Gertsamtkunstwerk

Busy busy busy

I've been neglectful of this blog of late. I currently have a sense that various things are piling up around me. Internet things and domestic things. They're not really, all I need to do is sit down, prioritise and work through them and I'll wonder what I got so freaked out about.

Part of the thing is that Jimmy starts work in a couple of weeks, running a pub. I won't see a great deal of him once he's doing that, so there is an impetus to spend as much time together as possible. Even if that time is only spent lounging around watching TV. I have this feeling that I have wasted time by watching TV, even though I know the alternative is me sitting in here at the PC and him watching films whose noise annoys me and sends me into sulks of resentment. But I do feel a bit at his beck and call with no time to call my own. I am sure he would dispute that!

On Monday I went to an assessment centre for a job I have applied for. It was in a place two hours out of London, there and back in a day, with five hours of intensive assessments in between. It was role playing based upon a management scenarios, videoed and watched remotely by assessors, followed by a 45 minute exam.

I spent Monday and Tuesday nights going over it all in my mind, even though I had told myself not to, there's nothing I can do about it. I think I did as well as I could, except for that bit, oh, and that bit, and heck, I've just remembered what I've missed out. I figure that if I don't get through it's because my rivals are bloody good. Alternatively, because I am delusional about my own ability.

And the eternal conundrum - I don't believe I missed anything fundamental and I do believe I got to the heart of the issues. However, in saying that, am I merely demonstrating a lack of insight and judgement that will be clearly demonstrable by my scrutinised and assessed performance. I did feel that it was a bit like a mix of an audit visit to an establishment or  local office and a councillor's advice surgery. So, if I fail, what does that say about me as an auditor and an ex-councillor?

What with one thing and another, exercise has been conspicuously absent all week. We were going to go cycling today, after Jimmy picked his bike up from service. He went down at midday but it wasn't ready, despite what they had said on Wednesday. So we went swimming instead and picked up the bike on the way back. I ended up walking all the way home, which was weird!

At Brixton Rec, I saw a sight which must be filed under 'Only in Brixton'.

Brixton Rec is pretty similar to just about every municipal swimming pool I have ever visited. Female and male changing rooms, lockers for street clothes etc, and walk out to poolside. Everybody does it, it's so common place it's not normally worth writing about.

We were in the pool and our attention was drawn by a woman walking from poolside into the water. A bit large, she was wiggling and dancing in a way that inevitable draws attention. I would have forgotten her were it not for her two male companions. One, very fat, well, grossly obese, stripped down to his trunks at poolside, leaving his trousers, t-shirt and sweatshirt, as well as several bags, outdoor clothes, shoes and so on, in the care of the 'minder', next to the pool.  I'm convinced there are signs saying 'no spectators poolside - please use viewing gallery' and 'no outdoor shoes poolside' (so everyone wears flipflops or crocs that they probably wear outdoors in summer!).

I immediately christened the minder Michelin Man because he was wearing a white puffa jacket and white padded trousers as well as a white hat. And he stood there minding the belongings. I didn't particularly watch the very fat couple except that he seemed to be doing widths. Not of the pool, just of the one section that wasn't a 'lane'. I then noticed the woman in the changing rooms. I couldn't miss her because she was holding a shouted conversation with a man who was, presumably, standing at the door. Jimmy said they were only in about five minutes, and there was another minder as well as Michelin Man.

The strangest thing was that nobody else seemed to notice them nor think that there was anything strange in their behaviour. I imagined that he was some African King or something, and he was having his therapeutic dip, attended by loyal retainers. Their whole behaviour struck me as bizarre, and it was markedly different from anyone else, although I didn't have a problem with it, as such. 

My take on Gross and Bland

I have mixed feelings. I don't trust the Daily Mail and their agenda. On the other hand, I think that Jonathan Ross is a talentless overpaid tosser. And at least now I know what Russell Brand is. Apparently he's a comedian. I remember when a definition of a comedian included humour.

I'm really not frightfully bothered about the substance of what happened. I think obscene phone calls are illegal. I think nuisance calls are illegal. I also think there are laws against recording telephone calls and replaying them without permission. I doubt that what they did breached any of those laws. And I think people who are in the public eye have to accept that, almost by definition, they surrender at least some of the privacy rights that the rest of us value.

I have to say I am flummoxed that there appears to be a whole set of people, not just Gross and Bland, who think that what they did was amusing or entertaining. I don't mean that particularly in a disapproving way. Children get amusement by ringing people up and saying swear words, but I doubt this was intended as children's entertainment. I've got a bit bored reading about Jonathan Ross being 'cutting edge'. I thought at Live 8 he was dated and irrelevant with his homophobic remarks, and reprehensible for his cynical attempt to cash in. I understand subsequently he has engaged in sexual innuendo. I'm struggling to think what's innovative or cutting edge about that. Edginess requires an element of original thought.

A large part of me is wondering what all the fuss is about, but an even larger part is salivating at the schadenfreude what is sort of hitting this waste of space. He gets paid more in a day than many people get in a year, and I can't work out why. He hosts a chat show that gets its audience from people wanting to see the famous guest. He hosts a film programme which is researched and written by other people. I'm not saying that anybody can do it, but Charlotte Church and Mark Kermode seem to manage okay, probably for a lot less money.

You kind of feel that certain parts of the BBC are like certain parts of the City: staffed by people who are clones of each other, appointed because of who they know or because they can work for free for six months, and totally oblivious to what happens outside their small circle-jerks, so divorced from reality that they actually think that playground nastiness is not only entertaining but funny.

Tamerlano

I am just back from the Empire,  Leicester Square, having seen 'Tamerlano', that which I saw in Madrid in April (just after the clocks went forward...). It did seem a bit ground-hog day because this time last year, ie clocks going back day, I was also going into London for the matinee of Die  Walküre at ROH.

I am not going to review the production/ performance in any great detail, because it was filmed when I was actually there in the house, but I thought it was excellent seeing it in the cinema. Of course it isn't the same as actually being there, but definitely worthwhile.

The action was projected onto a very large screen, much larger than life. This mean that the close-ups were very close indeed. I took considerable pleasure from close-ups of Plácido's chest hair. And in the death scene, his anguish and suffering was magnified by being able to see every bead of sweat on his face.

The sound was excellent, for amplified sound, but can't compare to being in the house. The rather quiet trouser role women sounded louder than they had in the house, although I can't say I cared any more for them. The quiet soprano, Ingela Bohlin, benefited the most from the close-ups. The amplification made her more audible and emphasised the gorgeousness of her voice. Also, she was understated in her facial expressions which came across brilliantly on the screen but was lost in the house, whereas the identical twins in the trouser roles were shown to be mugging in a way that was not so obvious live. Plácido of course sounded gorgeous but some of the subtle overtones of his voice were, nevertheless, lost in the amplification.

