Gertsamtkunstwerk

Mayhem and Mystery Update

Sorry, no smut...

In the course of writing my little pornographic ouevre last year, Jilly Cooper's upcoming novel was discussed. It is now out, and she has been interviewed by the Observer about the "bags of research" she had to do for it

But I'd no idea that some children have nowhere to do homework, or that their parents are out of it on drugs.

And this from a former journalist - and close friend of the Royal Family.

It makes me feel physically sick that there are people like her coining it in and supposedly knowledgable about life who are so pig ignorant they know nothing about life outside their little enclave.

The thing is, too, that people like that have the vote. And exercise it. Can you imagine - decisions are being made by people who represent an ignorant cow like that. And conversely, some people who have their heads grounded firmly in reality can't be bothered to vote. So that bitch speaks for them.

How the mighty have fallen!

I'm just looking through the list of candidates in Lambeth, which are in a slightly unwieldy set of Word documents, but look at Princes Ward and see who's proposing the LibDim candidates. Those of you familiar with the personalities of Lambeth politics may wonder whether, in one case, this might be a judgement impaired by...oh, I don't know, some sort of Scottish liquid (and I don't mean the sort made from girders...!)

Beethoven's Ninth

Dominic in MusicOMH is quick off the mark with a review of last night's concert - Haitink's Beethoven: Symphony No 9 'Choral' - LSO @ Barbican Hall, London.

I cannot disagree with a word. It was stupendous.

I think it was the first time I have ever heard Beethoven's 1st. I have CDs of 2-8. After tonight I won't lose sleep if I never hear it again, although it's perfectly pleasant and enjoyable.

But the Ninth was something else. I wrote "I suspect a poll of the public would make Beethoven's Ninth the most popular Symphony of all" but then I checked the Classic FM Hall of Fame, and am surprised to find it's only the second most popular after Six (Pastoral). In fact, I would have predicted Beethoven 9, Beethoven 5, Mozart 41 and Dvorak 9, but the top ten symphonies are:

1. Beethoven 6
2. Beethoven 9
3. Rachmaninov 2
4. Saint-Saëns 3
5. Dvorak 9
6. Beethoven 5
7. Beethoven 7
8. Mahler 5
9. Tchaikovsky 6
10. Beethoven 3

The Rach and S-S are from out of left field as far as I'm concerned; what does surprise me, although on reflection shouldn't, is how much more popular are concertos than symphonies*.

Digression over, I can only echo MusicOMH's superlatives. I am particularly interested that Dominic mentions the timpani because on my way out, I exclaimed to Jimmy "The timpani were amazing!".

But let's be honest; the biggest single draw factor for Beethoven 9 is the singing. The massed ranks of the London Symphony chorus were stupendous. I think I have noticed something before with this particular choir. I don't know how it is achieved and certainly don't have the technical vocabulary to describe it. I don't like screechy sopranos. There is a fine line that when crossed makes sops sound screechy. The LSO Ladies push right up to this line but absolutely do not cross it; the result is a wonderful sound, possibly a high risk strategy. I was glorying in this amazing sound when I realised it was also being echoed in the violins. Again, I hate screechy strings

Throughout the first three movements I had wondered when the soloists would enter, and where they would sit. Obviously not at the front in the traditional soloist position, and being that I was in Row G, the final row before the auditorium starts to rise, I couldn't see over the orchestra to work out where they would be.

And suddenly this remarkable sound emerged from over on the far left behind the violins and I realised that the soloists had stood up, and, by dint of resting my head in my fiancé's lap, I was able to see as well as hear the wonderful Gerald Finley. And, just about, the other soloists: Twyla Robinson, Karen Cargill and John McMaster. They were well over on the far left behind the violins. I shall have a much better view from my seat in the Circle tonight.

I think of this, soloist-wise, as being predominantly a bass work, and if I say that my favourite baritone was singing the bass role, and he did not disappoint my high expectations, I trust that is sufficient!. And I have no criticisms of the other soloists. I was struck by how effectively they worked as an ensemble, at times the voices melting into one.

A truly memorable concert, and, shucks, I have to go through it all again tonight. It will be interesting to compare acoustically because from down in the stalls I felt enveloped by a tremendous wall of sound. At the end I just had to let out a scream and rise to my feet, and then, feeling a bit self-conscious I glanced around and about a third of the audience that I could see were also on their feet! I'm not being funny, but you know it's good when people are waxing enthusiastic in the loos and on the way out, rather than fretting about quotidian minutiae.

* I also think this list is a bit misleading: I think the rest of Dvorak's 9th is not nearly as well liked as the 'Hovis' movement, and it impossible to believe that the most highly ranked opera is Cavalleria Rusticana, feeling sure that must merely mean the Intermezzo, despite the listing - as opposed to the Pearlfishers' Duet which may surprise many Classic FM listeners to know that it is just one extract from a rarely performed (reportedly justifiably) opera. But then, what is the extract that lures people to vote for the Magic Flute above, for example, the Marriage of Figaro

Rock Against Racism

Thirty years after Rock against Racism, a new generation of bands confronts rise of the BNP

Love Music Hate Racism

I'm not in the habit of of quoting Pete Doherty but full marks for being bang-on:

I don't think you have to be a particularly developed human being intellectually or spiritually to despise racism

It's about time...

...we had a Friday Search Request Special.

I know it's so 2002, but I do so enjoy it...!

