Gertsamtkunstwerk

Football shirt

I live in the borough of Wigan. Today I have been hunting for a Wigan Athletic shirt, but my dad says I can not have one because I would be called a pie eater. However yesterday Wigan beat my Dads team Manchester City 4-3. So I said at 1-0 that if Wigan won I could get a Wigan shirt out of my JJB vouchers. I won. He had the last laugh but only for a day. Because none of the stores had them in due to the popularity of the shirts I can not get one untill Tommorow.

Christmas Packaging

Gert is now in her holiday destination , and it is now time for guest blogging.
This year has been really hard getting all the plastic tags off boxes. Why do manufacturers have to put so many tags and screws on childrens toys? There is no chance that a child could get in the box. It took 25 minutes for my Mum to get into a Bratz styling doll.

Anthony Barber dies

Guardian Unlimited | Obituaries | Lord Barber of Wentbridge

Probably of absolutely no interest to anybody whatsoever. Except that he was the first MP who represented me.

Even my sister and brother can't claim that level of interest.

He invented inflation - the Barber Boom

People

This morning, queuing outside the Indian High Commission for Visas. I got there just after eight and the queue seemed enormous, but actually I was only 135th and 136th in the queue, and was out soon after ten.

As I was standing in the queue a couple arrived in a cab with suitcases, stood behind me, and demanded sympathy. They had turned up to the airport on Saturday to be told that they needed Visas, which they didn't have. "Our Travel Agent said we didn't need them." I decided very quickly that I did not especially like this woman who was clearly spoiling for a fight or in desperate need of a scapegoat. Under such circumstances, I am not very good at nodding and smiling.

"Didn't you check in your guide book?" I asked sweetly.

"I didn't get a guidebook," she said aggressively and contemptuously. "The travel agent said we didn't need a Visa. And when you've paid THREE THOUSAND POUND for a holiday you expect you can rely on the travel agent. And we booked it in January as well. We've spent two nights in a hotel near the airport." Pointing, angry. Sorry mate, that ain't my fault. I know you need to blame someone.

More money than sense. Spend three thousand on a holiday, and too tight to spend a fiver on a guidebook, or do a basic net search. So, in consequence, you've spent two hundred pounds - at least - on hotels, cabs and expenses in London rather than being in India yesterday. Desperately, she searched around for sympathy, everyone turned away. Everyone else had done their basic research.

Later, I wished I had said "Did the compu'er say no?" but one never thinks of these things in time.

On the way home the bus was crawling along Brixton Road. Out of the corner of my eye I saw two police officers dash across the road to New Look where a woman was shouting at and struggling with two shop staff. The police arrived and took hold of her. She struggled and looked as if she was going to hit one of them. I saw them slip he cuffs on: One on each arm, a copper attached to each. I was amazed at how quickly a crowd gathered to stand and stare. There was much sniggering on my bus.

It always makes me laugh when someone is getting arrested for essentially a minor crime and tries to assault the police. I'm not condoning shoplifting, but there are enormous pressures on some people at this time of year, and I doubt that my readership is without a few shoplifters. But I would have thought that it's so much easier to say "It's a fair cop you've got me bang to rights." Or burst into tears. It was a shame the bus moved on, because it would have been vaguely amusing to watch her paraded along a busy shopping street to the nearby police station, double cuffed.

When I got home I rang the bank to organise Travellers' Cheques. I arranged to pick them up from the branch opposite work. A few minutes she called me back to say that it's not possible to get currency from there because it goes via Royal Mail and it keeps going missing. So we arranged an alternative branch, not too far from work. I said that I didn't want to pick them up Thursday because I'm getting drunk and I don't fancy staggering round drunk with Travellers' cheques and passport. She giggled and suggested that it might be quite funny.

LibDems in disarray

Interesting to note that both Tom Watson and Boris Johnson have blogged remarkedly similar posts on the divided LibDems. Also remarkable that so little has been said about this in the National Press.

I discovered years ago that the Liberal Democrats in Lambeth were irredeemably divided. They had different Deputy Leaders for the North and South of the borough (they cared,and still care, nothing for the Centre). They fought elections in the North on a right-wing agenda, there is some hearsay that they were overtly racist. In the South, they fought on a sandal-wearing lentil-eating agenda. I recall my final council budget meeting, which was boycotted by some of their - retiring - Lib Dem councillors on the basis that their budget was opportunistic and unworkable.

In the General Election, the Lib Dems picked up a great number of votes from disaffected Labour supporters. Indeed, the Libs played the Iraq card well, so people who can't be bothered actually to inform themselves about policy but had a vague feeling that the Iraq war was bad and the Liberal Democrats opposed it, made themselves feel good by casting their votes in that direction - regardless of the fact that fewer LibDem MPs opposed the Iraq war than did either Labour or Conservative MPs.