I benefited from really having absorbed the music in the past six months. I must give up on my silliness about every Handel opera sounding alike. Of course they don't: each one is very different, and yet, sufficiently of a style that you can be confident that if you love one, you'll love them all. Indeed, the man was a complete musical genius, and I hereby declare 2009 to be Handel year. He deserves as much exposure as Mozart. Mozart was no less of a genius but Handel was the opera genius. Only Verdi and Wagner come close :-)

At the end, when they were showing the curtain calls, they did a couple of shots of the audience. Mandy says she saw me, but I must have blinked at that micro-second. I'm going to have to buy the DVD if and when it's released!

It shows again at the Empire on Tuesday, and various other venues, too:  here's a list for UK, Germany and Netherlands. It's tempting to go again, and if my coming week wasn't so hectic, I would. The cinema was more or less full - lots of familiar faces 'big hello'! There were two ten minute intervals between acts, just enough time to get a fag and go to the Ladies, but not much else

Serviced!

I have written in this blog of the physical effort and pain I have been suffering cycling even the  slightest incline. I worried, because I can feel that my legs are getting more muscular, yet I didn't feel this has paid off in making the cycling easier.

I don't give up easily but I am not the sort of person who perseveres with something if I am  not making progress. I know that I am making progress in swimming. I went swimming on both Monday and Wednesday after work. I didn't feel like exerting myself at all, nevertheless, I did several lengths effortlessly. So, although I worried that the law of diminishing returns may apply, it is nevertheless gratifying to know that I can do more now without effort than I could when trying very hard less than three months ago.

Part of the deal when buying my bike was a 'free' service after 6-8 weeks. On Tuesday, Jimmy rode it down the hill to the shop and left it to be serviced. He rang me to say that he had found it very difficult to ride, despite it being downhill all the way, and even allowing for our ten inch height difference. Two or three weeks ago he had observed that my rear wheel was not rigid in the frame. He had had a similar problem with his from the outset, but had got it fixed (he had also needed his saddle mount fixed). Getting his fixed made a tremendous difference to him.

We picked my bike up last night and rode up the hill. It was dark (I had had lights fitted), and having come from work I was not dressed ideally - trousers too flared, jacket too bulky and thick - but nevertheless, I found it a cinch to ride. Admittedly, I did dismount to walk up the steepest part of Brixton Hill (from the prison up to the lights), but that was because there was massive traffic congestion on the road and many pedestrians on the pavement. If I had had to ride up the hill, I could have done.

We went out this afternoon, to Brockwell Park. It is reasonably flat to get there; I think I went in to second gear on one stretch just so that I could coast. Twice I rode up the hill to the café. I am not going to pretend that it is a massive hill, nor am I going to pretend that I did it in a gear higher than first, but it's not a trivial climb, and the point was, I did it much more easily than I was managing even on the flat on Monday.

Which is a massive relief, because I wasn't getting much joy from the hard work I was having to put in. I think we were actually cycling for over an hour - we did also stop for coffee at the café - and I reached home feeling as if I had done a gentle work out but knowing I had more a lot left in the engine.

Still, the hard struggle of late probably won't have done me any harm in the long run!

A rude awakening

This morning I fell to reflecting on the numerous different ways I have been abruptly wakened over the years. Alarm clocks, of course. Fire alarms, thankfully only in practice. Telephones. People with whom I live. People who live next door. People delivering lectures or presentations, or acting in plays or films, or singing in concerts or operas.

Then there are the self-waking ones - needing a pee, needing to throw up, suffocating with bed-clothes in mouth, freezing with bed clothes on floor. There are the extraneous outside noises - sirens and pneumatic drills (that happened this morning), car alarms and burglar alarms, aeroplanes, and lorries reversing, yuppie cow at the back yelling down her phone in the garden, church bells, hedge-cutters and lawn mowers, refuse and recycling collections, street sweeping vehicles and helicopters.

Thunderstorms and high winds and deluge of rain. Bomb, once (I woke very suddenly one Saturday morning and glanced at the clock. It was only when I switched on the news that I realised it was no coincidence that my clock had said 10:26). Earthquake. When I was very small I was woken in the middle of the night by a sparrow in my bedroom. I still have a phobia about birds indoors.

And this morning, at what seemed like the middle of the night (although was only half an hour before my alarm would go off on a work-day) I woke with a searing pin-prick-like pain in my leg. I scratched it but it wouldn't go away. I inspected my leg and saw two bright red marks resembling pimples but yet, not pimples. And one further bright red spot surrounded by an area of swelling about the size of my hand. I heard a buzzing, and, still not fully awake, I thought 'oh, I've been stung'.

I went to the loo and reflected more. I have been stung, probably by a wasp or bee, whilst lying in bed in the 'middle of the night'. My leg is swelling up. My leg is swelling up so badly that I will probbaly be paralysed for at least a week and will probably have to go to A&E pronto. and I might even die. I then remembered a bottle of TCP in the bathroom cabinet, so I daubed it literally over my leg, then read the instructions which suggested first washing one's hands!

I returned to the bedroom and considered what to do about the wasp. I realised that I had better not shake the duvet in case it agitates the wasp. I then remembered the only other time I have been stung by a wasp, when a whole family of them made a nest in the spare bedroom. I considered spending the rest of the night on the sofa. Then, to my relief I saw a half dead wasp crawling along the bedroom floor, so I finished it off with a shoe and retired to bed.

When I was later rudely awoken by a pneumatic digging up Gert Cottage Boulevard (Victorian Water Main Renewal), all that lingered were three minuscule pink scabs and a hint of aroma of TCP. Lasting effects - no more significant than a heat or friction rash.

I have been stung by wasps twice in my life, both in my house, both times the wasps having emerged from duvets. I suspect that that might be a slightly freakish statistic.

Beer is not Good

Obviously, in the grand scheme of things it is, but not specifically today.

Mind you, whiskey might be part of the problem. We went out for a quiet curry last night and ended up drinking large quantities of whiskey. I think they were on the house. I'm not really sure. I was already drunk after my opening gin. Three glasses of wine left me legless. I have a funny feeling I might have written strange things on the internet.

A very late lay-in this afternoon. But womanfully, I insisted that it was essential to get out on my bike. Just up to and round Wandsworth Common and back. Via The Nightingale and a pint and a half of Young's Ordinary, which was tasting exquisite. I didn't quite manage to go all the way there actually cycling. I dismounted to cross Balham Hill (an A road) by the pelican crossing,  then I wimped out in the climb up to Nightingale Lane, and for the last few feet up to the Common.

Clearly it was the beer's fault that my legs gave way on the way back. That is the worst bit of cycling. The very worst bit is the long slow climb up the south Circular to my road, getting slighter steeper with every revolution, at the end of the journey. Home so near yet so far.

I know it's doing me good, I can see my body changing shape, and I can feel my muscles getting stronger but when I collapse into my chair sweating, short of breath (yeah yeah I know why...) and having to wait and observe my heartbeat take it's time to return to resting level, I wonder why. Jimmy doesn't break sweat and his heartbeat doesn't increase (I don't think he's trying hard enough...). But it is worth it, on the flat and especially downhill. And even on those painful climbs when it takes it all my physical strength and willpower to get up them, there is a tremendous sense of achievement to have got there at all.