• "chip and pin" sermon - I HATE trendy vicars who try to make their sermons 'relevant' to materialist society
• inflatable fetish popping - other than balloons I'm not really into inflatable popping. Bubble wrap is a whole different thing, though!
• auntie jane's spanking bench - I'm sure there's a non-perverted story behind this...
• what will hapen if you came to school drunk?? - I once went to a lecture drunk; it was an experiment. A friend had a lecturer who said that if you revise drunk, you have to be drunk to sit the exam, because that's the only way to remember what you revised drunk
• cut off testicles with pair of pillars rugby - it was pliers
• tony blair caught cottaging / has tony blair been caught cottaging? - yes, but the media did not regard it sufficiently newsworthy
• lawrence dallaglio speaks italian - I expect so. The clue is in the name
• sexy women in jilbaab pictures - I bet it annoys you they're wearing a jilbaab. Or does that make you happy because you enjoy oppressing women?
• "Tessa Jowell" naked
• who wrote Pachabel? I think it was some or other Canon
• astonishingly beautiful natasha kaplinsky - oh come on, she's a mingeing dog. And lacking quite a few IQ points
• are there any famous people who have or had the chicken [pox\ - No. Famous people are specifically excluded from having chicken pox. Or rather, by having chicken pox you disqualify yourself from ever becoming famous
• truth jose carreras naked - I'm not sure I especially want to see Jose Carreras naked. But what's this 'truth' thing about
• fed up of being a single parent - put the Kids into Care. Or sell them into slavery. Should have thought about that before you skipped on contraception.
• steve coppell naked - nope, don't want to see that, either. There's quite a few celebrities whom I like but have no desire to see naked
• celebrities who had imaginary friends - look, dear, you're making the mistake of thinking that celebrities are like the rest of us mere mortals. They don't need imaginary friends; they can hang out with other celebrities
• oxford university student blog magdalen gay boyfriend dull friends site:.uk - I hope no one ever accuses me of having dull friends. But then, I never went to Oxbridge University
• tv programme accidental orgasms - my orgasms are never accidental. Often unexpected. But never caused by a TV programme.
• gert and bush reliable pianos
• percussionists have enhanced peripheral vision - I wonder if there's any truth in this. In my schooldays I was a percussionist and I have reason to believe I have excellent peripheral vision
• i just came back from egypt could i have got bird flu Yes. Only this google was so long ago, you've probably died from it by now.
• "andrea bocelli" "the met" I think this is political correctness gone mad. With all due respect, I am not sure that I think it a good idea to have blind policemen. although, I suppose, he is a lawyer and therefore could do a good civilian job. But I'm sure there are plenty of better openings for lawyers, blind or not, than the Metropolitan Police
• roh harris erotic pictures - as written it makes no sense. But, obviously, if it meant Rolf Harris, it would make perfect sense. I think he did one of the Queen, didn't he?
• need to find a clinic or nurse to measure my penis in hertfordshire - does it change size in Hertfordshire?
• lee marvin was born under the wondering stat - the theme tune of mathematicians
• tv presenters similar to michael palin - there is none
• classical solo repetitive snare oboe flute pizzicato - Ravel's Bolero?
• Deaf defying acts - definition of karaoke, I suppose
• bloke down at the chip shop thinks he's elvis artist that would be Kirstie Mackerel, I guess. Something like that, anyway
• rebekah slept with david beckham - Loos. Oh dear, the temporary nature of unearned fame
• broke penis dogging - I actually refuse to believe this. I'm not sure it's even physiologically possible. Unless he got it trapped in a car door. Which would have been quite funny to watch...
• tony blair brand swimming costume - yeah, that will be his next career, fashion design. Like Victoria Beckham
• i wondering how sex feel do any1 have any info about it - nobody I know has ever had sex and therefore has no info about it
• plane spotting + dogging - multi-tasking. Is it just me or is take-off ever so slightly orgasmic? In an accidental sort of way...
• has abi titmuss ever dated a guy with a small willy - I don't think she's fussy. I nderstand she's dating Lee Sharpe. I feel sort of let down and disappointed with that
• Ruth Kelly Naked Pics - do you really think that either she or Tessa Jowell would be stupid enough to pose naked for photos and then let someone post them on the internet
• angela dworkin classification of an inadequate male - I don't know about Angela but her slightly more famous sister Andrea would classify an inadequate male as one without a vagina

Exclusive, the Truth: Me and Two Shags

My friend X has - or certainly had - a crush on John Prescott. I could never see it myself. Other men she had crushes on included John Thaw, Alastair Campbell and Brian Mawhinney (I kid you not). I just put it down to being one of those things.

I went to Young Labour Conference one year. John Prescott came to address us, wave a few pledge cards around and so on. Before the formal session began quite a few people approached him for a chat, maybe an autograph. I didn't, because I don't didn't approach celebs for autographs, not in those days. A woman returned to her seat behind me and was literally trembling and stammering at how she had met him, he's gorgeous, etc. Alarm bells began to ring.

A year or two later I was at Local Government Conference and I happened to fall into conversation with John Prescott,, just an exchange of pleasantries, as one does as one crosses the road. I can't say I fell for him or whatever, but in an entirely objective way I could understand why my friend X and the mystery woman from Vale of York CLP were so smitten. Not my type. End of story.

Time went by and Prescott became Deputy Prime Minister. One evening, in a restaurant with a group of people conversation drifted to the subject of Cabinet Ministers having affairs. I don't recall now the exact thrust: perhaps some tipsy silliness about which one you'd shag, or maybe opening a book on who would be the first (or, rather the first after Robin Cook) to be found out.

I mentioned John Prescott's name in a jokey way, perhaps "I wouldn't have him..." and one of the group, ϑ* went a very bright shade of red, wriggled uncomfortably, tried unsuccessfully to change the subject and made a strategic dash for the Ladies. Some months later, conversation was about marital fidelity/infidelity in a very abstract sense, and ϑ was fairly candid that she had had an affair with a married man she had met through work, but it was long finished.

A few times today I have commented "Shock! Horror! Alpha Male has extra-marital affair!" and people have said "John Prescott? Alpha Male?" to which I have replied "Duh! He is the Deputy Prime Minister".

A few weeks ago there was a Jag parked near my office with a registration made up of two numbers and then three letters - DPM. I wondered if it was his.

* this is so top-secret a mere initial is not enough

Proms

I got my brochure today which seems slightly odd because there seems to be absolutely nothing official on t'internet.

Ooh, ain't blogging great!

To be honest, I think I shall be taking most of it in by television or radio. There's an awful lot I will enjoy this way somewhat more than being stuck in a baking hot hall with that awkward journey home.

Second is full of Mozart arias with a cornucopia of singers, including, for example Simon "Shirtless" Keenlyside. However, SOSSLED will be attending Bryn's so-called 'Opera' Gala at Kenwood, where no doubt he'll entertain us with My Old Man's A Dustman in Welsh with a Mockney accent*. It will be recorded for broadcast on BBC1. Shirtless - presumably fully clothed  - et al, not Bryn, I mean.

The following day is Siegfried, which has to be done to be one Gotterdammerung short of a hat-trick of tetralogies.

Followed swiftly by Glyndebourne's Cosi.

The lovely Teddy Tahu Rhodes appears at the Blue Peter Proms.  And his surfers' look will be wasted on that age group.

Then surprise surprise Belshazzar's Feast with Bryn.

One of the highlights for me will be Juan Diego Florez singing bel canto and cr***o**r.

A major highlight will be The Kings Consort performing M. Haydn''s Requiem and Mozart's Coronation Mass.  With soprano Carolyn Sampson already making me drool at the prospect. She's doing an all Mozart programme, too, but it's Bank Holiday Sunday, which makes things awkward. (I'll book tickets and be be reconciled to return them if other commitments arise)

A late night Steve Reich evening is tantalising.

The Marinsky under Gergiev are doing Lady Macbeth of Mtensk.

Dmitri Hvorostovsky sings the Last Night, which explains the flurry of search requests for him today. Angela Gheorghiu joins Terry Wogan In the Park (I can't quite imagine her as one of Terry's Old Gits, to be honest).

There's loads of other stuff, some of it not for voices, but those are my highlights.  Actually, I'd be sensible just to stick to those (but not Shirtless) and enjoy the rest by radio. Most of the concerts from mid-August onwards will be shown on either BBC2 or BBC4, quite a few live and others recorded. I wonder what would happen if the BBC chose only to show the second half of the World Cup finals, some of them recorded and shown later, and the bulk on BBC3.  I, for one, would be furious.

You'll read the Mainstream Media coverage of this in due course.

* You think I jest

Rolling news

I thought we were supposed to be an era of fast-moving news agenda where nothing stands still. Quarter past two and the vultures are still outside the building. I saw Adam Boulton...even though I try to avoid to Sky News, I know he's famous. And there was another TV person, some woman, I think from ITN. But I certainly don't watch ITN, downmarket non-news.

How difficult must it be to be paid a six figure sum to spout bullshit for a couple of moments each hour? These TV people make a living out of criticising how other people do or don't do their jobs, but I don't suppose it has occurred to them to go out and do some investigating, perhaps earn the title of 'Journalist'. I would think that just spewing meaningless words is quite a lot easier than being on a reality TV show, let alone working for a living.

I also spotted one of our Ministers this morning. I think he'd probably been outside for a spot to camera, in the sunshine, as opposed to yesterday's rain when he wisely stuck to the foyer. That completed my trio of obscure politicians in twenty-four hours, having noticed George Young in the Amphitheatre Bar last night, presumably going to La Fille Mal Gardee.

