, a couple of them quite good. No lyrics, no information, just pretentious crap. I expect Verve's name will live on because of two songs. Otherwise, bleugh...

Opera News Awards

On November 20, the first Opera News awards for distinguished achievement will be presented to James Conlon, Régine Crespin, Plácido Domingo, Susan Graham, and Dolora Zajick.

Which phrase from that article shall I select. But the whole article's worth quoting. Maybe I'll just borrow the photo instead...

More anon, no doubt

Update: I'm responding to Raffe's comment here, because so much html and I'll end up breaking my 'most recent comments' features and junking my comments for too many links...!

His own site is the most reliable source but needs updating into the New Year - I know he's in New York in February, Paris in April, London in May (yes!!!). Of course, Washington and Los Angeles Operas are useful resources, although after Parsifal in LA he has nothing lined up with either in the Spring, except for Washington's sold-out Golden Gala in March. I think he's going to Japan with the Met in June.

In general, I find the google news tabs  in English, Spanish, French, Italian and German to be useful, especially if I have the patience to sift through peripheral irrelevance and the annoying habit that Google has of spidering every one-horse US town online newspaper that consists mainly of AP wires.

Otherwise it's just a case of keeping eyes and ears open.

Wearing the niqab

Interesting article on a tricky subject - The big cover-up

Yes, people can wear what they like, as long as it doesn't impact upon society. I have to say that I find such total covering to be wrong on both practical and conceptual grounds.

I find it deeply insulting to men to suggest that women should cover themselves to prevent them from being the target of inappropriate sexual advances. Nine out of ten unwelcome sexual advances I have received have been in situations where any reasonable person would agree that there is a heightened 'risk' - parties, pubs, clubs etc. I find, and even when I was younger, I found, that the overwhelming majority of men do not actively regard women as sexual objects as they go about mundane everyday business. And, I have to say, most of the inappropriate sexual advances I have received outside of those situations have been from men whose background I surmise to be where women cover themselves.

I deplore the instruction

'Do not engage in social conversation with persons of the opposite sex,' it instructed. 'This is simple, just don't do it. When a kaffir [infidel] of the opposite sex asks you, "Did you have a good weekend", look down and say nothing in return.'

and perhaps it explains why I was the casual victim of astonishing rudeness a few weeks ago. I was in a lift at work. Quite often it occurs that people who don't know each other, except as 'colleagues' have a light exchange of trivial banter, usually about the lifts themselves. I was in the lift with a man, and made some banal innocuous comment like "Oh these lifts, they have a mind of their own...". The man turned away from me and refused to respond, which shocked me, because such comment is usually met by a "Tell me about it!" or a knowing laugh, or a smile. I guessed what his problem was. Well, sorry, this is the workplace. We value diversity etc, but it works both ways.

I spent the past week in a local, rather than HQ, office, where I interviewed a variety of staff, mainly at middle-management grade. A mixture of men and women, some white, some Asian. Much of that interview process consists of me asking questions and them describing aspects of their work. Of course much of it is verbal, but the facial expressions are equally important. The facial expression can reveal whether they are trotting out the corporate line or they fervently evangelically believe it; the face can show that the person is concerned about their capacity to reach their target, even if they are reluctant to verbalise that concern. And this has always been the case throughout my professional life, regardless of employer, regardless of interviewee, regardless of subject matter.

About five years ago I was doing schools audit. I was at a girls' school, about this time of year, and I noticed the number of girls who had bare legs, in between the top of their socks and the hem of their skirts. I asked one of the staff whether any of the girls wear trousers; fiercely, she replied "No trousers, no headscarves". Just this week I saw many girls from some schools wearing trousers, and other schools where it was clear that trousers are banned. In my opinion, those in trousers looked smarter, and, crucially warmer. I have five suits. Four are trouser suits, the fifth is a light cotton skirt suit specifically for hot summer days.

As a consequence, she felt that it was inappropriate for boys and girls of seven or eight to play together.