Montezuma

Plácido explains the motivation behind his latest role - to gain status with his grandchildren...

Techie help, please...!

I have three external hard drives connected to my PC. One is called 'Local Disk E'. It used to be a WD My Book. It contains approximately 480 Giga Bites of downloaded videos, most of which (say, 475 GB) haven't been burnt to DVD or otherwise backed up.

Last night I was moving files between Hard Drives. When I click on 'Local Disk E' I am presented with a message saying 'The Disk in Drive E is not formatted. Do you want to format it now?'

To which I answer 'No'.

I am assuming that the Disc Drive is dead, deceased, no more, a late disc drive. And the 480 GB are irretrievable. I am using Windows XP.

Has anybody got any bright ideas?

I do recall very many years ago, back in the days of Stand-Alone non-networked computers, and 5¼ a then a colleague, whom we shall Codename 'Malcolm' went along to his audit client, a well know Police Force in the London area (which at the time was a National Government function) to download accounting data from the accounts' department's PC. He inserted his floppy and went through the menu options that would permit him to format it until he got to 'Which drive would you like to format?' and he selected 'C'. The machine grunted into life,began clicking and whirling and chugging for an inordinate amount of time, at which point he realised what he had done, and, so rumour has it, fled. At the time we all thought this was one of those nightmare scenarios that all of us knew could happen so easily, but,preferably not to oneself. Actually, I would hope that there would have been regular back-up of the accounting data, so that the biggest consequence was the irritation of a bit of wasted time.

I however, don't have back-up.

It was all down-loaded from the internet; assuming that the links are all live, I am restricted to downloading 20 GB a week. So to replace it, assuming it's replaceable, could take nearly six months...

Exercised

Saturday was strenuous, so I rested Sunday. On Monday I took once more to my bike and I was really shocked at how much better I felt. I was only out for about an hour and a half, which was not over strenuous, but contributed to the 'one hour of cardio exercise three times a week'.

I haven't had the chance to  go swimming all week. Tuesday, because of being late into work I was late leaving; Wednesday because I attended an Open Evening for a job I have applied for*; Thursday because I was at Partenope. 

And today was cycling again, the principle being that if we have time in daylight and it's not pissing it down, we'll go cycling. In evenings and on wet (or windy) days we'll go swimming. No point in wasting good weather when we've got it - there will be plenty of miserable days to come.

We were out for an hour and a half. I really need to do something about my warming-up. Leaving home is always deceptive - downhill whichever direction I choose, but downhill is always followed by uphill, or flat. And the first stretch of flat/slight incline always destroys me and I always think 'my god, I've not been out the house ten minutes and I'm done in'. But then it gets better, and it can be such a wonderful feeling, whether it's bombing along at what feels - to me -  like speed, whether it's the fun of riding into the woods, over tree roots and into dips, or reminding myself that as a middle-aged woman I can pedal as slowly as I want, and it doesn't matter who's watching. but it's also very satisfying to have felt as if I can't go on, to be so racked with pain (Good Pain) that life isn't worth living, then to find something in myself, and get myself to the top of the next slope.

Tooting Common is enormous. There is one particular stretch - from the duck-pond past the children's playground and onto the café which is like a centre or a magnet, and it can be quite sociable, exchanging chat with several people, random strangers, on any given day. It was particularly busy today, which was okay. Except for the person who tied their dog to a tree outside the café and ignored it as it yapped incessantly. The other dogs were all obviously agitated, even a deaf man (an acquaintance of Jimmy) was telling it to shut up. It was a bit early for the congregation of the babes-in-arms, otherwise they would have probably have started off, too.  

Yet other parts are almost totally deserted. So many copses and so on. The other day we went along by the railway line and saw bushes loaded with blackberries. Each time, the place looks different as the seasons change.

It was amusing when we were coming back. We passed under a railway bridge. Signs were up to say that barriers were being erected and demolition work was in progress. I was trying to work out what was being demolished. The railway bridge, said Jimmy. I doubt it I said,how else will the trains get between Balham and Streatham Hill. He was absolutely convinced that there were no trains along that line. I said there were, four an hour in each direction plus any number more being shunted into the sidings. We then split up because I wanted to rest a bit and he needed to get back, and wanted to explore an alternative way home. Not long after he had gone and I was about to resume, trains passed in either direction!

Later on, I went to have my legs (and a bit more) waxed. At one point I was really flinching with pain,and the beautician was apologising, so I said 'I have a really low pain threshold'. 'No,' she said, 'you've got a high pain threshold.' She might just have been saying that as good customer service, but there was something about the way she said it that made me think she was being genuine.

My gut is still wobbly, but higher up, from my breasts to my belly-button, there is something firm, quite possibly muscle. It's a while since I've felt any muscle in that region!

* and want, but am realistic-pessimistic about my chances because they don't  want  just anybody

Partenope

Last night at ENO.

Fabulous, really wonderful. I'd definitely recommend going.

(If last night was anything to go by there's still lots of seats available. In the Upper Circle which has three blocks the central block was mainly full, but the right and left blocks probably less than half full. I was in Row H which is by no means a great seat, but I didn't at any time regret not paying more for a better seat. Intermezzo gives details of a cheap offer).

This is exactly the sort of work that English National Opera does brilliantly: a small cast of excellent singers: Rosemary Joshua, John Mark Ainsley,  Christine Rice, Patricia Bardon, Iestyn Davies and James Gower. Conductor Christian Curnyn.

Throw in an exciting and innovative director - Christopher Alden, with an excellent creative team - and you have a really good night.  So good I almost applauded the scenery says obscure Brixton blogger

What I love about Handel is that the opera can be placed in just about any setting or any time period and it works. There is no great modern performance history of Partenope, so no real opportunity for die-hards to complain that it isn't an exact facsimile of when they first saw it in 1950something. In many ways the story doesn't matter too much - is merely an excuse for characters to fall in-and-out of love and perform Da Capo arias about their inner emotions. That having been said, you can't please all the people all the time. I overheard a conversation saying that the production was well 'over the top', and that ENO do do some ghastly productions - citing Satyagraha as being 'ghastly'. I know that taste is non-negotiable, and that Philip Glass's music is not to everyone's taste, but to dismiss the production of Satyagraha as 'ghastly' is, well, it's quite possibly the best production of anything I have ever seen live (or on TV) ever in my life. Saying 'it's ghastly' is quite quite different from 'I didn't like', bordering on the arrogant.

The concept was of a 1920s cocktail party. I read some months ago that it was to be based upon Virginia Woolf's Orlando, although I saw no reference to that in the programme, and really, other than being 1920s and gloriously gender-bending, I can't see a great connection.

Gender-bending: Christine Rice was Arsace, a male character; Patricia Bardon was Rosmira (female) disguised as Eurimine (male) and although Iestyn Davies - Armindo - is all man in appearance and role, being a counter-tenor creates a certain ambiguity in my mind.