I think it's tantamount to an infringement on Civil Liberties when a girl can't have a cigarette without running the risk of being on National TV.

Of course, I have views on the substance of the matter, but I'm not going to blog them, am I?

Insight Evening

I was on the phone to someone at work today trying to fix a time to meet. I looked at my calendar and realised that - irrelevant to work - I had an appointment tonight. Huh, I thought, I had quite forgotten. And I realised I had forgotten my ticket.

I didn't think it would be a problem, but thought I would ring the ticket office, anyway, to make sure. They were cool, and said they would have a duplicate waiting for me. Standing at the bus stop on Millbank and travelling across to Covent Garden I felt tired and a little bit uninterested. I picked up my ticket and retired to the Amphitheatre Terrace to while away a bit of spare time.

I did wonder what I was doing there, to be honest. An "Insight Evening" at the Royal Opera House. Fab, just what I want after a day at work, to sit in a lecture room and be lectured at. Yuck, yuck, yuck. Frankly, if I wasn't already here, I'd go home. I don't want insight, I just want to go to operas and enjoy them.

I joined the queue to go into the Clore Studio. The queue stretched a bit across the Amphitheatre Bar, and I really questioned what I was doing here, queuing to be lectured to about an opera that I probably wouldn't have booked to go and see except for the star.

I went into the Clore Studio and chose an 'unreserved bench seat' and perused my programme. I started reading the synopsis but it made my brain hurt. I glanced at the previous page, which I had skimmed and seen as being just the cast list for the forthcoming performances.

My eyes went lower down the page and I realised it contained a programme for the evening's "Insight". Into Cyrano de Bergerac by Alfano. Two hours, no interval. Great, I thought sarcastically and drearily. Get me out of here. Get me home.

The evening's agenda was Francesca Zambello, Director; then Mark Elder, Conductor, with Marina Poplavskaya (soprano) and Paul Wynne Griffiths (Cover Conductor) to illustrate aspects of the score.

And to finish off, a round-table discussion with Mark Elder, Sondra Radvanovsky and Plácido Domingo.

OH MY GOD!! I silently exclaimed!!! I can't for the life of me remember why I got this ticket, but, bloody hell, I'm glad I did. Frantically texting to the members of SOSSLED whose mobile numbers I have.

I'm at the Cyrano Insight Evening. Full SOSSLED report later.

I get a text back "Is Placi there?". Conscious that the woman next to me was giving me looks of complete daggers. I mean imagine, you're at an event and this chav next to you is sending and receiving texts....don't worry, my phone was firmly on silent. So all I could reply was "Will be."

It was a thoroughly enjoyable evening. Both Francesca Zambello and Mark Elder were interesting, definitely giving insights into this opera I shall be seeing four times, including the Dress Rehearsal. I won't go through the details. But I tell you, I was shocked to realise the story isn't about a Jersey-based detective, after all, which I thought it was...

There was one, or rather two, really quite funny moments. Imagine the scene. This is basically a ballet studio, with benches at one end, and a six foot high screen positioned to make the room smaller. A bit like being in a school gym, or perhaps a school hall. Affixed to this four panel screen are three framed pictures of Plácido in various roles he's played.

Mark Elder has launched forth on a detailed description of something or other, and suddenly there's a loud thud from behind him, that makes him jump. Makes us, the audience jump, too, but we can see what happened, one of the pictures had fallen down, and we've all collapsed laughing.

Mark pauses for a moment then says "One of the cast members is a Mr Caruso. So imagine the dressing rooms, the signs on the doors: We have Mr Caruso, Mr Domingo..." Dramatically, he turns round and indicates the empty space where the fallen picture previously had been. "And that must be the ghost of Mr Gigli..." Cue audience collapse with laughter.

Time moves on and Marina Poplavskaya (who's cover for Roxanne) takes her place at the music stand and launches into Roxanne's aria. Just a few bars in, another thud, another picture fallen, audience laughter and Marina also laughing. Paul Wynne Griffiths stands up and takes the third one down, giving Marina time to compose herself before starting the aria again. And very fine she sounded, too. She's a Jette Parker Young Artist, and she was a fine Third Norn in Gotterdammerung.

And finally we get to the final part of the evening, the round table discussion. Mark Elder returns with the stars of Cyrano de Bergerac: Sondra Radvanovsky and Plácido Domingo. You have no idea how excited I was. Just that, for the previous hour or so, even though I had been listening properly to what was being said, I was also thinking "He's here, I'm going to see him this evening..."

The panel took their seats at the table, and I just spent the next hour or so gazing at Plácido. He looked lovely. He was wearing a dark navy suit, a blue shirt and a navy tie that looked like it had light blue lines on it but the lines were actually rows of dots. He's looking very slender, actually a bit thin in the face. And bearded. (Sigh...).

At first he was being very serious and sensible, describing how he had first thought about singing Cyrano and so on, and I was looking at him, and thinking, I like you so much, but I'm not really feeling right now how I thought I would be feeling if I had known beforehand that I would be seeing you tonight. Then he relaxed, and was at different times, passionate, funny, cool, laid back; he sung a little (Oh! What a gorgeous voice!). There was an amusing story that he and Sondra were telling about, I think the first night, in New York. He's supposed to be throwing stones at her balcony, and she's waiting to hear the sound of stones hitting the house, but she can't. She says he was missing completely, he explained that really he wants to be a cricketer and he was aiming at a very precise spot...he was almost convincing..! Then he stood up and explained that he had changed his technique, but was considering doing a basketball throw instead - and demonstrated how. But he said he couldn't guarantee he wouldn't miss in London!

There was a chance for a few questions and somebody asked him whether he would be singing at the Dress Rehearsal. He said he might or he might not, that at sixty five the voice isn't what it is at thirty five, but he promised he'd be there on 5th May even if he would be speaking the role.

And all too soon the evening was over. I had thoroughly enjoyed myself and laughed a great deal more than I thought I would at an opera insight evening.

And it was a wonderful, wonderful, unforgettable and gorgeous surprise seeing my lovely Plácido. When he wasn't talking his eyes were scanning the audience and at one point, our eyes met. He looked intensely at me and I looked intensely back. He has beautiful passionate twinkling eyes.

Bomb blast in Dahab

Triple blasts rock Egypt resort

Solipsistically, I get far more upset at carnage in somewhere I've been then in an unfamiliar place.

I really enjoyed my day in Dahab. Most of the top few photos here are there. I bought my gorgeous and unusual scarab necklace there. And the bracelet I dropped down the decking on the ROH terrace.

LA Preview of Grendel

Photos from LA Press Conference to launch new opera 'Grendel'.

I think it's based on Beowulf, which I vaguely remember studying at school. I might even have an unread book lying around somewhere*

And a video clip from a NY Press Conference about Grendel.

* well cultured, me...

That Seventies Thing

We struggled almost to the end of that *Five* pretentious twaddle that struggled to be a history of the Seventies. They dealt with industrial unrest entirely superficially.

What a contrast with BBC2's documentary, a few weeks back, about the Secret Coup against Harold Wilson, when they detailed how the Right Wing Establishment and The City organised the overthrow of the Democratically Elected Government. I thought it was all a bit far-fetched, having read widely in the past about Wilson's decreasing mental powers.

According to this documentary, the coup plotters went to The Queen Mother (gawd bless her) and got her consent to install Lord Mountbatten as the Quisling Head of Government. The troops even had a rehearsal manoeuvre at Heathrow. But they did quote senior MoD and MI5 sources who confirmed that rogue but senior figures in those organisations were indeed plotting to overthrow the elected government. I'm still uncertain - my intellectual and professional inclination to scepticism is fighting my instinctive naivety and "They wouldn't, would they?"