Holiday planning

Jimmy doesn't read books. I don't know why, he's just never got into the habit.

Despite this *never* thing, he is currently sitting on the sofa simultaneously watching snooker and reading a guidebook to Goa (who says men can't multi-task?)

He's reading snippets out to me.

"One ecstasy tablet - ten years"

Me: "Have you ever seen me with an ecstasy tablet?"

Him: "But a gram of anything - ten years..."

Me: "Sweetheart, you do know that I don't do drugs, don't you."

Later,

"Oh you should go to this place name of place. Apparently they cure mental problems." He thought he was being funny.

Perhaps it was his revenge for earlier when I said "Am I annoying you?"

He said "No, no, I just want to get these things done and then relax"

to which I replied, "I'm obviously not trying hard enough, then, am I?"

Plácido cancels Parsifal

Responsive as ever to my search requests, I have found a narrative on last night's LA Parsifal.

I think it's his first cancellation of 2005.

A for Horses

Standing outside of the office I frequently see two police horses walk by. Magnificent beasts they are.

Horses are not very common in Central London outside of grand state occasions. There used to be a stables and riding school a few doors away from me, and Saturdays in particular would see a procession of small children trotting off to the common for their Pony Club induction ceremonies.

I acknowledge that police horses are chosen for their temperament and trained to be stoical non-panicking things. Nevertheless, I believe it is a fundamental of the Highway code and of common sense to pass them slowly. I watched as a BMW driver accelerated past them; I watched a taxi driver and a van driver slow to a crawl. When the offside officer signalled they were pulling out to pass a parked car, the taxi that followed them stopped. Bad move: a 4x4 took that opportunity to emerge from a side road, push in, and, engine revving, accelerate past the horses as they were overtaking the parked car.

Am I being stupid but isn't three-quarters of 'common sense' equivalent to self-preservation. I would go slowly and carefully past horses, even professional working horses, not because the Highway Code says so, but because I wouldn't want to be on the receiving end of a frightened rearing beast.

How much does an 18 hand police horse weigh?

Chrimbo deccies

We moved into a splendid new office building earlier this year. Last week a message went round, reminding people that it would be nice to keep it looking good for years to come, and, in line with general policy, no Christmas decorations are to be affixed to ceilings, walls and windows but "you can still spread a bit of Christmas cheer on your workstations and countertops."

So I've printed off the Guardian's Baubles and Desktop Snowdrift. It was a devil of a job cutting round Rudolph. I remembered halfway through that I was never much good at cutting out, even in Primary School. I noticed in time that the baubles included one dangly one and two round ones, so I have randomly but carefully arranged them in a Safe-for-Work manner.

This now makes my workspace one of the most decorated in the entire office. It seems that most people are simply not bothering. An ill-willed person would conclude that this is because they are 'boring bastards' but I prefer my interpretation: in previous years at various workplaces, one person, usually the person who wants everybody to conform to forced jollity, usually the person who makes everyone wear their cracker hats at Christmas lunches, goes round imposing Christmas decorations on the rest of their colleagues, who are too kind to object. Except for me - last year, someone (and I know who) hung a tacky banner directly over my desk that read "Merry Xmas". I was so annoyed I became Ms Irritability and did what I do best - went off sick for the rest of the year.

Grumble

I was outside grabbing a sneaky ciggy. My phone rang; Private Number. The caller stated that she was from the company with whom I have my mortgage. It was not entirely unexpected, because I am slightly messing them about (for a greater strategic purpose).

She asked me for my date of birth, address, and post code. I asked her whether she could confirm to me that she really was from that company. She sounded taken aback, although not resistant. "What did you want to ask me?" Thinking quickly on my feet, I said "Please tell me the amount of my monthly mortgage payment." And she did. Unassertively, I sort of apologised for asking. She said "No no not at all." To be honest, I'm not convinced that this is a particularly fraud proof or even Data Protection-safe way of communicating in either direction - my address and date of birth are both in the public domain. Yet it was dispiriting to hear the tone of surprise in her voice - it seems that I am a rarity who wants a degree of comfort I am not talking to a random phisher.

I was slightly irritated, though, at the call. To cut a long story short, in a state of panic I had cancelled my mortgage direct debit, unnecessarily, as it turned out. To set it back up again requires paper work. In a classic case of Round Tuit, I didn't send off the paperwork until late November, thus missing the December take. I was told on the phone on 30 November that they only have one run a month; I said, it's not that I don't believe you, but I really don't want to risk two payments being taken in one month. I agreed that I would make a manual payment well before Christmas and said that even as we were speaking I was setting up an Outlook reminder for next Wednesday.

