Gertsamtkunstwerk

Get well soon Rolando

Mexican tenor Rolando Villazon needs larynx surgery, cancels German performances

Tenor Villazon cancels 2009 concerts due to health

Villazón Requires Surgery; Tenor Likely Out for Most of the Year

It seems that Eyebrows himself is to have surgery to remove a vocal cord cyst.

Rolando Villazón is reported to have cancelled everything for 2009.

My initial reaction was sadness - not least because I have a ticket for and was looking forward to his recital at Covent Garden in June.

On reflection I am hoping that this is actually good news. He's cancelled a lot and been in reported vocal trouble for some months. There has been way too much talk on the internet of catastrophe, involving all sorts of burn out, career apocalypse scenarios and general nastiness.

I would guess that something like a vocal cord cyst is beyond nightmare for a singer and wouldn't contribute to peace of mind. It must be pretty scary, though. For a tenor, having vocal cord surgery must be like brain surgery for the rest of us (just kidding! Rolando does not have the intelligence of a tenor!)

Hopefully,  the surgery and the ensuing rest, and perhaps an element of re-learning,  will mean that he's back and raring to go and it won't be so long before we get the full-on Rolando experience again - Manon, I think, at ROH, for Londoners.

Rolando Villazón: Sagt alle Termine für dieses Jahr ab
Villazon muss bis Jahresende pausieren

Feeling very pissed off

Seriously pissed off. I mean. And I know I'm not being fair.

I'm totally fed up. With Jimmy. The last day off he had was when we went to Valencia. That was before Christmas. He's managing a pub for laughable wages. The pub manager thing is based on the premise that managers stay on the premises, and thus the flat provided free of charge counts as payment in kind (it's kind of like an MP's second home, but rather than getting everything paid for, I'm pretty sure it gets taxed). Well, that's all well and good if you ever do in life is manage pubs for a pittance wage, but there is no benefit in having a pokey flat provided for free if you already have a house.

But that's not really the point. When he took the job, we agreed he'd be home most nights. Maybe not Fridays and Saturdays. Maybe not in the depth of winter when travelling the short distance seems prohibitive because of the extreme cold and general miserableness. We keep saying that he'd take most Mondays off. Properly off, I mean. Not the way it happens now, that he finishes at about three on Sundays, and if he doesn't return that night, he still has to be up to open up at 12 on the Monday. I don't think there is actually any custom on most Monday lunchtimes.

I know I am being totally selfish, but I am sick of this half-life. I am sick that we don't have any time together, no time to go out - I sit at home on glorious spring days, thinking ahead to yet another summer wasted. I start to think I would be better off single. I wouldn't really; I couldn't imagine life without Jimmy.  But I do think that I would be quite justified in having an affair. Although I can't be bothered.

I know that's the way pubs have always been run, but hasn't anyone noticed, 29 pubs are closing each week? There is  a reason why the big chains are prospering and the small personally run pubs are closing. No one in their right mind would run a pub on those hours and those shit wages. The business model is predicated on the landlord and docile wife making sandwiches in the back while living in a pokey flat. That just isn't viable in the 21st century. So, with the exception of Jimmy, most 'local' pubs are run by people who are happy to live in the past, be exploited by the breweries or the 'holding companies', not noticing that the licensing trade has moved on.

Am I supposed to put my life on hold? I seem to have all the lonely disadvantages of being single without the compensatory autonomy and independence. I am sick of him saying he'll sort it, he'll arrange to have Mondays off. The next time he has a day off is when we go to Paris. And I know what will happen there. This trip is already proving expensive - Paris isn't a cheap city, and the exchange rate began to plummet just at the point I bought the tickets (but before they showed up on the credit card bill). The five nights in a hotel has cost more than a two week all-inclusive in Egypt. We have yet to pay for food and drink, let alone excursion.

The thing is, there is very little point in him working. If I went back to working fulltime and he didn't work, we'd be better off financially. The problem is, he can't not work, which I understand. But he's working three times the hours I'm working for half the take-home pay.

And my resentment is building up. But it's not like a classic premise for a row. How can I blame him? How can I pretend it's anything other than my selfishness?

Concert in Zacatecas

Plácido Domingo enloquece a México cantando mariachis ante el presidente Calderón

Cautiva Plácido Domingo a Zacatecas
El tenor español canta ante unas 6 mil personas que han quedado maravilladas con su voz, que dio vida al majestuoso Palacio de Convenciones

Deleitó Plácido Domingo con clásicos y música mexicana en Zacatecas

Plácido Domingo concluye recital en Zacatecas Plácido Domingo recital concludes in Zacatecas

There's something in there that's I'm not quite understanding about Zacatecas being altitude, so he stayed indoors while he was there. I know he grew up in Mexico City and one of the few things I know about Mexico City is that it is at altitude (I know that because of the 1968 Olympics)

Nine good quality pictures in the galeria here.