To this we are coming? I think that is rank and disgusting. I think that most children of that age tend to gravitate naturally towards their own gender, except in specific circumstances, such as siblings, or best buddy, or whatever. But why force the issue? We have swathes of people working with teenagers, in particular, to build self-esteem, life skills, team-working, social cohesion, through music and drama, voluntary work, outdoor pursuits, (sports, particularly team sports are different, I'll concede), where girls and boys thrive by working together without the need for quasi-sexual contact.

It's a bit sick that everything is reduced to sex. Years ago, there was a sign on the Ladies at work "Men working within" and a male colleague, teasingly, said, "Now calm down..." To which I replied, "Would it surprise you to know that I work everyday with men all along this corridor, and I manage to stay calm on a daily basis..." All good natured teasing...

I'm not sure it's practical to ban niqabs, though. Go out tomorrow morning and observe how many people are covered up with hats, scarves, hoodies etc. When it gets really cold, I wrap my old University scarf round my face until all that shows is my eyes. But I remove it at work, and I remove it in shops etc. I also remove it on the Tube; on the Tube, in the rush hour, there is a tremendous use of facial communication as people indicate for another to go first, to express thanks, to share irritation or anxiety about a prolonged wait or stop, or indeed to enforce 'Let passengers off the train first". In most of those circumstances, verbal communication would be intrusive or time consuming, but the little smiles and twitches oil the wheels and create positive vibes. And I'm afraid that my overwhelming conclusion from years of observation is that women in niqabs are one of the groups least likely to co-operate in this unspoken accommodation.

But I still contend it should be socially acceptable for women to go topless in any circumstances where it's socially acceptable for men.

The secret past of bombing victim

7/7 bombing victim is convicted rapist

Rape past of London bomb victim

It's tempting to make some lame joke about how Lambeth's "Celebrity Lights" are really doomed for disaster this year.

But what a complex story.

I always feel pity for people who, as a result of being a victim of something awful, are exposed as less than angels - it has happened repeatedly over the years and I think it is unfair when, for example, the parent of a murdered child is revealed to be a petty thief.

But his is different, I think. The crime of which he was convicted is one of the most vile imaginable. It seems he served his time, and it seems he has made a new life, changing his name, building a career. And then this happens - losing a leg as a result of, by chance, being on the wrong train at the wrong time. I think that, despite the vileness of the crime he committed, he was still due an element of privacy: simply being a name and a face in the newspaper is not, in my view, justification for having the past raked over, especially - in my view - when this was a crime he committed at 16, and the Press do not appear to suggest that he has committed further crimes following his release.

But there comes a point where someone goes beyond being a face and a name in the newspaper and begins courting celebrity. Admittedly, turning on Streatham lights is not exactly the benchmark of superstardom, and I can see the logic in inviting someone who appears to be a positive black role model to do the job.

But I wonder about the thinking that led him to accept. I am guessing wildly, but I would imagine that by changing his name and building a career, he wants to put the past behind. I would have thought that it might have occurred to him that by courting publicity he might anger his victim, or her friends or family, which is, I suppose the source of the information. And many of us are dazzled by the lure of showbusiness - heck, I would be honoured to be invited to turn on the lights just on my road. But it's a dangerous, double-edged sword is fame.

Or maybe he is just so arrogant it never crossed his mind that his jeopardy and respect would be endangered by his desire for publicity. Did the attention go to his head>

Agent and Brixton music producer Charles Bailey admitted his client had lied about it when confronted by reporters. He said: "He has been under a lot of stress and he panicked. "I know he has been honest now. "It is good that it has come out - he has got to get it out his system. "He never asked to be in the public eye, but it was a therapy for him. It was keeping him happy being loved."

All of which makes sense.

I suppose the only conclusion I can draw is that people should be very cautious indeed when being seduced by the lure of fame.

And I 'm sure it makes Daphne unbelievably happy to turn the lights on in his stead...

Westminster Cathedral update

Some of you will recall the email I sent a few weeks back Contempt

I received back a helpful and constructive response from the Philharmonia:

Thank you for your email. I apologise for the delay in responding to you, but I wanted to make sure that I was giving you correct information, so I have spoken to both the Cathedral and to the Philharmonia Chorus (the Promoter of the concert).