She rang me up to tell me I am in arrears. This is contradictory to a previous conversation with one of her colleagues who had informed me that one only gets into arrears at the end of the month in which the payment is due ie although I customarily make my payment on the first working day of the month, it is not in arrears until close of business of the last working day. So my December paymet is due, but not overdue.

"Obviously," she said, "there is no note on the system when you will make your payment." Resisting the temptation to suggest that, therefore, 'system' is a misnomer, I thought "Obviously?" This is not the first time they had called me to seek information that I had already candidly divulged to someone else.

I see no point in being rude to such people. It's not nice for them and it's counter-productive, but this little blip has given me an insight into petty inefficiency

Best of 2005

Although I still have two concerts to attend, it's time to reflect on a year of concert going. Silly to include the two that happen this week, because any objectivity will be impaired by propinquity.

If I was sensible I would just do a list of ten and leave it at that.

But it's not that straightforward.

Firstly, I will syphon off Live8. Five-and-a-half months on, I am tempted to joke that We have made Live8 history. For good and for bad it was a Sui generis event and a fabulous day out.

We were lucky enough to win tickets in the text message lottery. I am glad that I didn't fork out mega moolah for a ticket, even if that would have put me closer to the stage and actually able to see the Slebs. There was a great deal of standing around; an awful lot of posturing and smugness. There were some truly awful acts appearing. It was full of a very much-of-a-muchness musically where light rock meets heavy pop, all nicely safe and middle-class.

There was enormous cultural imperialism, with barely an acknowledgement of non-white performers; indeed, without doing a check, I think the entire London line-up, except for Youssou N'Dour, belatedly included as a veneer of multi-culturism, was either from Western Europe or North America. The audience was overwhelmingly white, with barely a sighting of any black or Asian person. And by being there, we were able to fast forward through the appalling TV coverage (Jonathan Ross). But I don't think that I shall look back in twenty years time and see it as an epoch-making event. I will remember it, and I will remember some of the acts that played, notably REM, Scissor Sisters and above all Robbie Williams. Also Madonna, Pink Floyd and Paul McCartney. I can't even remember the names of many of the instantly forgettable bands that strutted their ignorance. A formulaic calculation of music enjoyed would not merit this a place probably even in my top ten. But it was greater than the sum of its sometimes appalling parts.

I also must separate out the five times I saw and heard Plácido live, twice in concert, three times in Die Walküre (one a concert performance). Of the five, the Dublin concert and the Prom were absolutely simply the best, but I also thoroughly enjoyed the two ROH Walküres and the Berlin concert. Indeed, if I had only seen him in Berlin, this would rate as my favourite concert of the year. And I met him, which was a wonderful unforgettable experience!

As for the rest. I have belatedly come to the conclusion that going to concerts and operas with Jimmy is not always a wise thing, because we tend to imbibe too much alcohol, before, during and after, often rendering me unable to remember sufficient detail to write a meaningful review, even though I have a clear memory of the levels of enjoyment and the reasons why. This applies to La Traviata; Thomas Quasthoff; the Fauré etc after which I met Teddy Tahu Rhodes; a Mainly Mozart (And Bach, Haydn and Handel) featuring Carolyn Sampson and The Sixteen, La Fanciulla Del West and Un ballo in maschera last week (much better than I had had reason to expect).

I bought and failed to use far too many tickets, but, interestingly, I do no regret my non-attendance, except perhaps for the Alice Coote Dream of Gerontius, which came over marvellously on the TV.

I attended a few turkeys, but only walked out of one, the disgraceful Renée Fleming (Flappers please note that I reserve the right to delete anonymous comments and ignore Flaming emails).

So the best of the rest, in no particular order. Neil Diamond at Earls Court, Beethoven's Ninth at the Royal Festival Hall; Steve Reich at the Barbican; Silete Vente etc at St George's Handel Square, featuring Carolyn Sampson; Mozart at Cadogan Hall, featuring Carolyn Sampson; Eugene Onegin at ENO, starring Gerald Finley; Gerald Finley and Julius Drake at Cadogan Hall; Rigoletto at Royal Opera House and Giulio Cesare at The Proms. I still have a Dream of Gerontius at the Barbican and a L'Enfance du Christ at Cadogan.

And the winner is, after careful consideration, Die Walküre, at the Proms. Or Plácido in Dublin.

I think my ultimate concert would have to involve Plácido, Carolyn and Gerry sharing a platform.