We thought last week's was poor when they went on and on about how awful high rise inner city council blocks were without actually getting the views of anybody who had lived in them. They asserted that in the Seventies everyone was going on holiday to exotic foreign destinations. Well, maybe they were in affluent media-working North London, but I left Primary School in 1979, in an area which though not affluent, was hardly poor, and today is one of the top ten most affluent constituencies in the country. If I recall, other than visits to relatives in Ireland, only three people went abroad - and that was to the Balearics.

The final one last week so took the biscuit that we switched it off less than halfway through. We had got to commercial break two and had been told repeatedly that the Seventies were VERY CREATIVE without anybody actually citing anything that had been created, and Steve Harley saying that Abba are irrelevant to the Seventies. Yeah, because the output of Steve Harley and Cockney Rebel has endured, right...?

The claimed that the Seventies was the decade where everybody wore trendy clothes, which had never happened before. Well, that wasn't the case in Sale. And Sale wasn't exactly behind the times, I mean, George Best owned a boutique there. But most people did not have much disposable income, especially with pay increases struggling to catch up with inflation. They certainly didn't shop at trendy boutiques. Altrincham market more like.

They also claimed that Biba was the first example of mass-production. Marks and Spencer, I suggested. Ladybird at Woolworths, suggested Jimmy. Then, in the next breath they declared that it was not until the Seventies that male teenagers had ever thought about following fashion and being tribal. This rather surprised Jimmy who as a teenager had a Beatles haircut, a Beatles jacket and winkle-pickers (but, oddly, no camera...!).Then we remembered Mods and Rockers, and decided we really didn't want any more of this poorly researched tripe.

And we concluded that Rick Wakeman is a total tosser.

In contrast, Life on Mars, which we missed first time around but are enjoying in repeat on BBC4 is far more accurate. I liked the bus. I was convinced they would make it a GMT* bus, but to my delight it was SELNEC**. I'm not saying that LoM is deadly accurate, but not too many of those characters, cops or crims or witnesses were dressed in hippy boutique designer fashion.

(I also flash back to the first series of Grange Hill, made and shown in 1978 and repeated in about 1990, at which point I gasped at how Trisha Yates's older sister, Carol, not required to wear uniform in Sixth Form, dressed like a middle-aged frump. Because Sixth Formers did in 1978).

So many aspects of Life on Mars are excellent. Philip Glenister is a star; I love that whole John Thaw/The Sweeney "You're nicked" thing, but I also like the snippets of stuff we forget. When 2006 cop Sam Tyler instructs the ambulance man to insert a saline drip, the ambulance man says "I'm an ambulance driver not a doctor." Heavier stuff, too, like the callous contempt the police showed to key witnesses. Not to mention the "Plonks" - there was Annie Cartwright stuck with being a WPC, almost certainly on significantly lower wages than a PC, and stuck brewing tea and cleaning up vomit-strewn cells, when she had the skills and intelligent to be a DI or higher. Good to see the police have thrown off those neanderthal attitudes.

* Greater Manchester Transport - created 1974
**South East Lancashire North East Cheshire, created to prepare for Local Government reorganisation in 1974.

Bloggage

I've been blogging quite a long time. I started in February 2002. I still love the tagline from Meg's old site: Life Unfolding.

I was going to write a whole load about how my life has unfolded since February 2002. Then I clicked the link above and realised that Meg, who's been blogging a lot longer than me, has completely changed her style of blogging. And I think of all the others who have changed or disappeared.

I tried a little experiment last week. Blogging from work is bad, because it distracts from the important thing one is supposed to be doing, but more crucially it can make for lousy copy. So rather than writing and publishing, I jotted down ideas to be worked up over the weekend. But the immediacy had gone. I deleted the post, then wondered if It had contained anything good. Ducks, definitely. It did mention the ducks. We have two ducks outside our office. Mallards. I'm not sure what they're doing there. But it's not really a blogpost, is it?

I was on the bus on Friday, going into town. It was just approaching Brixton (by The Fridge, for those who care) and there was an almighty thud. All those on the left nearside turned, as one, to peer out. I was on the right, offside. Some bloke said, "It's alright, he's not hurt..." As one we rose and went downstairs. The bus had hit a cyclist, who was sitting on the kerb, his bike splayed out in the gutter. He was upset and trembling but he was also very very angry. I suppose it might have been his fault, but I've been waiting for this to happen. When I first learnt to drive over twenty years ago, the first thing I was taught was 'check your mirrors and give cyclists a wide berth'. Apparently, this doesn't apply to bus-drivers.

I got the first bus that came and went up to Oval. My logic, if the bus I want is indicated, I'll get it, otherwise I'll get the Tube. But bus is better for where I was going. At Oval bus stop, police were chatting to two young men and a bus was parked up, empty. I think the young men were witnesses rather than The Accused. But it probably wasn't anything major because it was all very low key. And my bus came. It's not really a blogpost, though, is it.

I went shopping. If I was shopping type of person I suppose I could blog the details, the triumphs, the disasters, the bargains, the "how much...?". But you know, shopping isn't an activity. I know there are people who shop for fun or for the sake of shopping but not me. It's not even for the acquisition of objects of desire because they're not even that. They're just don't make me happy or improve my life. I wear them, because I want to be comfortable or look nice. But being comfortable or looking nice isn't the key to happiness or an end itself. And it's certainly not a blogpost.

And it's very irritating, but all week when I have been out and about there has been a total lack of arseholeness. Even the people who tried to stand near the door to the Tube train didn't entirely block my access. There was that idiot riding his stretched-out motorbike up-and-down the road at Old Leigh with massive engine noise but maybe he realised that people were laughing at him. Someone certainly had words. Attentions all very well, but it's always best to get the right sort of attention. Nah, the show-off antics of a social inadequate in need of being laid is not a blogpost, either.

So all I have left in my armoury is a total lack of a blogpost. Just read something off my blogroll and move along swiftly there.

Various reviews

Trawling through the online press for various seen and unseen and yet to be seen.

Matthias Goerne - the Guardian, like me, seemed to enjoy the Berg more than the Schumann or Wagner. The Independent

The Guardian didn't like Götterdämmerung

Ambivalence from the Independent

I think the Times headline of Simply Delightful  applies to Orfeo rather than Götterdämmerung. But even though I don't especially disagree with the detail of what the critic says, I disagree with the overall tone and conclusion. The Observer hates it  Music OMH has a far more sensible take, suggesting perhaps that the critics in the Mainstream media are, in general, jaded, and could do with an infusion of new blood. Although I doubt the date of June 27th for televising, for reasons I have laid out elsewhere

I couldn't figure out how to fit Orfeo into my diary, which is a disappointment but I'll live. The Independent praises it highly but is stingy with stars awarded.  Trendy mix of modern and mythic, The Times really likes it.  MusicOMH. MV Daily includes loads of striking pictures.  Oh well, I'm sure it will  be revived.

I did not get round to writing up The Indian Queen. I actually left at the interval, with ambivalence. I was glad I had been there for the first half but I had no desire to stay any longer. I think the Guardian is pushing it by saying that the singing was faultless, although a couple of the sopranos did impress. But in the end I was unable to get emotionally involved or musically hooked.