The first act was set at a cocktail party. The scene was beautiful - a two-tiered stage representing a salon and stairs leading up to an upper level landing or corridor. Walls in white and to the right a table, with a gorgeous chandelier. I thought the set was exquisite but sadly can't really find photos to do it justice, nor really the costumes.

Act II was set in the same house but focused primarily in the hall, with the downstairs loo providing some light relief. And Act III was set in a day room,  light and airy, with Arsace spending much of the time lounging on a day bed while Rosmira/Eurimine perched high up on a semi-balcony above a set of shelves.

Emilio, the invading Prince from Carthage was based upon photographer Man Ray. The use of the camera provided some stage action and also contributed to the denouement, but really didn't add a great deal for me - nor did it take anything away.

It was an excellent ensemble piece for an excellent ensemble, all characters well-directed and convincing in their roles.Some particular highlights included:

• A rather well-executed if slightly camp dance by John Mark Ainsley,
• real elegance and subtle sexiness from Rosemary Joshua,
•  Christine Rice's brilliant portrayal of a young man, even in the way she lolled against a door-frame.

The gender bending was delightful, eg when Patricia Bardon as a woman disguised as a man made play for Rosemary Joshua, or the gorgeous love duet between Christine Rice and Patricia Bardon - perhaps the musical highlight.

I had studied neither score nor libretto beforehand, nor do I think I have ever heard let alone seen the opera before, so I went in with no pre conceptions. This is my usual attitude to Handel - there are no surprises in the music, and the structure follows the opera seria formula. Time and time again I wallowed in the gorgeousness of the orchestra and delighted in the simple brilliance of the tunes. I liked the libretto very much, translation by Amanda Holden, but a very loose translation with some comic effects, some lame (but not unpleasantly so) rhymes and some 1920s phraseology.

In respect of the cast, James Gower's role was the least and he performed satisfactorily with the material he had. He's a Young Artist and I'm sure he progress well to bigger parts. 

I was disappointed in John Mark Ainsley. He acted the character well but I didn't warm to his voice. It seemed quite small and with no real beauty,and no real sense of agility around the coloratura bits.

Rosemary Joshua was good in places but she was rather thin at the top and really couldn't trill,instead using  a pronounced vibrato - bordering on wobble - to negotiate the florid bits.

Mostly Patricia Bardon was gorgeous. She really throws herself into the part, really seemed to be enjoying herself, which transmitted to the audience, and generally sounded fabulous. Except for one passage that was particularly high lying and she had to screech and squawk to get it out. An ugly sound and quite out of place. Only for a couple of bars but that rather blurred my overall assessment.

Christine Rice was fantastic vocally and dramatically; she really can do no wrong. A really fabulous mezzo-soprano, with a gorgeous voice, innate musicality, intelligent interpretation, wonderful stage presence. Indeed, if it wasn't for the existence of Sarah Connolly and Alice Coote, she would definitely be my favourite British mezzo (Patricia Bardon is Irish) - how can one choose between them?

But for me the absolute highlight of the night was Iestyn Davies.

I am not generally a counter tenor fan, but all negative remarks previously made about c-ts on this blog may be laid aside for Iestyn, who has a beautiful voice, the ability to vary colour and tone, projects well, is good on stage and, really, has a je ne sais quoi which is just pure star quality. Just looking at his schedule, he will be in the much-anticipated Dido and Aeneas at ROH, lots of appearances in London and the world - I assume that Samson with Bicket and the English concert is a Prom. But the one that really catches my eye is the Athalia in New York in May. He and Carolyn Sampson together, and Ed Lyon whose voice I fell in love with the other week, plus Neal Davies who has also impressed me. It's too far for me  to go just for that, but I would say to anyone in New York, if you're in two minds, don't be. Run don't walk.I can't imagine it would be less than splendid.

In actual fact, the next year is going to be just one long Baroque-fest. Purcell was born in 1659 (350 years ago); Handel died in 1759 (250 years ago); Haydn* died in 1809 (200 years ago). The Barbican is having a Purcell, Handel and Haydn Season; word is that the Proms will have PH&H as a major theme; and the opera houses are obliging.

The lowlight of the evening was certain members of the audience. I suppose I shall just have to get used to the idea that the overture is the time to continue and finish one's conversation, not the time to shut up.

I got a bit annoyed by people who let out totally false laughter at bits which were mildly funny. I don't understand why people do that. It's not like that they are being polite and laughing at a friend's lame joke. Maybe it's because they think they 'ought', but you would think they would pick up clues from  everyone else, who isn't laughing. Or maybe they think it shows they are ultra-sophisticated, that they are the ones who get the obscure intellectual humour (...!), little realising that there are plenty of other people who do get it, and are amused in their head. And then, especially in Act 3, you get those who laugh loud and prolonged, probably because they're so pissed they actually genuinely think it's really really really funny, whilst everyone else is merely tittering mildly.

But probably worst of all was the man next to me - or who would have been next to me if I hadn't shifted along to take advantage of empty seats and get shoulder-room. He sneezed once and blew his nose. Fair enough. Except that he continued blowing it for ten minutes, and I really wished I wasn't in earshot. I think I can honestly say I have never heard such blowing even from someone with a streaming cold - and he had sneezed just once!

* I know that Haydn is more correctly classified as Classical, but there is a reason why Handel and Haydn are often grouped together

Extreme T.A.S.S

Where T.A.S.S is Ticket Acquisition Stress Syndrome...

I knew that today tickets at Valencia's Palau de les Arts Reina Sofia were going on general sale. I didn't know what time but didn't think it would be before 8 am my time. It was actually at 10 am local time, 9 am my time. Not ideal but better than a poke in the eye with a pointy stick. Get it done-and-dusted by 9.15 and it'll be hey ho hey ho it's off to work I go.

For quite some time, the link that said 'Buy tickets' was unresponsive; then I kept getting 'Page Load Error' or 'This Document contains no data'. Eventually I managed to snag the final ticket available in the Platea for the Saturday. That was at 9.25. At 9.58 I managed to complete the transaction! I kept trying refresh to try and book another ticket, for the Monday, but it just wouldn't load, and I had to be at work...late, of course.

Needless to say, as soon as I got to work, it worked so smoothly and I again managed to get a ticket in the Platea. Seemingly not a great ticket, being over on the Far Left. However, having seen this production I knew this to have its compensations (oh you know, chains, floor, rolling, tenor, that sort of thing...). All done, and onto the audit trail.

Much later in the day I was checking my emails and realised that I although I had received my confirmation email for my Saturday ticket, I didn't have any email for my Monday. I checked my personal history on the site and it listed just the Saturday. I was, and am confused. When I thought I had booked my Monday ticket, I printed the screenshot including a 'Número pedido' which I take to be a transaction number. So now I don't know if I have a ticket or not, nor whether I have paid for it. I have emailed them of course, and don't reasonably expect a reply yet.