I appreciate that the shortage of toilet facilities is a problem at the Cathedral, especially at such a large concert as there was last week. (Incidentally, this is not a problem unique to the Cathedral, but one that we encounter at several churches in which we play!)

However, I understand from the Cathedral that although there were a couple of loos made available to the public (in the basement, near the café), some of the ushers there were unfortunately unaware of this and so did not advise members of the audience correctly.

I have also found out from the Cathedral that there are facilities available in the Cathedral Hall (through a side-door in the Cathedral, about 40 yards' walk) - here, there are 4 ladies' loos, 5 gents' loos and a loo with access for those with disabilities. But, I'm afraid that for some reason, these loos were not open for the whole evening on 20 October.

I have been informed by the Cathedral that these extra toilets will be open for all future choral concerts in this season. I have asked that this info be printed in all Philharmonia Chorus & Bach Choir concerts at the Cathedral.

Again, I do apologise that you had a bad experience of concert-going at Westminster Cathedral. Thank you very much for bringing this matter to our attention.

With all good wishes,

to which I replied, thanking her, and mentioning that I was looking forward to Messiah

Wednesday night was Messiah. I arrived very early - I had been working in another part of London and was caught in a need to kill a bit of time. As I was going in, the woman in front of me quizzed the usher about the toilet facilities, and he responded consistent with the info in the email. I sat for a while in the church, then decided to go outside for a cigarette. In that maybe ten minutes I heard five different people angsting about toilet facilities.

The programme included the libretto, including a clear marking of the Interval, including directions to the toilets, and an exhortation for people to take their seats promptly after the interval. For the first ten minutes of the second half I noticed a steady procession of random lone women scuttling in to take their seats, demonstrating to me that the toilet facilities were still inadequate. However, we have progress, and it's always nice when sensible people take sensible steps when prompted by customers.

But I have to conclude that Westminster Cathedral is woefully unsuitable for performances. I t was extremely cold, actually colder than outside, although the mass of bodies did help to warm it up. But just about everybody kept their coats, and scarves on, and many their gloves.

The sightlines were appalling. I didn't have the best seat in the house, but not the worst either. I was in Block C of Four, so I was about 2/3 back. I could not see the orchestra, and could barely see the soloists. It suddenly struck me - we expect our concert halls, and theatres, and cinemas and lecture halls, and council chambers, and whatnot to be sloping, but I do not think I have ever been in a church where seats at the back are higher than those at the front. And it only struck me on Wednesday night.

I also have to say candidly that Westminster Cathedral is truly dreadful. From the outside it is a splendid piece of gloriously Byzantine architecture. On the inside it is a mess, a true higgledy-piggledyness of various styles, all clashing, and seemingly unthought out. I have been in countless cathedrals and abbeys in England, and many basilicas in Italy, and a few other places, and I can safely say of all the flagship ecclesiastical buildings I have visited not one can match the sheer mess of Westminster Cathedral.

The chairs were desperately uncomfortable - someone exclaimed loudly "we should have brought cushions". My particular problem was that the seats were wooden bench-type things with a raised knob on the back rest. That knob dug into my body in such a way that I experienced a sharp and excruciating pain that was almost unbearable when I moved - I was a bit worried that I might have damaged a kidney, although I suspect it was just soft flesh (of which I have much...!) and nerve-endings.

It was amusing as people came in and tried to find their seats. The Nave was divided into blocks - ABCD, and in each block were rows ABC etc. And within each row were seats 123 etc. Each seat had a label on it - mine said F16; it was next to F17 and behind E16. At intervals down the aisle were boards marking the blocks. At the back of the aisle it said "D" so I surmised that Block D lay forward of that, until the slight gap in the rows, and the board that said "C". Block C lay in front of that, up to the board that said "B". Sensible, logical.