Rolling news

I'm ambivalent about the availability of 24 hour news channels.

I happen to like it at work, when it's possible to wander walk purposefully round the building catching BBC News 24 with subtitles.

In theory it's useful to have TV news at a time that's convenient for the viewer, not simply dictated by the other scheduling demands of the terrestrial stations. I would say that when a big story breaks it's important to have access to coverage as it happens - but if the story is big enough, the Terrestrial channels go to rolling news anyway. And with the existence of teletext, and the internet, and the radio, there isn't any reason to miss a breaking story just because it happens in the down hours between scheduled bulletins

It would be good if the rolling news channels took the opportunity to present the big stories, or the non-headline stories, in greater depth, but on the whole, they don't - there again, that contradicts my liking for having instant access when I'm at work. They are very arbitrary in that they provide regular capsuled Sport and Business bulletins, often covering matters that sports and business fans would regard as peripheral or unimportant. Yet they don't have such capsules for eg science and technology, culture, public services. Arbitrary.

I much prefer an editorialised bulletin; it's slicker and sharper. The comedy show Broken News is excellent at parodying the irritating nature of Rolling News.

Yesterday was an interesting study in rolling news. The Hemel explosion is big news, but, unlike say, 7 July, it lacks an emotional pull. I'm not trivialising the injuries suffered by those involved, but industrial injuries and deaths are frequent occurrences that rarely make the news. Most of us were able to monitor the fire at Hemel with little or no emotional involvement.

Both qB and Jae have blogged on this.

It's the empty speculation that irritates me. There used to be a reluctance to break news until there was some confirmation of the facts from a reliable source. Broken News did it brilliantly last week, with a suspected terrorist incident on a plane midway across the Atlantic. Scrolling headlines speculated that terrorists had boarded the plane in mid-air etc etc etc. It turned out that the pilot had come out of the cabin to go for a pee and and had minor difficulties in re-opening the cabin door because it was slightly stiff. Meanwhile, the reporter on the ground at Schipol was so concerned with asking the mood in the studio he failed to notice that the plane had landed, normally and without any cause for concern yards from where he was standing.

That is comedy, but it embraces a larger truth. Still, the best ever was Fox News just after the 21 July averted bombings. An anti-terrorist expert sat pontificating in the studio about whys and wherefores. I knew that Scotland Yard had given a Press Conference an hour earlier, reported by, amongst others, Fox's sister station, Sky News. Without going into discussion about the accuracy of what Scotland Yard put out, which is subject to an IPCC enquiry, the Fox News 'expert' was even more wildly inaccurate than the Met, despite the 'sources' he had spoken to. Amongst his pearls of wisdom was this was the first time that police had been armed in London; July 7 had been the first terrorist attack on London; and that England should introduce the US Patriot Act - no further explanation, just an order from someone who probably knows little about UK legislation, which, in any case, is none of his business.

TV ad

I'm sitting here; the commercial break is in the other room.

I was reminded of a TV ad I saw in the doctor's waiting room the other day.

It was an advert for a DVD.

The screen contained the legend 'DVD player and TV not included'.

They've got a bloody nerve, those tossers in the advertising agencies. They sit there, earning four times the national average salary, and they sit there insulting your intelligence. They expect you to buy this product.

Whoever said we live in a meritocracy when those knobheads put more money up their noses than most normal, intelligent people earn? What will we see next in adverts "Black Magic - entire SAS battalion not included; Tesco's always cutting prices but we don't expect you to take the store home; Esso petrol - luxury Rolls Royce not included; BMW He-man series, entire Swiss Alps not included."

It's like films - they have this warning at the beginning - "bad language and mild cartoon peril"; I turn to Jimmy and say "What, no perverted sex? Is it even worth watching?"

Explosion

The BBC said that it was heard up to a hundred miles away, and it seems to have woken half the blogosphere. Not me, though. I have slept through directly overhead thunder, although the bombs on the Saturday after the 1992 Election woke me.

I came downstairs about eleven. Jimmy was watching Sky News (I'm trying to cure him), and was reporting that they were reporting that people had gone out to watch. I suggested that perhaps people are desperate for their five nanoseconds of fame they think they will get from sending a shaky photo taken with a phone to a news website. The police are appealing for people to stay away, because heavy traffic is impeding the movement of emergency vehicles.

Knocks head against walll

Reminds of a few weeks ago when News24 had a phone interview with someone who had decided to drive across Bodmin Moor in a blizzard and had got stuck. I can't say I've never made a misjudgement, so I'm loath to criticise fully. However, part of this man's complaint was that he was without food or water, or a blanket, and, apparently, he wanted our sympathy. The TV quickly switched to Weakest Link

The day the sky fell in

Matthew Engel writes poignantly about the death of his teenaged son.