It isn't the end of the world if I haven't got the Tuesday ticket, and I guess if I'm out in Valencia from  the Friday or Saturday onwards, I would stand a good chance of getting  a return at the Box Office. As I see the tickets slipping away I am tempted to re-order, now, but something is telling me not to. I know it will be alright, Serendipity will triumph,  but right now I am uncalm.

Anyway, I shall be going to Valencia. I might well be going alone, so I will miss Jimmy (he's handy for dining with and escorting me home through strange streets late at night), but it will be rather fun to be unchaperoned for a change.

In case you haven't guessed, the opera is, of course, Iphigenie en Tauride. But this Extreme TASS is not doing me any good, I think Extreme Ironing would be less stressful.

Happy Thatcher Day

In the light of the previous post, it has just dawned on me that today, the day when the banks are nationalised, is of course the birthday of Margaret Thatcher.

Sweet...!

This wasn't what I was looking for but it's bloody good...

*
Billy Bragg's version of The Internationale

And while we're on the subject of Billy - his greatest song, and one of the very greatest English songs

Between the Wars

And the Red Flag (I don't much like the vid...)

To secure for the workers by hand or by brain the full fruits of their industry and the most equitable distribution thereof that may be possible upon the basis of the common ownership of the means of production, distribution, and exchange, and the best obtainable system of popular administration and control of each industry or service.

Next stop, The Commanding Heights of the Economy**

Comrades, the Struggle

*Except where it doesn't scan :-)

** Disclaimer: nothing on this blog should be construed as being the Offical Policy of the Labour Party, unless otherwise stated

Credit crunch, bailouts and the Robert Peston Show

The sharp-eyed among you will have noticed an almost dearth of incisive comment about the global banking crisis. Although I am an Accountant with a Politics degree, I have a blind spot when it comes to Economics. I did study a bit as part of my Graduate Conversion Course (accountancy training) but I had to squint to decode a demand vs supply graph, and it all got too heavy from there on in.

I wish it were over. No doubt Robert Peston really knows his stuff, but it's getting too much, he's everywhere. I wake up with Robert Peston on the radio, I have my tea with Robert Peston on the TV, my night-time cocoa is brought to me by Robert Peston. I just wish he'd learn to string a sentence together without putting 'you know' between every bloomin' you know phrase.

Despite me knowing nothing about Economics,  it has not come as a surprise that the banking system has collapsed. Too long we have been expected to respect these people who just play with pretend numbers. I could never be an out-and-out full-bloodied socialist because I do believe in real investment and entrepreneurship - venture capital -  but I do feel that Stock Market is a glorified betting shop. It is discussed so often in terms that can only be described as pretentious wank...silly men on the telly getting orgasmic at what the 'Numbers' are doing, and imagining that 'The Market' somehow has the ability of independent thought. (And then you get wimpy weather men in cardigans trying to out-macho the business men by using 'Numbers' to inform of forecast temperatures).

I did have an attitude that anybody with 'shares' is a capitalist who ought to be taken out and shot at dawn, then I remembered I abhor capital punishment, so considered a fine and some community service to be their just reward. Then I learnt that just about everybody (except me) is a share-owner. Many people have occupational pensions that are at least partly invested in shares; I am in the peculiar, unfunded, Civil Service Pension Scheme. Anyone with bank deposits is likely to find that they are at least partly invested in shares - and that also goes for people who save with mutuals such as Building Societies and Credit Unions.

Whereas my savings are in Government Bonds, which is how Government Funds borrowing to purchase banks. Damn, I've become part of the 'share-owning democracy!'. As a good old Clause Four Democratic Socialist,  I am having a good old chuckle as Good Old Clause Four Socialist Gordon Brown and his audacious sidekick known only by the codename of 'Darling' march in and nationalise the Banks. Tony Blair would be turning in his grave, were he dead. So would Thatch*, too.

Remember, I know nothing about Economics so please, you know, correct me on bits what I get wrong. But the way I see it is:

In the short term the Government is going to spend yours and my money to buy shares in these Banks at a time when Bank shares are pretty damn low. In the short term this will cost the Government enormous amounts of money, which they will have to borrow via Government Bonds. In the long term (whatever that is) banking will return to normal (whatever that is), and the Government will be faced with a dilemma - whether to sell these shares at maybe 50% profit - but have to pay Capital Gains Tax(!)- or whether to hang onto them and reap the dividends. They couldn't off-load them all at once because that would depress the Sacred Market, so for several years, surely, they will combine drip-selling shares and drawing the dividends. Either way, surely, that will cause another problem for Brown and his sidekick Darling. Whether to cut taxes or increase spending on schools, hospitals and public transport. I'm sure they will have worked it out by the 2010 budget Insert Big Grin Here. David Cameron would be spinning in his grave, were he dead.

It can't be that simple, can it?

I have noticed quite a lot of talk about gold recently. Apparently, people are getting out of shares and buying gold. Is it just me or is that innumeracy? If I had gold, I'd sell it, now, when the price is shit hot, and buy shares, which are almost certainly bound to go up.

And then we get the Iceland thing...Iceland as a country, reportedly, is bankrupt. Reportedly, several months ago Iceland the country was reported to be the Toxic Waste of the Global Banking System. I don't think I have many , if any, regular Icelandic readers, but for those out there, I'm sorry, it mustn't be nice. I'm told there was a news report this morning that residents of Iceland, concerned about imminent devaluation and possible Zimbabwe-scale inflation,  are stocking up on staples, which is what I would do in the circumstances.  Human nature being what it is, prudent stocking-up becomes panic-buying.

In my imagination, a whole sub-section of British society is right now down at a well-known high street supermarket (which discriminates against the childless), stock-piling against disaster, because they've only heard part of the story and have decided to worry.

Like someone told me last week she is really worried that NatWest Bank will collapse before the end of the month and those who bank with them, like her, and me, won't get paid. I couldn't honestly say it absolutely won't happen, but I don't see any point in worrying about it, because if a major bank did collapse that way leaving millions destitute, Something Would Have To Be Done. So, I see no point in worrying about a hypothetical theoretical, when it's not like I - or she - haven't enough real and imminent problems already.

* champers round my place when she pops her clogs

Cycling on the pavements

I know it is illegal. As a pedestrian, I know that it is intimidatory to be approached by a bike ridden at speed possibly aggressively, maybe nefariously. Clearly, on a pavement which is busy there is really little excuse to ride - if you don't fancy the road, get off and push.

But an awful lot of pavements are empty. I have lived in my house 13 years (on Thursday) so I am an expert on its immediate environs. No one walks along the South Circular. Or almost no-one. About the only walking that is done from a bus-stop to a side road.

But it's not just the South Circular. From leaving Wandsworth Common to getting home today I almost exclusively rode on the pavement. I passed one pedestrian on Nightingale Lane; one group on a side-road off it, one on Atkins Road. And that was it, other than alongside the Common, outside the pub and between the South Circular and my house.