It was  billed as an opera, but it seems a strange opera where there are specific characters but none of them are played by specific singers. Instead, the story is narrated by an actor and the singers, known only by their vocal type, step up to do numbers. And I felt that the music was not of a sufficiently high standard to make it especially worthwhile.

Update Vince has snazzled the text  of the FT G'd'rung review - saves all that pesky registration/deadlinks mullarkey.

Update La Belle Helene at ENo, reviewed by Robert.

Trip to the seaside

Finally, we managed to get a day where the weather forecast coincided with the weather and our diary was such that we could go out.

It was a typically G&J day out, unplanned and haphazard. Well, I had planned it weeks ago but the weather forecast had turned - wrongly - for rain. So I never considered to re-plan, and played it by ear.

The criteria were simple. Within easy reach of London by train, with a hint of coast, and somewhere to walk. We decided upon Hadleigh. Amongst other factors we would never be far from civilisation, so that if exhaustion came upon me, we would not be stranded.

The first challenge was the City of London. Go there by bus, I declared, quite forgetting that the bus does not go anywhere near the station. Without a map, I decided to rely on my phone, and got taken a delightful little route from Lothbury/Moorgate to Fenchurch Street, through a few alleys and through a deserted Leadenhall Market. I was such an idiot, I had my camera in my bag but didn't think to take it out in the market.

But I did when we were at a superb angle to the Lloyds Building and Gherkin.

An easy journey to Benfleet, two return tickets for the price the petrol would have cost to go one way. A remarkable level of civilisation on a fairly crowded train. People having conversations, a man speaking quietly into his headphoned phone. And off the train at Benfleet.

Our intention was to walk to Hadleigh Castle, but in the end we didn't. Instead, we yomped through the Hadleigh Country Park, a glorious stretch of undulation twixt river and railway. At times we were almost alone; occasionally we passed dog walkers or were overtaken by cyclists. Far in the distance some children played a game of football.

We set off from Benfleet at 1.15pm and arrived at Old Leigh at 3.00 pm. What did we do in that time? Not a great deal. No exciting tales to tell. We just walked. A latte and an omelette were followed by a couple of pints of Adnams, and then we decided to go home.

I just love that boring pointlessness. We didn't go out to discover anything, to clock up bonus points in the Heritage game. It is not the most beautiful or interesting scenery even in Essex. But the exercise and the fresh air was rejuvenating, and although we moaned about the ache of muscles unfamiliar to that particular useage, we knew that it was doing us good. We passed a very elderly couple taking a greyhound for a walk. Half an hour later an identical greyhound overtook us, accompanied by a thirty-something couple, proof that a good walk in the sea air can knock years off your age.

We did consider going to a restaurant on the seafront, but at five o'clock we were told they were not open until half past six. We found that surprising, arguably bad business. People no longer eat according to a strict timetable, and I would have thought that a restaurant situated in a mini-tourist trap would benefit from some irregularly timed diners. No doubt, locals go there all year round regardless of weather, but if I had a restaurant situated in such a location, I would want to attract daytrippers on sunny spring Saturdays.

So instead we returned to London and had a quiet stroll along deserted streets from Temple Underground to Covent Garden where we had an indifferent meal in a restaurant that that risibly claimed to be London's best Italian. If it was located in a one-horse town and I lived in that dullsville I would return, but in a West end teeming with better or cheaper restaurants I'll give it a miss in future.

Cyrano de Bergerac

I'm well excited. Just over two weeks til Opening Night at Covent Garden. Even sooner until the Dress Rehearsal and even sooner still until the Crossover Classical Brits.

The Guardian has an article about Cyrano de Bergerac and its composer, Franco Alfano.

And an interview with Pláci in the Independent, by Jessica - actually, a rehash of the one for "About the House" but with added detail.

He'll be appearing at the Classical Brits awards ceremony on 4 May, where besides accepting the award he will sing extracts from his newest recording, Italia Ti Amo.

Hmm, I've listened to this album a couple of times, and, to be honest, if it wasn't for The Voice, I'd discard it. Indeed, I nearly wrote, "And this is what I've paid good money for, on a Local Election night, too..." but I know you would think I was complaining too much!

La Opera Gala

As Raffe has already pointed out*, the LA Times has a report and a picture from Wednesday night's Gala.

As does Variety

And Matthew from my blogroll was there.

* who's running this blog, that's what I want to know...!

Matthias Goerne Recital

Last night found me at the Queen Elizabeth Hall for a transvestite recital by baritone Matthias Goerne, with Alexander Schmalcz on piano

- And hello to David and Frances who said 'hello' beforehand in the foyer and to Stephen who I often see at things -

The programme was a selection of Schumann songs, including Frauenliebe und -leben; Berg's Vier Lieder; and Wagner's Wesendonck Lieder. All of which were written for, and are more generally sung by women; the performers wore normal male concert dress of dark grey suits and matching shirts.

An enjoyable evening. To my surprise, of the lot I enjoyed the Berg most of all. This singer has not grazed my radar at all and I thoroughly enjoyed his voice. Not necessarily beautiful, but to my ears technically excellent, perhaps even flawless (to my ears). Musically intelligent. Funnily enough I cannot now recall whether there were shadings of colour and tone. On the other hand, I didn't once think that the sound was monotonous. Fabulous to listen to. Although, and I'm sure I shall be mocked, when I hear native German speakers singing German, I find it quite difficult to follow the words. But I recognise that that is my problem and shouldn't be regarded as a substantive part of the review.

Before the recital, I read in the programme's biographical notes that 'he chooses his opera roles carefully' and I felt that to be slightly pretentious. By the interval, I had come to the conclusion that it was actually euphemistic. This was someone with an extraordinary stage presence, and I do not mean that as a compliment. He spent most of the time side on to the audience glancing at his score which rested on the piano. He very rarely looked into the audience; when he did, even at the applause, which was warm and sustained, I felt that he was scanning the rafters rather than connecting with people. I felt no sense of him inhabiting the 'roles'. Even his deportment conveyed a sense of not wanting to be there. So I ended up spending most of the recital with my head buried in the programme - which contained the words in German, and English translation.

I concluded that this is somebody with mild Aspergers*. I have encountered very many of them in my life as an accountant/auditor. Perhpas it is unfortunate that he bears a physical resemblance to one of the bus-spotters of Streatham Hill. It seems curious to find a singer so obviously so. I would imagine that most musicians with Aspergers would tend to something like percussion or double bass, or perhaps organ, where audience communication is less of an issue than singing.

Still, a thoroughly pleasant aural experience, and someone I would definitely wish to hear again - he's doing Mahler's Ruckert-Lieder in the same venue in December. If it was any week but that awkward 'Just Before Christmas' week, I wouldn't hesitate to book, but because of the timing, I will decide nearer the time.

* not that I have any expertise is such a diagnosis - this is a mere observation of an impression

Time to get political

I am churning up with a guilt complex. These elections matter. I mean, they really matter.

I already know what's going to happen. Almost a third* of the electorate** will trot out to the Polling Station and cast their votes. What issues will be uppermost in determining where their vote will go? Iraq? Issues that I won't blog about+? Overspending in the NHS (shock! horror! NHS spends money! GPs get almost as much salary as as over-coked advertising creatives)? None of which are controlled by the local councils that will be elected.

It is something that really ticks me off about the British electorate. On the one hand we go and vote on irrelevant national issues in local elections; on the other hand we complain when Central Government (of both Parties) plays fast and loose with the powers of the local council. In most mature democracies, local decisions are made locally, but not in Britain, where we complain when the streets don't get swept or when the schools are not up to scratch, and then, when we get the chance to influence how those vital services are delivered we vote on matters of global import.