Halfway through reading it, I realised that I remembered when Laurie was born. At the time, I was friendly with someone who worked with Matthew. She often referred to her colleague Matthew, and it took a while for it to dawn on me who she was talking about. I remember the birth, because of a passing comment she made about holding the fort in Matthew's absence.

New Order

(Readers of my months ago  post on Pink Floyd, which followed on from The Mission will realise the tenuous grip I have on the alphabet...! And on this All the Records by Forty Project)

Now, there's a group. I had a friend who always insisted that they were from Macclesfield, in order that the Macc Lads (remember them? No? Hey, that's showbiz!) would not be Macclesfield's finest...But in actual fact, they are from Manchester, and, if I'm not mistaken, part of the Tony Wilson Factory.

In October they released Singles "Singles is the ultimate anthology of the works of one of the most exceptional and groundbreaking British bands to date." So, what was Substance?. Oh, I know, released in 1987. A generation ago...!

I used to think that New Order was Music for Grown Ups, in as much as when Blue Monday was first released and didn't chart, but was played on Piccadilly Radio, I didn't like it. Then on its second outing in August 1983 I was in the Body Shop in the Royal Exchange, in the days when the Body Shop was a trendy alternative place and not a multinational capitalist conglomerate. I remember it vividly; I bought two hairgrips that look like biros and I picked them from the basket just as New Order came on the radio. I've still got them. It was like an epiphany to me. I gravely that I had grown up a lot in the intervening months. I was all of fifteen. Blue Monday is the UK's biggest selling 12" single. They were/are blue, but I think this was a Tuesday.

Since then I have always liked New Order. It's reasonably intelligent music, good beat, reasonably good tunes, fairly innovative use of the electronics which in the Eighties were not exactly in their infancy but had only just begun to make an impact on the commercial music scene.

Back in the Eighties they were seen as bit Indy, non-cynical, non-sell-out. But see above comment about Substance vs Singles. Not to  mention the extent they have milked and re-milked Blue Monday with re-releases, remixes, re-released-remixes. How our heroes have feet of clay.

Best not to dwell on that and just listen to the music.

Other Favourite tracks include Thieves Like Us, State of the Nation

But in the final analysis although I quite enjoy listening to New Order I could never get passionate about them. Possibly because they utterly fail to get passionate about the music themselves...

Whigfield

I suffer to blog.

What on earth possessed me?

I can't even claim youthful naivete.

The CD liner says 1994 on it.

By then, I was beyond a Young Person's Railcard.

I would have qualified for cheaper car insurance.

I was ticking a different box.

I was fully Chartered Public Finance Accountant.

And a councillor in a well-known London Borough.

And I bought Saturday Night by Whigfield.

On a CD single.

Not just an old fashioned 3 minute vinyl 7" 45 rpm single with a B side.

No this contains:

• Saturday Night - Radio Mix
• Saturday Night - Extended Nite Mix
• Saturday Night - Nite Mix
• Saturday Night - Beagle Mix
• Saturday Night - Dida Mix
• Saturday Night - Deep Nite Mix
• Saturday Night - Trance Beat Mix

In contrast, Anthony Way's singing of Panis Angelicus, Oh For the Wings of a Dove and the theme from Joanna Trollope's The Choir, although bland and saccharine seemed really quite pleasant.

Well, I promised to blog all my records by 40.

The only reason I have resolved to continue is confidence that it really can't get any worse than this.

It's not even 'so bad it's good'. It's just unforgiveably bad.

St Nicholas

It was not until I perused the free programme that I realised that there was more to this concert than merely this work.

It was a slightly strange experience awaiting the start of the concert. The main 'pull' factor is usually the music; often the presence of a star name attracts me. This time was neither, as such. The 'pull' was the conductor, hardly a star name, but somebody I used to know many years ago, back in our school days. For a short time I was madly in love with him in a teenagery way. But we haven't spoken in twenty years. No acrimony, just moving on, as one does in late teens. I went to a couple of his organ recitals in the early nineties, have seen him a couple of times on the TV, and have a couple of his CDs in my collection. Nevertheless, flicking through the Cadogan Hall website my pulse rate quickened when I spotted this gig.

I was in the second row, perhaps a little too near the front, requiring just a little too much neck craning to look at the stage. Applause, the leader walks on; further applause and Martin walks on. And I'm struck by curiosity more than anything. It's rather reassuring to discover that an old school friend has not really changed much in twenty years. Then the thought struck me that in the past few months I have seen conductors such as Colin Davis, Bernard Haitink, Charles Mackerras, all of whom are twice Martin's age, so it was not surprising that I thought - he looks too young to be a conductor.