It's in my nature to be compliant. Also, my bugbear with laws such as these that are made to be broken is that if there happened to be a PCSO around in a mood to punish a pavement-riding cyclist, they'd be far more likely to pick on a middle-aged woman like me than maybe some other demographic groups. If I were stopped and reprimanded my attitude would be a) where are the pedestrians b) where are the cycle lanes (and by that I don't mean some pathetic strip of green paint but a proper dedicated cycle lane)? Wandsworth is a scary borough, with signs of every lamp-post warning that cycling on the pavement is illegal and liable to a £100 fine. It makes me feel guilty.

As I say, I don't pavement-cycle in busy town-centres or shopping parades; schools at key times are a massive no-no. When I do encounter pedestrians I do one or more of a) slow down b) ride on the edge of the pavement c) ride on the grass verge d) go onto the road or e) stop.

I would love to think that we could have laws with a special  'common sense' clause. Eg there is a junction near me that is no right turn; to make the right you have to go round the one-way system, unless you're a bus. I know drivers who feel its stupid at six o'clock in the morning. I agree. Some  people  feel that speed limits - or, at least speed cameras - shouldn't apply at such times. There is  an argument that the fewer signs, white lines, mini-roundabouts etc exist, the more carefully people drive, and, actually, on the whole I would agree.

One thing I have learnt from cycling is how considerate the majority of drivers are, although I would like to remind certain South London Women that if you are turning into a side-road,  it is correct to start the turn once you have passed the central white line of the side-road, otherwise you end up driving on the wrong side of the road. The fact that you are obscuring your peripheral vision by wearing a veil is no excuse and in fact ought to mean that you take more care when driving.

The trouble is, the majority of laws don't exist for the considerate conscientious majority with common sense. Try making a law that says 'You may exceed the speed limit if the road ahead is clear and common sense dictates that there won't be children dashing out unexpectedly' - it isn't going to work because of those people who believe that '30' is a target speed even on a residential road with bumper to bumper parking, outside a school, at minutes to nine on a weekday. Similarly, a law that says 'cyclists may ride on pavements that are wide enough and not busy, and must give way to pedestrians' will be interpreted by certain people as 'cyclists own pavements'. That having been said, as they already have that attitude, so a change in the law wouldn't make matters worse.

No pain without gain

Five weeks with bikes and it doesn't seem to get any easier.

Gloriously unseasonal weather today. The forecast is for it to continue. The maximum temperature will only be 14 on Thursday but with a gloriously circular yellow sun as the dominant weather. Out today, feeling hot in short-sleeved t-shirt and light cotton trousers. Queues at the ice-cream van. Beer gardens full. When I returned home,  I realised I had caught the sun. Tanning in October!

I would willingly forego a hot baking humid stuffy sweaty summer if the pay-off is a glorious autumn like this. I like my temperatures in the high teens and low twenties. Anything higher requires a beach, a foreign language and idleness. In less than four months the days will be getting longer, new life will be pushing through the soil and the weak sunshine of a temperate winter (second half of) will be as welcome as a Glorious Autumn.

I was in considerable discomfort on the bike today. Almost all the time it seemed that my legs were really killing. My thigh muscles are firming up spectacularly, but they don't seem to be very effective. Last weekend I was having real problems with a racing pulse and tremendous sweatiness. Today,  I was simply sub-par in energy and strength. Part of me thinks that it is cycle related (and I don't mean bicycle). But why should that have such an effect on my leg muscles?

I had to sit down and rest having crossed Balham Hill, and again on Nightingale Lane. It was actually nice to abandon the bikes and walk round the pond on Wandsworth Common. A quick drink in the Nightingale, scared away by stentorian yummy-mummies and a quick sprint to The Grove. Fortunately, we sat outside, because inside was a baby that never stopped crying. It was a small baby and that's what they do. I don't want to be the sort of person who objects to babies crying in public places, but, a pub's a pub, and it used to be the one place you could go to escape crying babies.

I don't suppose large quantities of beer were particularly helpful, but I really did struggle to get home. Most of all, it's the final stretch, up Atkins Road from the pint it becomes the South Circular. It's not really far at all, indeed on the way out the regret is that the freewheel down is so short. But uphill, on the way home, when thigh and calf muscles are aching to the point of despair, I really would not recommend it to anybody. It's a long way to walk!

I had a long soak in the bath, which was good. I fell asleep in the bath, which felt good but probably wasn't. I just don't understand why Tooting Common on Monday and Wandsworth Common today were so painful. Why just a few yards down the road were so painful. Why was it so easy two weeks ago and not today? It stands to reason that I ought to be getting fitter (although why my belly is expanding is against reason...) so why does it seem more difficult?

Electronic cigarettes - the future?

A couple of days ago I linked to BBC News website about a new product, Electronic cigarettes. Not only did I link, but I splurged and bought a starter-kit and some refill cartridges.

The principle is that this is an alternative to smoking cigarettes and other tobacco products. It aims to deliver nicotine (which is nice, and addictive, and broadly speaking about as harmful as caffeine) without the unfortunate side-effects of tobacco, which as well as being carcinogenic is also smelly, tends to annoy certain parts of the population almost as much as exhaust fumes annoy me, discolours soft furnishings and wardrobed clothes, and can lead to unfortunate conflagrations in waste-paper bins, clothes and beds.And most pertinently is now banned in workplaces and enclosed public buildings etc

Assume that I smoke about 40 a day. Sometimes it's more, sometimes it's less. But say 40. In monetary terms, suppose I were to buy leading brand cigarettes on a packet-by-packet basis from legal sources in the UK that would be about £12 a day or £350 a month. Except that my expenditure is nothing like that, as a result of legitimate purchases overseas, cheap Bulgarian and Lithuanian-sourced cigarettes being easily available if you know where, the fact than some less-than-leading brands are nicer and cheaper, and the perennial money-saver, the rollie.

The starter kit arrived about an hour and a half ago and I took delivery of my Electronic Cigarette. To my surprise,the battery didn't even need charging, so I was able to start straight away. So far, I haven't had a cigarette but have been sucking away on the E-Cig.

Nevertheless, twice I have had a reflex action to reach for a packet of real cigarettes and - interestingly - a lighter. Obviously, it's impossible to tell at this point whether the thing really is effective. I suspect its use will be when not only is it not permitted to smoke but it's not possible to go outside - I think mainly of plane or train journeys, but there are numerous work - or leisure -  situations where you can't escape at a time that suits. It may not be so satisfying on waking up, or post-orgasm, or after a meal. We shall see.

I think a big issue is other people's attitudes. Not so much at work, but in restaurants etc where it's almost inevitable that someone will object. I will be torn between explaining politely;  or laughing contemptuously at them and suggesting that their objection to such a thing makes a mockery of their imagined objection to cigarettes - if they can't sense the difference between a smokeless odourless thing that produces less vapour than a  hot beverage and a cigarette maybe it's all in their mind to start with. I certainly don't want to get in to rows with fellow customers, but also I don't want to be trying to explain to a jobsworth that I am not smoking, I am not breaking the law etc. And, I guess, on aeroplanes, the common sense approach would be not to use it at the times when laptops and 'other electronic devices' are forbidden. And just in case, carry a print-out of the BBC news article that states they're legal to smoke indoors. Although I am sure that, very soon, they will become widespread and commonplace.