I am in a luxurious position. there are twelve candidates in my ward, three from each of the four main parties. I don't know the Conservatives and I don't know one of the Greens, but the rest, I either know or have, at least, contested (and won!) an election against them!

I'm in the double luxury position of having a choice - I shall vote Labour because I have confidence in the ability of Lambeth Labour Group to run Lambeth council in accordance with my beliefs and to be accountable to the electorate. I also know that they won't overspend on the NHS, invade Iran, Iraq, Ireland, Israel or Italy. Mainly because they don't have the means to do so. And I shall vote Labour because I do not have to face the dilemma of voting for the party most likely to beat the BNP. It's always a matter of relief when I learn that the BNP will not put up candidates in Brixton Hill ward. Too scared. Although it would be delightful to see them utterly humiliated and trounced.

I've been a bad political "activist"...I explained to a councillor/candidate in a neighbouring ward that having chronic Fatigue Syndrome, Yuppie Burn Out caused by being a councillor for eight years, I don't have the strength to be out on the campaign trail. That and an unconscionable lack of personal motivation and drive. He said that that people with Yuppie Burn-Out row across the Atlantic to cure it. As if, can you imagine me blogging from a rowboat mid-Atlantic.

Seriously though, just the other day, in the course of work I had reason to look at the website for the local council where my brother etc live. I was invited to type in a post code and discover the local councillors. So I typed in Brother Etc's postcode. The first name was a typical posh looking Tory, address in local posh historic village; the second was typical smarmy garigiste Tory, address c/o City Hall. The third picture churned my stomach, a stereotypical nasty looking skinhead thug. "Crikey, is that what the Tory Party has come to?" I thought. Then I saw it and my stomach churned with revulsion. BRITISH NATIONAL PARTY.

I looked at again at the pictures of the Tories and thought - they look like reasonable civilised men. No doubt we would disagree of many matters of policy, maybe of matters of fundamental principle. Maybe I would detest them and what they stood for. But you know what - if I lived there, and that was the only information I had to inform my voting behaviour, I would vote Tory. And I would do with a heavy heart and a clear conscience.

Imagine waking up one day and realising that your views, needs and interests are represented by one, or two, or three BNP councillors.

Imagine even worse - it's not just a handful of impotent bullyboys throwing their weight around on the margins of the Town Hall, but they are actually running the council. Determining the housing policy, running the schools your children or your neighbours' children attend. Having the power to grant or withhold licences. Responsible for the personal homecare that your granny or aged parent depends upon. Stifling democracy with the jackboot.

One thing that the BNP is superbly good at is mobilising their supporters to vote. BNP supporters do not stay at home to watch Eastenders, they go out and vote.

I'm going to be voting anyway. Early...ish. And often - where I live, throughout London and in many non-Metropolitan districts, all the seats are up for grabs. Three councillors to be elected, three candidates from each of the mainstream parties, and three votes for Gert. I shall vote Labour and pray that across the country people of good intentions vote for the mainstream party most likely to defeat the fascists.

* or fewer, if raining
** in areas where there are elections - I know that's not everywhere
+ I do not fancy a P45

Wagnerian limericks

BBC - Radio 3 - Wagner's Ring Limericks

Gotterdammerung Review

I was at the first night and have jotted down a few stream of consciousness thoughts that, if I do not get time to expand might end up being my permanent review but I hope not! - starts slightly weirdly becaus eI was repsonding to an existing thread on a newsgroup which had been started in response to txts and calls in the intervals - opera reviews as they happen - that's the internet age!

And hello to Caro who came up to say hello on the terrace in the interval. Hope we meet again!

There were two chairs thrown in Act I and one in Act II, but no more after that. But there was a goat disembowelled, so that's the bit to look away at. Yeuch...I haven't been so disgusted by a goat since Edward Albee's Who is Sylvia?

The gimmick was the 'slab' - which was used to great effect for Siegfried's Rhine Journey. This used video projections - that on the wall was not as good as ENO's but there were also projections onto the slab that looked pretty convincing as water, and also showed the Rhinemaidens swimming on it. It was later used as a platform for the wedding scene and subsequent shenanigans, and was echoed in the 'swimming pool' in the final scene.

It's been a long day and I have work tomorrow, but a few observations: I really liked the production. Although there were a few bits that didn't entirely chime, overall it was coherent and logical and, I think, allowed the singers to express themselves to the best of their ability. There were some scenes of sher magic: the wedding scene stands out, and it was a stroke a genius to have gold larger than life statues to the gods in Gibichung hall - Donner, Froh, Friea and Fricka. Naked. I really liked the use of colour which was predominantly black, white and red, except for the Rhinemaidens in their bluey green outfits which, (for those who need to know) they eventually shed.

The closing scene was masterful, staged around what I decided to think of as a swimming pool even though I knew it was the River Whine. Gunther was tossed in there and left there, which disappointed me because I had hoped it was real water but it was a trick of the light - very well executed. And the funeral pyre was spectacular - four fires going for the burning of the gods, and a large one at the back where Brunnhilde leaped onto it. You could feel the heat in the Amphi, and the cold when it went out.

Musically the orchestra seemed a bit first nightish. Nothing specific but especially in the Prologue/Act 1 they seemed a bit tentative. But by the time that Siegfried's funeral music arrived I was wallowing. I think my seat (on the front right of amphi) was excellent for singing and good for orchestra, whereas a similar position at ENO advantages orchestra...I don't really know what I'm getting at here, just trying to work it out in my mind). No significant flubs that were obvious to me, and I heard stuff I had not consciously heard before. What did strike me forcefully, although not entirely as a new thought, was that at the start of Act III when the Rhinemaidens return, their music sounds very modern, and not at all 19th century. I can't quite pin it down - is it key or the particular chords that are prominent, but I think if I heard it out-of-context with no prior knowledge I might age it to the 1920s.

Norns and Whinemaidens, Alberich and Gutrune sang and performed just fine.

Lisa Gasteen was wholly convincing as Brunhilde and although I detected a slight wobble once or twice this shouldn't diminish the overall triumph of the role. She got the most cheers, although the footstamping for John Tomlinson brought him even. We felt that he did not inhabit the part of Hagen in quite the mesmerising way that Gidon Saks had done at ENO and we were surprised at how bass his voice sounded. But no grounds for complaint.

Sadly, John Treleaven as Siegfried was much as I had expected. It's an intelligent and instinctive interpretation and clearly portraying the different tones and moods and colours and so on. There are some nice sounds coming at the lower end of the range, but from the middle up it's an ugly sound, usually approximate to pitch and occasionally badly off, and a wobble so wide that really the word wobble doesn't do it any justice. Richard Berkely-Steele was more satisfying down the road.

Peter Coleman-Wright was a more than adequate Gunther, often sounding really quite gorgeous but I never felt that there was anything to the character and no attempt, it seemed to reach beyond the footlights.

Disproportionate (to the size of the role) cheers went to Mihoko Fujimura as Waltraute and deservedly so. I would say that she is the best female singer I have heard in 2006, a lovely rich sound and a column from top to bottom (ie not a pyramid, if you get me). I emerged in the first interval raving about her, and knew the name rang a bell, and checking the programme I realised that she is the Brangane on the Pappano T&I which I have played a lot, but I did not make the connection voice-wise. Looked good and moved well, and was moving in her delivery. Indeed the only think that spoiled her part was the woman behind me sighing "Oh! This is GOOD!"