I ended up working as an unofficial usher, trying to explain to people not only the block numbers but also the rows and seats. A few people said "Are you F?" which seemed perfectly sensible, but then seemed unable to grasp that as I was F16, the chair on my right F17, it was likely that a seat numbered below 16 would be to the left of the aisle. I had to explain to one man exactly who he would be sitting next to, and even then he didn't grasp it.

One group came in and said "Hmm, the ticket says Block C F97". Because I was right next to him, I said "This is Block C, this is row F, 97 is going to be at the far end" I pointed to my right.

"It's not very clear," he harrumphed and glared at at me, as if it was my fault.

"There is a board saying "C"!" I said, patiently. The look he gave me. They discussed amongst themselves. They walked forward, beyond the board saying "B", came back, examined the seats to the left of me, went back to the back, and then came forward in the right aisle to take their seats exactly where I had shown them to be. Strange that the majority of people I helped said 'thanks' or gave a smile or a nod.

I can't really say that the ushers were at fault - they had pointed me to my block and said I was about halfway down the block, in the aisle seat on the right. What more can they do short of individually showing each of a thousand or so people to their seats? I can only conclude that there is a worrying lack of problem-solving ability amongst a demographic that I would assume could cope with simple standard data. I am talking about middle-aged, seemingly prosperous or at least comfortable, which would suggest employment that requires more than the routine repetition of simple tasks. I admit that by inclination and training I am pretty skilled at interpreting and using data, but I can't see what is complex about the hierarchical sequential use of numbers and letters.

But the most disappointing aspect of the evening was the poor acoustics. I'm in Block C again for Elijah in March, but am very grateful I have Block A for the Brahms Requiem in May. Every venue has its acoustical quirks, but there seemed to be a consensus that confirmed the evidence of my ears - the music seemed very far away and simply did not project satisfactorily to the where we were. Which was disappointing...

Keane gone

Keane in shock exit from Man Utd

Certainly is a shock, considering it appears that he hasn't been transferred. Of course, he is nearing the end of a brilliant career. Of course, everyone knew he would be gone at the ned of the season. Any numbe rof clubs will be willing to sign him up, if that's what he wants.

He will go down as one of the greats of Manchester United.

But footballers come and go, even the best. The new geenration comes through, and life has to move on!

Postcards from Vienna

Last week, Faye (aka Mrs T) went to Vienna and this is what she did...

Thomas Hampson

Faye and Bryn

Your tour guide for November

State of Flux

Well, I've installed MT 3.2.

It doesn't seem to work with Mozilla so I've had to resort to horrible horrible Internet Explorer. And the typing bit is really really small.

sigh

I don't quite know what will happen to this ere blog when I rebuild - I suspect as a minimum I shall lose all my customisations.

Update: Woot, it seems to have kept all the templates intact. Yay!

Let's see if we can all comment now - let's have a free for all brainstorming session in the comments box. Say anything that comes into your head...

Terms of abuse

JS the Language Plod takes Scary to task for using the word 'spackers', and Blue Witch agrees.

I've thought about it and realised that they may have a point. Scary used it and it didn't even cross my mind to question it. I hold my hands up. My Bad. I can't speak for Scary, who can of course, speak for himself, should he wish, but shouldn't feel obliged.

I have to say it's not a word I use, for no other reason than the fact that I don't use it. I am fully aware of its entomology, and the reasons why people find it offensive. And I think it is quite a delicate area.

When I was a kid - at the same time that Scary and BW were also kids - there was a collecting box outside the newsagent on Eastway with a two foot high statue of a child, with legs in callipers with a sign saying "Help Spastics". When I was very small I sniggered, because in my Infant School 'spastic' was a term of abuse. I got a good sound telling off from my mother for sniggering, followed by an explanation for the telling-off.

It is only fairly recently that Scope became Scope, having been the Spastics Society for years. I can't quite recall when, but I do recall someone telling me; she worked for them, and I would place it as mid to late Nineties, at the earliest.

Since Infant School days, I have never used 'Spastic' as a term of abuse. On the other hand, I have also never used it as factual descriptive term, choosing instead to say 'has cerebral palsy', or, depending on the context, 'is a wheelchair user'.