Some more photos here, but not as good.

Oh, and Placido Domingo Visits Mexican Orphanage

(just 20 days til I see him live)

The delights of a Victoria Line strike

Such as happened today.

Transport strikes are always a bit of a guessing game; trying to guess what the knock-on effects will be. Trying to second-guess the behaviour of crowds.

The journey wasn't too bad this morning; I got a bit delayed by traffic on Brixton Hill. I don't know whether that was a result of the Victoria Line closure, the ongoing roadworks of various description or something transient. I travelled from Oval to Westminster via Embankment and it was stress free.

This evening I decided that I would go on the Northern Line to Clapham Common. I try to avoid the Northern Line generally in the early evening; sometimes it can get extremely busy. But I thought it was probably the least worst way of getting home.

It's another example of where one wishes to have better understanding of the behaviour of crowds. The Dot Matrix Indicator at Embankment said "Kennington ....1; Morden.....4". Do I get the first train and hope to catch a Bank branch train at Kennington, or do I wait for a through train, but risk that "everybody else" has the same idea. I chose the former.

At Kennington, a train shut its doors as I got there. The next one came in at the other platform; by the time that I - and many other people - had the chance to read the announcement and walk, it, too, was shutting its doors. I couldn't get on the third because it was sort of full. It wasn't really but people just didn't move down inside.

The next train came. People were crushed in extreme proximity in that standing area near the door. No way was anyone getting on unless people got off. Fortunately, two people got off, and as I was second in the "queue" I was on. I spotted space. There was an enormous gaping space in between the seats. "That's mine!" I thought. "Excuse me!" I said. No one moved. So I pushed my way through. Not aggressively, but in a 'there's a dirty great big space there and I'm going to stand there in preference to being squashed between overdressed tall men and under-dressed bony women, all of them at least ten years my junior' sort of way.

In pushing through I had disturbed the equilibrium allowing four people on behind me, but leaving half a dozen still on the platform.

There was an announcement to 'move down the carriages' so I did but nobody followed me, even though there was room for three of the anorexic bony fashionistas, and half a dozen people stuck on the platform. The bloke on my far side practically pushed me off with the elbow he had to extend at a 90° angle to hold the oh so important documents he was too macho to put in a man bag.

I had enough space to stretch my arms and make an aeroplane (I didn't, of course). I had enough space to do the high kicks in the carriage; I looked at the sardines in bemusement. It was as if a barrier was erected blocking encroachment into the 'between the seats' area. Scared, squashed and sweaty these slightly posh vapid youth stayed resolutely in each other's damp armpits.

Admittedly I did get The Elbow in my boob a few times when the train jolted and jerked, so I turned round, which meant that The Elbow got hit by my rucksack several times. Oh dear. Plus I had to endure the glares of The Sardines furious at my capacious space while they soaked in each other's sweat.

It always seems to be the same. Forgetting tourists in the central area, those least likely to move down the carriage are the achingly trendy twenty-somethings. I could sort of understand it if they were getting off at the next stop, but they weren't.

I don't see their point. Their behaviour is very selfish to those left behind on the platform. But there's no pay-off for the selfishness. Packed like animals consuming each other's bodily fluids isn't pleasant. I always move down when the bus or train is crowded, if at all possible, I can't stand being huddled with smelly strangers near the door. And more often than not, I am rewarded with a seat, and the glares of those too scared to move away from the doors.

I do think sometimes these immature women/children must think I'm scary or unfeminine or something. I suppose I just like playing mind games, and staking out territory, and calculating how far to go to claim my right before it borders on obnoxious. I always have an excuse "But look how many more people got on because I moved down the carriage!" And I usually find my eye being caught by someone else of the same mindset who is applauding my common sense. It's not exactly enlightened self-interest, because the benefit of others is how I justify behaviour motivated by my own needs and desires, but I think it's a close relative.

On Susan Boyle

I suppose I am just missing the point of what the "story" is.

That someone over 25, who doesn't get 'styled' has a decent voice and can hold a tune? I'm not being funny, but haven't these people ever been to church or a choral concert, or seen them on TV? Or noticed diverse community groups. Or dog-walkers. Or playgroups. Or whatever.  Haven't they ever met anyone with moderate learning difficulties? People who think you have to be 'beautiful' to have musical 'talent' have obviously never heard of the Rolling Stones. If you haven't heard of the Rolling Stones, why on earth should I pay any attention to your musical opinions. (Not that I'm an RS fan, but despite their ugliness, they've clearly got something).

The majority of people don't get styled. The majority of people have a modicum of talent somewhere or other. If one spotted a really ugly, intellectually challenged,  bloke in one's local pub  would one be surprised that he's a steady opening bat? We wouldn't be signing him up for England, just maybe suggesting he could do better than the pub team, maybe the village/town First XI. 