I was not overly familiar with the programme, but, as it happens, I was in a mood to be educated and enlightened. And it turned out to be an exceptionally rewarding evening.

The programme was English Chamber Orchestra, Westminster Cathedral Choir, and The School Choir of Westminster Cathedral Choir School with Martin Baker, conductor, and Thomas Walker, tenor.

Britten: Soirées Musicales (Suite of Five Movements from Rossini), Op 9
Tallis: Videte miraculum
Britten: Hymn to the Virgin
Mendelssohn: Ave Maria, Op. 23 No. 2
Bach: Zion Hört (from Cantata No. 140)

Christmas carols: Ding Dong Merrily on High; Sans Day Carol; Hark the Herald (with audience)

~

Britten: St Nicolas Op 42: a cantata.

Because the programme was, to a greater lesser extent, unfamiliar to me, this did affect my critical judgement, because I had no real points of comparison. Except that when the Bach began I realised I was extremely familiar with it, but had not managed to connect the name with the music!

I found all of the pieces in the first half to be eminently satisfying. The Soirées Musicales was tremendous fun and enjoyable; the Tallis and Britten were beautiful. I thoroughly enjoyed the Mendelssohn and approved of the tenor. I can't say he gave me an 'oh wow' moment, but I found his voice and performance to be satisfying.

It was good to have carols. I had already been set upbeat by hearing a brass band in Sloane Square. the performance of Ding Dong Merrily on High, far from my favourite carol, was on another level from how I usually hear it. I do not believe I have heard the Sans Day carol in decades

And Mary bore Jesus Christ our Saviour to be
And the first tree in the greenwood, it was the holly
Holly, holly

Finally, before the interval was a community sing-song and choir of Hark the Herald, one of the great Community singing carols. Also one of those most easily ruined by indifferent choirs in suburban churches. No danger of that this evening. The woman next to me had a lovely rich mezzo voice but she ducked out on even attempting the "Joyful all ye nations" high notes. She was well into her seventies and I thought "if only more people had that self awareness rather than screeching for high notes that they have no chance of hitting."

After the interval we had St Nicholas - it was, after all, the feast day of St Nicholas. As soon as it began, it brought to mind Noyes Fludde, hardly surprising, considering that both were written by Britten, and both written for children with some adult performers.

I really loved it. The way it was written, the way it was performed, fantastic percussion, wonderful piano part, lovely orchestra, and delightful performances from the tenor, from both choirs, and from various small boys with small vocal parts. And we had a couple of community singing opportunities - All People That on Earth Do Dwell (another great audience singalong piece, although, perversely I love it best with organ rather than orchestra) and God Moves in Mysterious Ways, which I don't know, so didn't sing. It even contained cannibalism, not something you expect from your average cantata, I don't think.

As I said at the beginning, my main reason for going was out of curiosity at the conductor. In the event, whilst the music was happening, I did not really notice him a great deal, which I understand to be a sign of a good conductor, and I came away having had a thoroughly enjoyable musical evening, mainly of music with which I was unfamiliar. Within that caveat, I did not notice any flubs or errors, except for a wobble at one stage from some of the choirboys, which I regard as eminently forgivable.

I haven't spotted any reviews in the DTM, but I think they were already torn between Cecilia Bartoli at the Barbican and La Scala opening night. Both of which garner excellent reviews, but I am more than happy to have chosen Britten et al at Cadogan Hall.

The end is nigh?

Ex-PM Thatcher taken to hospital

Runs out to the wine cellar to check on champagne stocks

They say these things come in threes.

And I bet you that just as she dies my website begins a long period of outage. That would be the final to thing to blame on The Bitch.

I'm usually gracious, often to the point of hypocrisy, when it comes to death. But there has to be an exception.

Still, probably a false alarm. They say the criminally insane live for ever.

David who?

Cameron, it is.

I can't say I'd recognise him if I bumped into him in the street.

Need to find out what his policies are. I'd like to know, too. (although he did specifically say on 'Today' during the Tory conference that more money needs to be spent on Public Transport. I don't think he meant it).

Ole's back?!

Solskjaer back in action

Probably my favourite Manchester United player - I have a little model of him on top of my monitor at work. (For a long while it sat close to my Jonny Wilkinson calendar).

But 45 minutes can only really be the first step after 19 months out. Some people say he'll never play again. And at 32, time is not greatly on his side.

Still, it was good to see him with a major part in BBCTV's 'Rome' during his injury.

England second seeds

England seeded for 2006 World Cup

Do me a favour.