A couple of years back a small child caused inappropriate adult hilarity by exclaiming that another small child 'has special needs'. Just the other day I passed a premises where someone had graffitied 'Special Needs' on the window, as, I think, a term of abuse.

There comes a point with language where previous terms of abuse get recaptured - the most obvious one being the use of the term 'queer' in the gay community, and, to a lesser extent 'nigger' in the Black Community, although read what Ashley Walters from So Solid Crew has to say 'I was promoting racism by making the N-word cool'. As a straight white person, I would never use the word 'nigger' except in this post, and only in quotes, and I would be hesitant to use the word 'queer' except in very specific circumstances with very specific people. And I don't think I have the right, either, to recapture and subvert the language of disablement discrimination.

That having been said, I sometimes think that in some contexts offence can be found by twisting the intention. A prime example of this is in Wagner's Ring, especially in Das Rheingold, where some commentators claim that Wagner's anti-semitism is proven by his negative depiction of the "Jew-like Nibelungs". It had never crossed my mind until it was pointed out, and I would argue that this is because I don't carry some stereotyped prejudice of 'typical Jews' and therefore it makes no sense to me. (And yes, I am fully aware of Wagner's anti-Semitism, but I fail to see how it's proved by the Nibelungs).

I don't think this is an exact parallel with the 'spacker' situation, but I will argue, in my defence, and thus, by association, in Scary's defence, that use of the word 'spacker' as a derogatory term to describe people who choose to behave in a moronic way is so far removed from the practice of deriding people with a congenital disability that it did not even cross my mind to make the association. But I also know that people who do make the association don't necessarily do so out of malice.

BW also takes exception to 'chav'. I don't have a problem with this, but a few months ago I linked to an article where someone said it's just middle-class sneeriness at poor people. I rebutted that, including the comment

The derision of chavs is based on derision of a lifestyle choice not on a life situation. When I first started blogging I came across the term 'council' or, in Scotland, 'schemey', which is far more offensive, implying a wholescale sneer of the millions of people who live in social housing.

In order to find the post, I did a search on this blog, and found, just in the excerpts, two references to 'Beckham', who I don't think anyone could describe as poor.

I know there are issues about the origin of 'chav' from Romany, the implication being that it's a put-down of Romanies. But I honestly think that the usage of the word has evolved so radically that it simply no longer encompasses anti-Romany sentiment at all.

It is quite a difficult subject, and I'm not sure that there are definite right or wrong answers, and, no doubt some idiot will try and comment on 'Political Correctness Gone Mad'. I was chatting with someone whose husband has been subject to some low-level, but persistent, anti-Greek comments from his manager, and we agreed that a great deal of so-called 'political correctness' is no different from how we were brought up not to make rude remarks to people's faces. We did also ponder the extent to which it is acceptable to make rude remarks behind people's backs. Half an hour earlier she had told me that someone we know has actually got a girlfriend, and I sniggered and asked whether she was a mail-order bride. We referred back to this conversation, and I agreed that what I said was really not very nice, and we both agreed it would be horrible if he knew people were saying that. I would be mortified; partly because I wouldn't want him to think I was a nasty person, but also partly because I would feel hurt if something like that was said about me, so I take no pleasure in the hurt to his feelings.

As I say, this is quite a delicate subject, and not one, I think, where the debate is advanced by bombast and ad hominems.

Update:

Whilst the blog was dysfunctional Scary Duck and Blue Witch emailed me with comments they were unable to add in the usual way..they're in the extended entry

Don't give up the day job

L'Orchestre symphonique de Montréal not soaring under Domingo or OSM : Plácido Domingo pour quelques minutes

Mais rien ne se passe. La Quatrième de Tchaïkovsky nous semble même, tout à coup, longue et ennuyeuse.

And that picture is scary...

(via Raffe)

Update Raffe's found another picture

Bah humbug...

(Lyle look away, now)

I am always puzzled about when Christmas officially starts.

