I went out last night. I love it when you've stood at Stockwell for nearly 37 minutes, and are suddenly building up hope, what with the Dot Matrix indicator saying "Edgware via Bank 1" to see a scrolling marquee announcing "Please avoid the Northern Line due to severe delays. Tickets accepted on local buses..." It poses a real dilemma. Do I get this train coming, and live in fear of there being no connecting service at Kennington, or do I follow instructions and get the bus, even though there's a perfectly adequate Victoria Line running just yards behind me. I worked out my strategy. Fortunately, a Charing X train turned up immediately at Kennington. Phew!
There's a screen at Brixton that tells you when there are delays on lines. It's super-douper 21st century state of the art, quite possibly up-to-the-minute, centrally controlled and widely distributed piece of information. But like everyone else, I prefer the intermediate tech of the colour coded whiteboard and its enigmatic messages - Passenger Incident, Faulty Train, Driver's Teabreak. I made the last one up.
I met up with my friends and we proceeded to enjoy the English National Opera's Gala in aid of the ENO Pension Fund. Two, maybe three, world-class singers, plus an impressive array of has-beens, also-rans and wannabes. Not to mention an illustrious line-up of no-shows. Perhaps I shall write more at length, but I'm not really sure what, other than "it was enjoyable; the Gilbert and Sullivan was terminably naff; I really can do without 'Opera in English';". Highlights - Simon "Shirtless" Keenlyside opened up with something from Pagliacci before, presumably, pulling on his leathers, mounting his motorbike and speeding off into the sunset up the M4; the party from Traviata - okay the bullfight scene was a bit contrived and English but it all came together. The soprano, Linda Richardson, was rather lovely, and by supreme serendipity I had just hours previously booked a fun Raymond Gubbay Opera Gala at the Barbican, with her in the line-up, so that's good! The tenor was Wynne Evans. Not top drawer but definitely worth a mention of praise.
The highlight and the lowlight managed to combine in one ensemble, the Soave sia Il vento (from Cosi) where the mezzo manage to be so totally off pitch it was astounding, and then suddenly, this gorgeous baritone comes out shiningly sublime in that wonderful phrase (much more gorgeous than on the not-to-be-sniffed-at recording I have indoors - the Karl Böhm set, where Walter Berry is the Don Alfonso). The baritone in question was the lovely Gerald Finley, taking this on at short notice after Sir Thomas "Don Alfonso" Allen cancelled. It was one of those moments-to-be-cherished that make all the indifferent and mediocre nights out well worth it. So when Tom retires, or retires Don Alfonso, will Gerald be stepping in?
Afterwards, it being a fund-raiser a whole collection of celebrity charity muggers posed with collecting buckets. It's on occasions like this that you do really start to wonder about the Great British Public. Michael Portillo had been specifically thanked from the stage for heading up the committee. As we were going down the stairs, I overheard this woman saying "I wonder if Michael Portillo's going to be there with collecting bucket". One of her friends pointed out that he was actually very visible near the front door with a preposterously bright blue shirt and brilliant tie. Later he was seen with collecting bucket, so this woman - would you believe it -, to the obvious disdain of her friends, actually went and put her money in Portillo's bucket, and was rewarded (?) with an Ooze of Portillo-esque charm. Later, when this same woman was leaving the pub, she spotted the selfsame Portillo crossing over towards Trafalgar Square.
Some of us, with long memories, shudder.
One thing I can't understand about the Northern Line. why is it, even in the evenings, even on a Sunday evening, there are more City trains than West End trains. It makes sense during the day, but the City's almost dead at night at weekends, and it's a pain waiting for a Charing X train that turns up packed to the rafters, and then having to change at Kennington.