I shall report more from time to time. So far, I would say, you don't quite get the hit of the taste hitting the throat, and my hands are reaching out for a fag. I don't think I have suddenly given up smoking cigarettes.

Old and new photos

I have added some photos to my various photo albums, all accessible from the middle-bar.

Mainly Yorkshire Brockwell Park Tooting Common and Summer (although mainly duplicates of what is posted elsewhere). Also Water Fowl and Autumn which are, I think, exclusively clones. I have also dropped in a few 'Old Photos' - pictures that I took on film before I went digital, and have recently scanned with varying results.

Some of my most preferred...

 

Malaproposim of the day

Gert: Why do you think I'm standing here? Is it so I'll look like a lemon?

Jimmy: I refuse to answer that in case I intimidate myself

Idiot!

Link: BBC NEWS | England | London | Councils' £139m in troubled banks.

Mark Wallace, campaign director at the TaxPayers' Alliance, said: "Every year we hear that councils don't have enough money and need to raise taxes but it seems they have had sufficient excess tax to salt tens of millions of pounds away.

"In short, they should not have stashed this money in the first place and they simply weren't equipped to try to be clever in the markets with it."

"It's an absolute disgrace. If the councils can't get their money back, the people who took these excesses should seriously consider their positions as councillors."

I would have thought that someone who runs a Pressure Group about public money would take the trouble to learn the very basics of financial management. What this tosser is actually saying is: either Councils should spend money the minute it comes in or if they happen to have any excess cash they should keep it under the mattress. Has he not heard of reserves?

Doesn't he know that just about any organisation of any size has a Treasury Management policy or department? That often surplus cash is invested just over night, or for short periods. Indeed, at least in theory, it's no different from what individuals do, in terms of moving funds between current and interest-earning savings account. I remember the repercussions of the BCCI collapse, and the discussion about the reliability, and concern about the extent firms (and councils) could rely on the Bank of England. If I recall, councils such as Western Isles (as was) argued that they placed reliance on a list published by the BoE of deposit-accepting institutions, the BofE argued it was just a list.

But at the current time, who can seriously say councillors or council officials are guilty of maladministration by depositing with any particular financial institution -  B&B, HBOS, Lehmann Brothers?

I would have expected the 'campaign director' of a legitimate organisation campaigning about public spending to have a  vague knowledge about, well, public money. And it seems they number people like Patrick Minford and Kenneth Minogue amongst their supporters. It seems that they are basically associated with the Tory Party, so they ought to be a bit more careful criticising their Tory comrades. Or is financial illiteracy the norm for today's Tory Party - it's not just in ideas they're bankrupt?

Talking about bankrupt ideas, what on earth is David "Dave" Cameron's intention in declaring non-partisanship over the banking crisis? Doesn't he know that the government doesn't actually need his support to do what they have to do? Does he mean he will lay off the puerile point-scoring? Or does he mean he will fail in his duty as the Leader of Her Majesty's Loyal Opposition, which should be about scrutinising the Government and holding it to account?

Unable to send email from BT internet?

This may also apply more generally to other ISPs in partnership with Yahoo!

On my own PC I receive email via a POP 3 client - in my case Thunderbird, I guess most people use Outlook Exchange because it comes pre-installed on PCs. I can also access my mail on the web via the website of my ISP, BTInternet, which operates in partnership with Yahoo!

A few months ago I stopped being able to send email. After some rooting around the 'net, I found I was not alone. This was because Yahoo had changed the outgoing port to 587 from default 25 but hadn't actually notified users.

A similar problem occurred this week. Further rooting indicates that they are now back to specifying Port 25 rather than 587 for outgoing mail. And the outgoing server is now mail.btinternet.com where previously it was smtp.btinternet.com.

Nice to have been told, eh?

Housekeeping

I owe emails to about a dozen people. I will sit down at the weekend and do something!

I haven't forgotten!

Great nostalgia

London to Brighton in 4 minute, in the 1950s

And the 1980s colour update, in 3½ minutes

Nightmail

and the 1980s British Rail advert

Exercise update

10 weeks in. In the past week we swam on Tuesday, went shopping on Friday (which doesn't count, but the thud thud of feet on hard pavements, and the constant change of temperatures between autumnal outside and tropical in shops is more tiring than anything else).

About an hour's cycling on Saturday but we caught in a few spits of rain which we thought was the onset of the promised deluge. It wasn't.

Sunday, swimming, several lengths. If I chose I could swim happily for dozens of lengths or a considerable period of time without exerting myself, which is a vast improvement on Session 1 when I struggled to do 3/4 length without physical pain! I don't choose to do so. I do lengths in twos - first, my special hybrid front-crawl/doggy paddle which acts as a warm-up. Then back stroke, which is the ultimate lazy stroke, especially when I can't be bothered to use my arms. Then I do a sort of front crawl but with a float to make me use my legs because otherwise I rely too much on my upper body. Then I do front crawl. I am trying to recapture/perfect my technique ie breathing every third stroke. My trouble is that I am comfortable swimming with my face wholly submerged and eyes open that I leave it too long to come up and breathe, then I'm gasping. I repeat this routine, not necessarily in the same order, until bored or over-exerted.

Today, out riding again on Tooting Common. I found it frustrating that my legs didn't seem to be working. Except on the decline or the very flat I was finding it very straining on my thighs, and when I rested it took a long time to get my breath and heart-rate back to normal. I am trying to figure out the effect of different factors such as how long since the last meal, the frequency of drinking, and where I am in my cycle. I am sure I used to know all these things instinctively, but I have to keep reminding myself I can't magically return to being 27 and fit.

I know that my skirt/trouser size has decreased - I can now remove such garments without unfastening them (potentially embarrassing were someone to inadvertently step on the trailing hem of my skirt going downstairs, for instance...). I can feel a much better definition of my arm and leg muscles. My belly still resembles a mound of jelly and I do believe that I have gained two kilogrammes in weight!

Chihuahua and Chichen Itza

Se presenta Placido Domingo en Chihuahua.

Plácido Domingo cerró el cuarto Festival Internacional Chihuahua

Ataviado del talento que lo ha convertido en el mejor intérprete de ópera, en los últimos tiempos, el músico apareció en escena acompañado de la ovación de un público, si bien no conocedor, entusiasta por experimentar los acordes que fueron tallados del metal, la madera y el marfil.

Plácido Domingo da respiro a violencia en México con gran recital

El cantante terminó por cautivar al público al cerrar su recital con el corrido "¡Qué Bonito es Chihuahua!", vestido de mariachi.

El programa incluyó "la Marcha Húngara de la condenación de Fausto", "O souverain de la ópera Le Cid", "Aire des bijoux de la ópera Fausto", "Lamento de Federico de la ópera L'Arlesiana" y después del intermedio interpretaron "Júrame" y "Te quiero dijiste", entre otras.