I was in a shop the other day and overheard a man asking whether they had any "Christmas calendars". I assume he meant "Advent Calendars". By memory, Advent Calendars always began on 1 December. Mind you those were the days when finding a crappy picture of a candle was supposed to be exciting. No chocolate then. In those days, my Primary School even tried to brainwash us into giving things up for Advent...

I think we all groan when in late August/early September the first signs appear to book your Christmas party, and crackers are on sale in shops. I happened to share a lift yesterday with some people who had some Starbucks coffee. In red (=Christmas) cups. The shops I walk past are displaying their Christmas Party outfits.

But forget the shops, they are forced to move from commercial exploitation to commercial exploitation. One year in Sainsburys on Christmas Eve three random strangers woefully contemplated the Hot Cross Buns. Another year, in Croydon, late on the day before Valentine's Day I witnessed three shops erecting their Easter Bunny displays. It's on orders from Head Office. There's no law that says we have to go along with it.

In reality, for real people, when does Christmas actually begin?

Over a period of years, I was involved in choirs and orchestras which began the Christmas rehearsals as early as September. Next week I'm off to Messiah, which is not being billed as a Christmas warmer, but one just knows instinctively that its programming in mid-November is not random.

In September, we found that many Winter Sun resorts were already booked out. I expect it will soon be time to purchase and write Christmas cards. If I'm smart I'll actually do it this year...!

Planning my workload I am conscious of the need to hit key milestones to ensure that in the last couple of weeks before Christmas I'm not dependent on the availability of others. Then I'm off for two weeks, so I would like a logical break in the sequencing of tasks.

Christmas lights

Residents' Christmas lights plea

It's a phenomenom that's grown and grown and holds disproportionate fascination for bloggers. It's one of those things that somehow encapsulates...something.

It wasn't until the 1990s that I was even aware of it, and that was only because of a particular area of Essex I used to visit occasionally where the local custom was to keep up with, and, if possible, out-do the neighbours. In 1998 I saw a spectacular light show from a private house between Reading and Thale, and since then, it seems that media reports of OTT lights have grown and grown. There's a flat on Streatham Hill which can be relied upon to take the local biscuit each year, but it's not an attraction in itself. Personally, I think they look tacky, but there again, I'm not quite sure my illuminated Santa which goes in the window each year is really in good taste. And I'd hate to live near someone who attracts visitors from far-and-wide because I'm sure it really is an imposition and a nuisance.

Meanwhile, my local loony LibDem Council have renamed the Christmas lights as Celebrity Lights, or something. Their argument is that it isn't just Christians that have Festivals of Light, and therefore it's wrong to call them Christmas lights. Technically, they have a point, but are misjudging badly in three major ways.

The first is that their patronising multi-culturalism is spectacularly mistimed. If the 'Festival Lights' kicked off for Hanukkah and shone through Diwali and Eid, right up beyond Christmas, they would be right. But they don't start until December, so they are lying.

Secondly, despite the efforts of trendy guitar-strumming vicars to persuade us that the true meaning of Christmas is a Christian religious occasion, the reality is that way back in times forgotten, it was a religious festival imposed from above to wipe out the Bacchanalian feast of Saturnalia: main features, lights, music, dancing, eating, and, of course, drinking. So those of us that see Christmas as an excuse for lights, music, dancing, eating, and, of course, drinking are recapturing the democratic essence of a popular festival created to mark the shortest day.

And thirdly, history has an amazing cyclical pattern. Up until a decade ago, Lambeth had a reputation for administrative incompetence mixed with inappropriately patronising gestures masquerading as cultural sensibilities. Subsequently, it transformed, led by Lambeth Labour, with support from the Liberals and Tories when it was politically opportunistic to do so. The philosophy being that the best way to tackle racism and other forms of deprivation is by creating good schools, quality social housing, a functioning and responsive local authority. Now we have the amazing spectacle of a minority Liberal Democrat administration propped up by the Conservatives squandering and rejecting money whilst making empty condescending gestures.