I'm sorry that I went on the First Night - unintentionally - because there were a few raggedy bits that could do with a polish. For example, some of the chorus blocking for the wedding scene could do with tightening up, but they sounded fabulous.

Overall, a very satisfying night which has done a lot to erase my memories of a dismal Siegfried and provoke memories of an exceptionally enjoyable Walkure. As I found with the ENO Ring which finished about a year ago, the final part really does help to put the entire production in context. I will check Wednesday's papers. I have no doubt that the critics will hate it.

Antonio Pappano conducted.

Put me down for the Cycle in Autumn 2007, please.

Next is Gotterdammerung...

You would think that the lack of blogging would suggest a fun packed activity strewn Bank Holiday weekend, whereas the opposite is true. An awful lot of sleep, a bit of Spring Cleaning and the rest of the time just vegging. I think it's called R&R.

Later today is the first night of Gotterdammerung at the Royal Opera House. A night that starts at four o'clock, and goes on for six hours and forty five minutes, including intervals. I don't think I shall be writing a review tonight!

But you can hear a completely version of the entire Ring Tetralogy on the Radio

Muriel Spark RIP

Obituary: Dame Muriel Spark

I have to confess that I had no idea that she was still alive, but she died on Thursday aged 88.

It's been a while since I read any of her books, and all the ones I did read I borrowed from the library. Most famous for The Prime of Miss Jean Brodie, but some of her other books made quite an impression on me. I certainly enjoyed Girls of Slender Means and The Ballad of Peckham Rye.

There was a book of hers that I read in the very early Eighties, when I was barely in my teens, about a woman who had to have an orgasm every day and went out trawling the streets for a casual screw. That might have been The Driver's Seat. At that age, and in those days, I was really quite shocked, but I kind of enjoy the thought that somewhere behind the cardiganned-bespectacled stereotypical librarian in my local branch library was the beating heart of a connoisseur of Erotica. Who did nothing to discourage me from reading these and other examples of the genre.

You know, I might just obtain myself a few Muriel Sparks and see how I find them now that I am older and the world has moved on.

Search special

I post stuff on here with barely a glance to my Site Stats

(Actually, that isn't - I analyse my Site stats with anxiety and know that, like it or not, I've got to keep posting about Pláci; and if I ever saw Jonny Wilkinson naked I'd be click, click, clicking away merely for the sake of blogging).

Sometimes I post stuff and don't even think how the Googlers will pick up on it.

But in the past week or so a surprise hit (to me) has been - Art Thou Troubled?

Art thou troubled? Music will calm thee Art thou weary? Rest shall be thine Music, source of all gladness heals thy sadness at her shrine. Music, music ever divine. Music, music calleth with voice divine.

Doesn't matter what music you like, for me, at any rate, those words are divine. Made celestial by the music of Handel, but, wow! Fucking amazing. And my Googlers say so, too! About to be elevated into the Gert Pantheon of Vital Quotes

Superman

PlaybillArts: News: With Domingo Double Booked, Two Opera Companies Shrug

I can see a problem here: even Mr Air-Miles can't actually sing Siegmund in both Washington and Munich on the same day. I predict he will end up in dispute with the General Director of Washingotn Opera. I'm sure he'll find a way to resolve it.

Not Take Me Out To the Ballgame

                                                

Update, sort of!

Oh, and opera singers don't need microphones

Tesco larceny and mendacity

Here is an email I sent to Tesco.

It has been brought to my attention that Tesco label food that contains fish as being Suitable for Vegetarians. This is contrary to the guidance issued by the Food Standards Agency, to that issued by the Vegetarian Society and to the generally accepted definition of Vegetarianism, for example that used in widely available Vegetarian cookbooks, and in the O-Level syllabus as far back as the 1980s.

Vegetarians do not eat fish, therefore anything containing fish is not vegetarian. To label such a product as being suitable for vegetarians is misleading and is intended to encourage vegetarians to buy the product under false pretences. This seems to me to be verging on fraud or theft.

I originally discovered this when a friend wrote to complain, and was told untruthfully that vegetarians eat fish. I blogged this; recently somebody picked this up from my blog by Googling so I re-blogged it, since when a number of UK Bloggers have run with the story.

I would like to know whether Tesco are prepared to stand by their lies, or admit that they have made a mistake and publicly apologise for their mendacity and larceny.

I have tried sending it to Watchdog but their submission form seems broken. I shall retry.

More details at...oh, heck, should I post the link, considering that I included my url in my auto-sig on the email?

I'll get back to you on that one!

BTW, they also mislead in other ways, too.

And discovered in the New Statesman online

David Reading, director of the Anaphylaxis Campaign, said Tesco's decision to label bottles of milk with the warning "Allergy Advice: contains milk" and bags of assorted nuts with the warning "Allergy Advice: contains nuts" undermined the seriousness of the problem of food allergies. Tesco defended its decision, saying that it wanted customers to have "all the possible information they should need".

from the Sheffield Star

I was actually looking for this story

The supermarket chain Tesco won a high court order yesterday to remove environmental activists from woodland which the company wants to fell to make way for a new store. The protesters' leader, Oliver Carter, 24, has been living in a tree house in Shepton Mallet, Somerset, for 11 days. The planned supermarket and new homes have council permission, but Mr Carter is supported by some residents.

Mr Carter sought an adjournment yesterday, saying he had first heard about the hearing on Tuesday evening. But the judge said legal notices had been on the site since Friday. Mr Carter said later: "Of course they won in court. They had four legal experts and a highly trained barrister. All my legal advice came from King Arthur Pendragon, a druid priest. But I've got the whole of Shepton Mallet behind me."

Give me strength...

...and failing that, give me skills.

Oh the poor ickle under firties who don't know their arses from their elbows.

Can't wire a plug? Can't unblock a drain? Can't hang a picture?

Bet they know r exactly which overpriced rip-off designer handbag is necessary for looking down their coke-lined noses at losers like me.

What kind of moron can't change a lightbulb? Or bleed a bleeding radiator?

Apparently, young people prefer to spend their time going out to leisure activities than changing a lightbulb or unblocking a drain. My bedroom radiator needed bleeding at seven o'clock in the morning the other week. I thought about calling someone out, but figured I probably wouldn't get anybody before lunch and anyway I didn't have £100 in cash on me, so I spent a minute bleeding it myself and returned to bed for another three hours sleep! Now who's the loser, the person who knows the latest 'plot' lines in Eastenders or the one that can put up bookshelves?

A strawpoll in my immediate environment revealed that wiring a plug is still necessary - in order to get the cable neatly threaded through the hole in the cupboard rather than having cables trailing in an unsightly mess all over everywhere!

My contempt isn't is so much about ticking off a list of 'can-dos' but an attitudinal one. It's currently fashionable to decry the Nanny State but there seems to plenty of evidence of people that need Nannying, be it Rhiannon Lennon-Smith who says

I'd usually call my dad. It's not the best thing to do I know, but when things are broken people just throw them out.

, or people who watch a TV programme because some journalist has been bribed heavily to plug preview it, or drink industrial alcohol because an advertising agency has told them what to do or are incapable of arranging a visa for foreign travel unless Nanny in the Travel Agent tells them to.