"Paloma querida", "El rey", "El día que llegaste a mi vida", "Bésame mucho", fueron las melodías de música mexicana que cantó Domingo, lo que emocionó aún más y arrancó el clásico grito mexicano por parte del público.

Reportan todo un éxito concierto de Placido Domingo en Chihuahua

Todo un éxito resultó el concierto “Una mirada al futuro”, ofrecido por el tenor internacional Plácido Domingo... El toque maestro quedó para el final, pues la presentación no pudo terminar de mejor manera que con la participación de Plácido, Ana María, el ensamble de orquestas y el propio Mariachi 2000, quienes interpretaron “El corrido de Chihuahua”, que fue cantado por las 30 mil almas que estuvieron presentes.

Llega Plácido a Yucatán; inaugura Aeropuerto Internacional
Arriba tenor Plácido Domingo para concierto de "Las Mil Columnas".

''Macehual'' le da la bienvenida a Plácido Domingo en Kaua

Chichen Itza, not without controversy:

 Presentan denuncia ante PGR por concierto de Plácido Domingo en Chichén Itzá

I think the trouble is with all of these historic sites that anything, especially tourism, causes harm; but those that are responsible for preserving them need  funding.

Opposition Gives Up, but Still Unhappy with Placido Domingo Concert at Chichen Itza

  Mexicans boo Mayan pyramids concert by Great Tenor

 Plácido Domingo to sing in Maya at Mexico pyramids

Plácido Domingo, renovarse o morir

“Eventos como estos se realizan en todo el mundo y me prometieron que cuidarían al máximo (la zona), hay que tener cuidado con estos lugares y se ha hecho así. Creo que conciertos como éstos ayudan a promover estos maravillosos sitios.

“¿Qué se siente ser el mejor tenor del mundo?, no lo sé, pues no he llegado hasta ahí. Yo sólo me levantó en la mañana, veo si puedo cantar y sigo en una búsqueda constante… es renovarse o morir”, explica Plácido Domingo

Ensayó Plácido Domingo 20 minutos con Orquesta Sinfónica de Yucatán - even a report on the sound test!

And dinner - Sorprendidos por la sencillez de Plácido Domingo

Empleados del hotel Mayaland comentaron la sencillez de Plácido, que a diferencia de Luciano Pavarotti, durante su estancia en Chichén en 1997 no salió de sus habitaciones donde tenía las 24 horas del día un bufé con platillos especiales y jamones, quesos y vinos italianos que trajo consigo el extinto divo de Módena.

Placido Domingo sings at Mexico pyramid

Placido Domingo sings at Mexico pyramid

 Placido Domingo's Smooth Moves Calm Chichen Itza Kerfuffle

Placido Domingo sings at Mexico pyramid - Pictures

Yahoo News Pictures

Plácido Domingo interpretará a Neruda en ópera "El Cartero"

Domingo, ofreció una conferencia en un hotel de la ciudad maya de Chichén Itzá, en el sudeste de México, donde el sábado dará un concierto, donde contó que "Rolando va a hacer la parte del cartero y yo voy a hacer la parte de Neruda".

El Foro de Marcas Renombradas Españolas ha nombrado como nuevos embajadores honorarios

La Calisto

I went not really knowing what to expect. Sure, I'd read the reviews, so I had an inkling about the production. But I had never heard a note of the music, so was taking a risk. It was only the fourth performance at Covent Garden, the other three taking place in the last week or so. It is the oldest opera ever to have been performed at the Royal Opera House (which means, I suppose ,they have never performed any Monteverdi, which is odd).

It's Baroque, of course, but Baroque is the only era that doubles as a genre. You don't really talk about going to a Romantic Opera. Maybe 'Modern' but different people have different views on what is 'Modern'. I reckon, 21st Century, maybe 1990s. Some people consider Britten new-fangled. Heck,I even know someone who considers Puccini to be 'Modern'.

The opera opened with a Prologue, predicting that Calisto would end up as a star in the sky. And she did - Ursa Major! Bingo. I wasn't sure which was which out of Nature, Eternity and Destiny but it was creepy to see Ally McBeal's Amazing Dancing Baby rising, adult-sized, out of the orchestra pit

I've just twigged why - Ally McBeal is played by Calista Flockhart.

We then got into the opera proper. Unfortunately the ROH no longer condescends to publish a synopsis - why should it when it has a multimedia website, down and with it for the kids, with its video presentations and podcasts, it's very cutting edge - for 2005. And the Wikipedia article is only a stub.
However, it's about sex.

The main set was a 1950s Cocktail Bar- décor-wise, think Royal Festival Hall meets suburban Odeon. Very typical wooden wall,  curved sofas covered in white fluffy material, and pink swirly patterns.

A notable highlight was the choreography-verging on puppetry of various animals, all of whom were humans in costumes.   A chameleon acted as cocktail waiter, bearing  a tray on his back. A serpent slithered and body-popped, clothed from head to foot in slimey black. The upright cow, always hanging around in the bar, amused me as he sucked on a straw from a carton of milk. But most impressive were the peacocks, Diana's entourage on earth. I loved the way that they strutted and preened, always in motion, shifting their weight as they moved their feet back-and-forth.

I have mixed feelings about the music. Style-wise, much closer to Monteverdi than Handel. It's difficult to judge on a first hearing, but I felt it quite dry and sparse. Perfectly pleasant, but I'm not sure I would particularly want to listen to it on radio - but I don't suppose Cavalli had Classic FM in mind when he wrote it.  As far as I could tell, the orchestra performed excellently, but overall I thought that they acted as accompanists. It isn't an opera of Big Arias, and some of the parts didn't exactly require beautiful singing.

The cast came as an ensemble. Most  had performed in this production at the Bavarian State Opera, and elsewhere, too.  Not really tip-top star names but working extremely well as an ensemble. I had one of those moments when you realise that someone in a relatively small part - Pane aka Pan, him of the pipes - has a totally gorgeous voice that you really want to hear again, in a bigger role - Ed Lyon.

I enjoyed the performances of Umberto Chiummo and Sally Matthews in particular, and I thought Guy de Mey was a hoot in drag as Linfea. Dominque Visse was very entertaining as the Satyr, a good comedy performance. Vocally, he sounded much like a goat, which may lead to a reclassification  of counter-tenor from 'seagull' to 'goat'. It was fitting for the part but I can't say that aesthetically it did anything for me. There wasn't really a weak link in the cast, but I think I have a problem with Monica Bacelli. A lot of people speak highly of her, but she didn't do it for me in Tamerlano, nor in this. Overall, the singer who impressed me most was counter-tenor Lawrence Zazzo. A beautiful singing voice and a credible and effective stage presence.

  I am glad that I went, and I imagine if it were to be revived in three or four years time, I would go again. If it were shown on telly, I'd watch, but I don't think I would buy a commercial DVD. And I don't regret booking only to go once in the run.   

Photos