Roll on May, and the local elections, when hopefully, the voters of Lambeth will not cast an empty protest vote against the Iraq war or against an unpopular Governemnt, but will ask themselves - "What sort of administration do I want to spend my taxes on my services?"

My mother says my neighbour was a vox-pop on Richard and Judy on Monday comemnting on the renaming of the Lights.

Alfie Howard street

Street to be named after town crier

Yay!

This article is definitely worth a read - as it says

These tales are just mere snapshots of Alfie's life... the life of a man who has given his all to Lambeth. Even today, at the grand old age of 93, Alfie is a familiar face at events across the borough and can still be found doing the Lambeth Walk in Coldharbour Lane dressed in the regal robes he designs and creates himself.

Sod's law

Have you ever noticed that you never feel so thirsty, or in need of a bath, just after a water main bursts and deprives you of running water? You never know how much you need it until it's gone.

Ah well, this week won't be the first time I've walked all the way to Brixton in order to get to Kings College Hospital for an outpatient's appointment on account of Brixton Hill being closed to all traffic. Not that I know it will be, but it has happened three times in my decade here. Fortunately, on two of those occasions I didn't have an outpatients' appointment.

Looking on the bright side, there isn't actually any snow on the ground...

Wholesome fun...

Eye agony of firework victim, 11

A south Wales boy has suffered permanent eye damage from a firework...Luke spent five days in hospital after he was injured while walking home from the park with his brother.
He said: "There were big boys older than us, about 16, outside the gate and you could see them going in their pockets.

Widow, 81, flees firework attack

An elderly woman had a narrow escape from her burning home after a lighted firework was pushed through the letterbox in her front door. She was confronted by a wall of flames across her hallway, but managed to escape through the back door.

Gang tied fireworks to dog's body

Thugs blew up a Yorkshire terrier by tying fireworks to its body and then took pictures of the aftermath on their mobile phones, the dog's owner said...their pet, Emmie, had bolted because of firework noise.The next morning Mr Barrington was told the badly mutilated body of a small dog had been found in a nearby dustbin.

Stable firework arson kills horse

Call to curb bomb-like fireworks

Shops in a London borough have been asked not to sell fireworks over fears the bangs could cause distress in the wake of the July bomb attacks.
Letters from Westminster Council were sent to 20 shopkeepers saying the sound of explosions could cause concern to Londoners left nervous by the bombings.

Fireman hit in face in bonfire brick attack

Bonfire night 2005: A night of fun?

A BONFIRE night of injury, misery, violence and mayhem across Greater Manchester is revealed today. This weekend firefighters came under an unprecedented number of terrifying attacks, with one man threatening to shoot crew members. A young father suffered horrendous injuries when a firework he lit blew up. Scores of people were injured and property damaged in related incidents...A man in Radcliffe was seriously injured after a firework exploded as he tried to light it. He could lose an eye... One woman in Hindley was taken to hospital after being hit on the head by a rocket...A man in his 30s also required medical attention after being hit by fireworks in Ashton under Lyne...
A man in sheltered accommodation (in) Gorton, had a lucky escape after a firework was fired through his kitchen window as he watched TV.

Fire crews attacked by yobs as emergency calls flood in

Firefighters in Yorkshire were pelted with bricks, bottles, and fireworks by Guy Fawkes Night hooligans as crews all over the region tried to deal with hundreds of calls to illegal bonfires. Six customers at the Brown Hare pub in Harehills Lane, Leeds, were injured when a man threw a commercial firework into the bar at 6.50pm on Saturday. Police said the firework produced more than 150 separate explosions, causing extensive damage but no serious injuries...
...In Beverley, a firework was pushed through the letter box of a house and exploded in the box, causing damage. North Yorkshire Fire and Rescue Service dealt with 42 bonfire-related incidents, including damage to two house roofs. The worst was at Harwood Dale, west of Scarborough,when a fire was discovered in the roof of a detached cottage. Firefighters were unable to prevent damage to external and internal timbers and there was also some damage to a bathroom. The fire is believed to have been caused by a rocket. Earlier, they were called to Northcliffe Avenue in Scarborough where a firework had become wedged in the eaves of a house causing smoke damage.