It's about how people don't use information, or perhaps do not know how to use information. I'm all for trivia, and for fluff and fun, but I wonder what will happen to Rhiannon Lennon-Smith if Daddy dies or develops Alzheimers or retires to Spain. Hopefully, by then she will have a boyfriend or husband who can take over the Daddying role, but it's very dodgy grounds on which to choose a sexual partner, I think. At least if you know that you can survive and live alone, you also know that you're actually choosing to live with someone, rather than being forced into it by dependency. Meanwhile people are choosing to remain ignorant of the essentials and letting the capitalist machine govern their lives. Makes no sense to me.

Obviously, we all have to start somewhere. When I found I needed to do stuff - this was before the internet - I read books or asked people, friends and colleagues mainly. But if you don't know how to bleed a radiator it probably means that you don't even know radiators need bleeding, and you're already at a disadvantage in life. But at least you can look down your nose at the little stupid people who don't know which hairdresser the winner of Big Brother goes to but is perfectly capable of looking after herself...although I was once told off by my lovely friend Jude when I recounted how I had managed to lock myself out the back of my house and had to smash a (small) window and then get a glazier out (at post-Christmas double rates). Jude's argument was that it was about time I learnt to replace a window...I have to confess that were the incident to recur again* I would still call a glazier out

* this tautological construction would suggest that the incident had already recurred which would be a ludicrous, unthinkable preposterous proposition and I'll shoot anyone who dares to suggest otherwise

Pláci in Denmark

There was the Press Conference and Photo Call

A report (in Spanish) Ovacionan a Plácido por La Valquiria en Copenhague

And an exclusive eye-witness account from Raffe, Our Correspondent in the Frozen North:

woooooow! (we are back from Copenhagen...). The Valkyrie in Copenhagen on April 7 with our hero as the hero Siegmund (you can tell I'm feeling poetic). It was a magic evening. Plácido sounded, looked and moved like a superman half his age. Warm, rich, beautiful 'baritonal' sounds. The rest of the cast and production were very, very good too. Sieglinde (Gitta-Marie Sjöberg) was a fine match to Placi's Siegmund and the Fricka/Wotan (Susanne Resmark/James Johnsen) interchange in act 2 was excellent. Audiences applauded like they've never done before in the frozen north at the end of each act. Placi came back also for the third act curtain calls and got standing ovations (of course). I did not stalk him by the stage door, take pictures or ask him if we could elope together or anything. (I'll save that for a later occasion ;-) Now that I've seen that hero's real age is somewhere between 35 and 40, I'm sure there will be more chances. PS: There was quite a bit of furniture abuse in this production. One fine example was when Placi-Siegmund threw a chair through the french windows at Hunding's place.

Also, a report on Opera-L

I had wondered how Domingo would sound after his long illness. But I need not have worried. He sang extremely well. It is amazing that there is no trace of age in his voice at all. His voice sounded extremely even in all its range and his low notes are very impressive. His "Wälse" sounded very impressive. It is uncanny how much he sounds like on his recordings.

As the first act came to an and I wondered how the A at the end would sound. It sounded fine - but unlike what I have heard him do before he did not hold on to it at all but went almost directly from "Wäl" to "sung" and then but the stress on "sungenblut". It worked ok musically - and better than an ugly-sounding long A would have been.

I was impressed how young he looked. He must have lost weight (he looked very slim) and he moved (and fell) like a young man. His deathscene was very moving.

So Furniture Abuse and Falling on the Floor. What more does an opera need...?

Water

We agreed earlier in the week we would go out all day yesterday, for a walk and to see the sights.

But the weather forecast was rain and hailstones. Which takes the pleasure out of walking.

Jimmy was up early, I awoke at about eleven (we are so incompatible). At about midday it dawned on me that the day was beautifully sunny and clear if not especially warm. He had thought I was not well and loath to wake me. By then it was too late to consider going out for the day. It didn't rain at all.

Which segues nicely into the issue of hosepipe bans. When I posted last week I thought that I would attract comments from people saying that I was selfish. I have been round the blogosphere and the wider internet and found that I am far from alone in my anger at the ban. I have been amused by suggestions of organising a protest in your garden, which the police will have to disperse by water cannon. And I have read that using buckets is wasteful because of the spillage between tap and garden.

I now understand that the water companies are able to ban the use of hosepipes specifically for watering the garden or washing the car but for no other reason, and have no other powers other than reducing water pressure.

This is under a 1991 law brought in after the 1989 privatisation. It is a Tory Law.

Now, I have no moral problem in opposing in Bad Tory Laws, although I feel a bit embarrassed sloganising with "Repeal the Evil Tory Law". But I do have moral qualms about my role in society, although I am a mass of contradictions. I believe that our lifestyles damage the environment and I consciously minimise car use, yet I delight in cheap flights. I believe in conserving energy in the home but a casual overnight inspection of Gert Cottage would reveal appliances left on standby and chargers plugged in without gadget attached.

I only actually acquired a hosepipe last year. In previous years I was happy to use watering cans, but my illness, coupled with the tremendous work Jimmy has put into making the garden look good, made me want a hosepipe. And whilst I have no intention of using a hosepipe to make a point, I reserve the right to use it when weather conditions dictate. I would urge other people in similar circumstances to me to do likewise. Especially I would encourage the elderly to do so. I suspect that they are most likely to be compliant without sanctions.

I doubt that Thames Water will ever discover my occasional, weather-driven usage. If they do, they will first contact me by letter, then in a personal visit, and finally in extremis prosecute me. If I do receive a letter I will go public. Very public.

My legal defence will be that I'm hosing down my patio (my garden is effectively a patio with borders) and filling my swimming pool. They may point out that I don't have a swimming pool, to which I will point to my bucket and say that, land values being what they are round here, that's as valuable as any swimming pool in the Sticks. And point out that they are being discriminatory in what they define as a swimming pool. I shall also borrow children (or maybe a dog, but that's going too far) and hose them down, a perfectly legal - and fun - activity, if pointless.

I will demand a refund on my water services, and suggest I will sue for breach of contract. I will even agree to having a meter fitted to demonstrate that my water usage is less then equivalent houses with more occupants, a dishwasher and a power shower.

Morally, I don't have a problem. All the water that will be pumped into my garden, free of detergent, will eventually enter the rain cycle again. When it rains heavily, I see a river flowing from my house, down my path, down the communal private drive, down the road and onto the South Circular, and eventually down to Clapham.

I know that the water companies have a problem with leakage and to fix it will cost billions. Until they can demonstrate that they have been fixing the problem they should desist from paying dividends to shareholders.

I repeat I do not believe in profligacy and empty gestures, such as the scandal that Adrian brought to our attention. But I do believe that when the law is an ass we have a moral duty to ignore it. I believe in the rule of law and I believe that the law enforcers should be held accountable via the democratic structures and processes. There are no direct means to hold Thames Water (or other water companies) accountable and therefore I do not believe they should have powers to prosecute.

We got the warning in 1976, yet the Eighties saw a deliberate under-resourcing of public services by the Conservative government until Water was nearly given away to the merchant bankers in the city of London and Frankfurt. It's a typical action of Capitalism, to target the individual, especially the vulnerable individual but give a free pass to business and the wealthy.

Interview with Three Superstars

Oper: Der Klassik-Gipfel - stern.de

Because my language skills are negligible (I nearly said negligent) I tend to put long articles through a machine-translator. Google seems to have rendered this into passable English, better than Babelfish usually manages.

Shame that the article happens to be accompanied by some of the worst photos imaginable. The first rule of being a superstar ought to be "Never let a photo be taken from a low angle..." Even I know that one...

Oh, the superstars are Plácido Domingo, Rolando Villazón and Anna Netrebko.