Second only to the mighty Brazil?

Yeah, right, I'll believe that in July. Not a day before.

Spots

Last week I had an itch on my back and I scratched it. I drew blood and the scratching didn't ease the itch. I asked a couple of colleagues to have a look and see if there was anything strange about it. "Just a normal spot," said one. "Mosquito bite," said the other. Not to be outdone, the first came back with "Fleas".

It eased, and I forgot about it until that evening when, in the bath, I got an itch on my it, drew blood. Forgot about it.

I woke up in the night with an uncontrollable itch on my leg, scratched it; then the other leg, then my back, my neck, my chest, my right arm, my face. Eventually I got back to sleep, and I woke up to the alarm, my body covered in spots. If I look in the mirror they are barely visible but they are on scrutiny by eye and by hand.

Jimmy said that there's just been a round of chicken pox at the school across the road, but I don't think it's chicken pox. I've had that twice. I was already blogging the last time I had it and these spots seem different. It doesn't seem to be acne related, nor is it eczema, which I was bothered by as a child.

I assume it's an allergic reaction. I haven't changed my detergent brand in years. It might be to something I ate, I suppose, but it seems strange to have had two eruptions a week apart. I doubt it's a reaction to the various homeopathic remedies and vitamins I'm taking, because nothing has changed in months. I haven't got a temperature and although I have a slight stomach ache I suspect that's just because I've been doing an inventory of symptoms.

I don't feel ill, but I'm not sure it's wise to go into work with unexplained weeping sores and scabid rashes littering my body. I'm going to bathe in Balneum Plus and smother myself in emollient, left over from the chicken pox episode. If that does not remove the problem I shall have to bite the bullet and go to my GP. But I really don't need any more time off sick. I suppose I could have my paper files biked over and my electronic files emailed.

No Three Tenors Reunion

says Plácido, according to the Washington Post

But Domingo, speaking today, seemed uninterested in continuing the series. "I don't have any plans at all for this at the moment," he said. "I'm so involved with my theaters and opera companies, in Washington and Los Angeles. You can never tell what is going to happen, of course, but I don't see any possibility for the Three Tenors."

In other words, he has no desire whatsoever to sing with Pavarotti

Pavarotti's designated "farewell tour" has been getting mostly unfavorable reviews, probably the worst of his career.

Washington Opera's new season

I notice a Die Walküre in March 2007 - and here was me thinking I'd read somewhere he was thinking of retiring Siegmund - I don't know if he's scheduled to sing it in the ROH Ring Cycle in 2007.

Summary in Opera News and full Press Release "First-Ever Internet Press Conference in the Non-Profit Arts"

Notable new opera season

More Parsifal (but no pictures)

'Parsifal' Goes for a Symbolic High

Discussion of LA's Parsifal on hmcw,with some strong views, shall we say...

Also at Opera-L Los Angeles Parsifal do press 'next in topic' and Parsifal in Los Angeles.

Of the three substantive reviewers so far on Opera-L I trust Chris and Sergio and don't know Greg. Update Kirsten - another one I trust - has added her opinion, too.

For all the Placifal fans I will excerpt a few paras with thanks to the aforementioned posters.

Thoughts

I went to the hairdressers today.

I had a lot of thoughts while I was there. It's conducive to that. Although I read while my dye's cooking, and I chat with the staff, they don't tend to talk incessantly, because they want to concentrate on the job. And when the dryer's going, chatting isn't that easy.

I had all sorts of profound thoughts that would make an excellent blog post. Observations on human nature, reflections on myself.

But all I can remember is - would it be very silly to book a session with the hairdresser to teach me how to dry my own hair. And why have I never learnt how to blowdry my own hair? And why I have never thought about this before? And why don't I ever book a hair appointment specifically for a wash and blow-dry.

Told you it was profound, didn't I?

Overheard on a bus

There were a couple of teenagers on the bus talking. From what I could gather they were at a 16-19 college doing vocational courses.

They have a friend Bianca who is in the Christian Union. They are resolutely not in the CU. Bianca is having a lot of problems from CU for being friendly with them. The reason is that they talk to boys. As far as I could gather, they talk to boys because they're there, for the sake of conversation, and why not. I detected nothing in the conversation that suggested that they were sex-obsessed. In fact there was nothing of any sexual nature in their conversation, except for the fact that CU regard it as inappropriate for Bianca to mix with them because they talk to boys.