HORROR AT FIREWORKS

Seven children were among those ferried to hospital by a fleet of ambulances. Most of the injuries were minor but a boy aged 10 had to be transferred to a specialist burns unit. His condition yesterday was said to be serious but stable...

...Meanwhile, in Benfleet, Essex, a woman aged 55 suffered injuries to her chest and abdomen when a firework penetrated her clothing. In Colchester, a 40-year-old man received burns to both eyes after a firework went off in his face. At Chichester, West Sussex, an eight-year-old had leg injuries after fireworks went off in a house.

IT'S REALLY A MIRACLE THAT NONE OF THE FIRE CREW DIED

BRICKS, bottles, fireworks and verbal abuse rained down on police and fire crews as bonfire night was marred by violence. Emergency crews were lucky to escape serious injury when they were targeted by thugs as they attended callouts. The worst incident came in Rutherglen, near Glasgow, where a full-scale riot left two policemen injured. One officer was struck on the arm by a firework and the other suffered a broken nose when he was hit with a brick.

Malicious

A car containing a family and their baby burst into flames on a motorway after a firework was thought to have been placed in the engine. The family were driving on the M621 in their Ford Focus when they noticed sparks coming out from under the bonnet. They pulled onto the hard shoulder and managed to get themselves and their small baby out before the fire took hold.

Explosion in claims after Guy Fawkes night events

A study commissioned by Churchill Home Insurance found almost two million Britons - 3.3 per cent of the population - had reported damage to their home or car due to fireworks going astray. And, for more Britons, Guy Fawkes meant even greater damage: more than four million people claim to have been hurt or have a family member who has been hurt by a firework in the past, Churchill found...

...The survey also showed the British public had poor knowledge about firework safety. Almost half (47 per cent) of Britons planning to stage their own fireworks display admitted to storing the explosives in their house or an out-building. Nearly a third (31 per cent) did not take any precautions and left fireworks in the cardboard box they came in.

Keep them safe!

Over the past five years over 350 pre-school children, some as young as one-year-old, were treated in hospital for firework injuries.

Take care with pets

PET owners are being warned that Bonfire Night can be the most traumatic time of the year for animals. Nationally, around 5,000 pets are expected to be treated for firework-related injuries and distress at this time of year. As many as 40 per cent of pet owners will see their cats and dogs suffer from behavioural problems.

Have-a-go hero relives Halloween horror

HAVE-A-GO hero Simon Monk today relived the horror moments when he was attacked by a gang of Halloween yobs and said: "I’d do it all again." The battered dad-of-two, who is waiting to have his face rebuilt by surgeons, had fireworks aimed at his head and was smashed in the face.
Mr Monk, a forklift truck engineer, was left with a fractured cheek bone and eye socket after confronting the youths who were terrorising his cul-de-sac

Trauma

In New Zealand there was a progressive banning of all Pyrotechnics except for legitimate displays...in the early 1990's legislation was passed that all fireworks were banned in New Zealand except for legitimate displays for Guy Fawkes night Incidents that made this legislation more easily enacted were stunts such as attaching coins to the heads of fireworks to make them pierce windows and soem idiot attempting to shoot down the medical retrieval helicopter with a sky rocket...

... In New York City there have always been a significant number of Fireworks injuries in the period of time leading up the the Fourth of July. Last year the Police and Fire Departments conduct a vigorous enforcement campaign against the sale of fireworks, which as been illegal in New York City for decades. In 1996 there was not a single fireworks related injury.

Child Accident Prevention Trust

How many children are injured in firework accidents?

In Great Britain in the four weeks surrounding Bonfire Night 2001, 1362 people were treated in hospital casualty departments after an accident involving a firework. 685 children under 16 were treated in hospital for injuries caused by fireworks – that is over half of all cases in Great Britain. Many more boys than girls were injured by fireworks– particularly in the 12 to 15 age group.