When I was at University I had a lot of good friends who were in the Christian Union; they had friends who were, in my opinion at the time, Born Again nutcases. I had spent seven years at an all girls Christian school. At that school, we did joint productions, fund raising and social events with our equivalent boys' school. Some of their pupils even attended our school for specific lessons. I sense that by the time my brother was at the boys' school (he's seven years younger) there was even greater integration. This was actually a contradiction of the rule that we were not supposed to talk to boys when in school uniform*. But that was never enforced; indeed I often travelled with my classmate and her twin brother. We had known each other since we were toddlers.

My Christian Union friends and their 'bible bashing nutter friends' were of the view that there was a great deal of inappropriate sexual behaviour on campus and in wider society (oh, how I wished...!). They were very much of the view that as responsible adults who had god in your life, you must relate to other members of society in a non-sexual way. Until you met your future husband/wife. In my student days and at work up to the present day, in my spare time activities such as politics or blogging, I have mixed with women and men. In the days when I had many friends, when I was single, before they dropped sprogs, before I got ill, I would say that I had a far greater number of male friends than female ones, however you define friend. I have had occasionally had crushes on certain male colleagues or men in the outer-circle of friends, although I have found that those crushes disappear when you get to know the person. I have found these male friends, just as I have my female friends, to be wonderful company, good laughs, great intellectual sparring partners, and dispensers of emotional support and practical advice when needed. Sex. No.

So I find it perplexing and depressing when I hear of some nutter Christian group brainwashing a young and presumably vulnerable girl into dumping her friends because they talk to boys. I suppose the idea is to protect her from inappropriate promiscuous sex with those boys. Even though, in the twenty minute bus journey I got no real sense that these girls particularly interested in sex. I can't help wondering - if teenagers are discouraged form platonic relationships with the opposite sex, some of which may change into romantic liaisons based on something more substantial than beer goggles, isn't there a danger they might become homosexual? Or not be able to cope with negotiating a situation that arises in the big wide world away from the protecting arm of college and the ubiquitous Stazi of the Christian Union.

I found as I progressed through my teenage years and increasingly mixed with boys for social, but not particularly sexual purposes, I became more able to understand male behaviour - if this generalisation isn't too sweeping - and thus became more self-confident, which, in turn, made me better able to negotiate and not to suffer misunderstandings. For most of our working lives most of us work with both genders, above, level with and below us, and we have to be able to deal with them as people not as giggle-giggle a boy!. How can we learn to work with people if we are not supposed to socialise with them.

Why is it so many of these of these religious nutters so obsessed by sex, whilst most of the rest of us get on with lives treating sex, at best, as a side issue?

* yeah, we made that joke, too..

Doing my head in

Raffe - who's in danger of taking the 'Most Commented' title from Adrain or Scary has 'helpfully' provided a link to a video which I hoped had disappeared into cyberspace with my old yet to be rescued hard disc.

Quireme Mucho

Why does this video do my head in?

If you can't provide an explanation, provide a letter from your Mum.

I'm going to bed now. I'll be up about midday GMT. I want 90 comments by then. Either an explanation of why this does my head in or a note from your Mum.

Christmas come early?

We took a little trip into Streatham. My god the exciting lives we lead. We picked up our tickets from the travel agent. Despite the reassurances of the travel agency staff I remain sceptical that 'Standard Meal' on my air ticket means that a veggie meal has been reserved for me. And because the flights are ten hours this matters somewhat!

We went to get our pictures done for our visas, but the photo machine has disappeared from Streatham Hill Station. Ain't that the way, you walk past it for fifteen years, then when you want it, it's gone!

Jimmy mentioned he had backed a horse, he'd had a tip, inside information. As the race was about to start, we popped into the bookies to watch it. As usual it was a three-legged donkey. I decided to back a horse. I'd had a tip, too, inside information. Well, not really. I just picked a name because I liked it. Pass the Port. Started off at 15/2 came in at 7/1, photo finish. Woot, that's a pub session, food included, paid for. There were blokes in there backing horses in every race, studying the form, blah blah blah. Who was the only person who got a winner? Me. I'm good at this horse backing game. Expert me. Pro. I'll send William Hill bankrupt in the end, I'm that good.

While we were down there we had a look at the Streatham Festive Celebrity Oops Too Much Publicity Lights. They're not bad. Nothing special, though. I loved Regent Street's last night, but forgot to look at Oxford Street's.

We got a 159 back home, bit of a nostalgia trip that. It might be our last trip ever on a Routemaster, who knows. Although I have instructed Jimmy to go for a ride on one on Friday, forget his Oyster Card (well, he normally does anyway, and he insists on calling it a cucumber card), and get a ticket. He kept his ticket from the last tram ride back in 195? - my Nephew #1 has the ticket now. Jimmy might end up being a rarity, last day of the trams to Crystal Palace, last day of the Routemasters.