I don't have enough time to listen to all the recordings (commercial and downloads) of great singers, so why bother with mediocre?  If I am going to pay money for a live performance, I want the very very best. Why can't we, as society, accept that all over the place lots of people are getting personal satisfaction from amateur participation in group activities, Ents, Sport, whatever. Why does everything have to an implication of a price tag?

If Simon Cowell was serious about talent, he'd go looking for it, in the pubs and clubs and village halls where real talent performs week after week. A friend of mine, his sons auditioned for the X-Factor (best unsigned band in Kent blah blah blah FWIW) and SC turned them away from being too good, too indie, and too original.

Don't get me wrong, I don't wish any ill on the woman, but I don't see the point of raw talent. I want singers who have worked for years to get to where they are, like I want footballers who train day-in day out, hour after hour. If I wanted amateur night, there's enough churches and back-street pubs round here to keep me occupied nightly.

I use the sporting analogy deliberately, because the 'common' or 'ordinary' person demands elitism in sport. I see no difference in Arts. It's like the Paralympics. Jimmy said he's not interested in people in wheelchairs achieving this that and the other. I made out to be all right-on and po-faced. Simple fact, I didn't watch the Paralympics, yet I never turned the telly off for the Olympics.

I think it says a lot about the inherent sexism in society - that women have no value other than as decorative objects. But I also think Cowell Morgan and Holden are total frauds for letting the audience think they are genuinely surprised when, obviously, they heard her at auditions and, probably, rehearsals.

I actually think it's just a bit sick, and probably just a guise to get people to vote on a premium rate phone-line (or else ITV would go bust). Fine, she's going to make a CD and earn a fortune (less expenses, less percentages to agent, manager, stylist, PR agency, TV placer, advertising agency, backing band, session singers,). Given the opportunity, would I turn it down? No. But to think that there are people out there who will actually buy the CD, like, as if there's a shortage of MOR singers singing West End hits! Ah well, their money, their waste!

On Brixton Hill - testing the hydrants

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Everything is going horribly wrong

And I don't actually mean in respect of Manchester United Reserves' inability to take penalties. I mean, how hard can it be? Ball, goalposts/net, hit toward (hard, Mr Berbatov) and get it past the goalie. So, the dream is over. Only the Premiership and the European Champions League  (stupid name when the important matches are knockouts - what's wrong with The European Cup?)

No, I refer to the things that make Gert Cottage liveable in. So far this year, I have already replaced my mp3 player and mobile phone, because they were both utterly kaput and defunct, and my laptop because it was as near as damn it.

Several weeks ago I announced on Twitter/Facebook that my grill smells of gas leak and doesn't heat up. The best advice I got was "Do not let Uncle Jimmy near it!" So instead I bought a toaster pro tem.

At about the same time I began to notice two things about the washing machine a) it deposits water on the floor and b) it gets stuck on an eternal rinse cycle. Each time I load it with clothes I go into denial - it will work okay this time, and each time it fails to do so. It still cleans the clothes if clean = caked in limescale deposits.

The sofa has become unbearable. By this I mean the three seater in the front room, not either of the two seaters in the front or back room. It has been tatty for a while, something that is cunningly disguised with throws and cushions. It is really uncomfortable, especially if one sits in the middle bit and uses a laptop on the coffee tables (Oh nos! Ergonomy Fail!).

We have been meaning to get a replacement for a couple of years now, but there is a complication above money, time and round tuit.

When this was originally delivered, back in 1995, it was brought into the house via the front window, the traditional method of introducing large furniture item. I didn't know the delivery person at the time, but got to know him several years later (for those with local knowledge he's the one who leaves his blue vans and lorries parked randomly around the Brixton and Streatham Hill areas, once he's spray painted them - and the road - blue). He did something to the window frame that means it is broken and cannot be taken out again.

So, although I want a three-seater sofa, we fear that we may never get it into the house. Of course, all it actually takes is to measure up various door openings and angles and present a diagram to a reputable shop, and take it from there.

When we do get round tuit we're probably going to go to somewhere ultra safe and somewhat expensive, such as John Lewis Partnership. One hears so much of these dodgy pile 'em high sell 'em cheap places that go bankrupt, leaving people with their deposists un-returned, or sell them furniture which isn't fire retardant.

The latest one is the central heating system. I got the boiler replaced about ten years ago and was given the option of retaining the airing cupboard or getting instant hot water. I opted for the airing cupboard. What has recently started happening is that when the water comes 'on' even though the control for heating is 'off' the heating still comes on and blasts out, hot. Even though the thermostat is at about 16 degrees, the radiators are blasting out hot, and the thermostat is registering the temperature to be about 23 degrees. So that needs sorting. I have an engineer coming in the afternoon. Hopefully, it's just something really minor, like a short-circuit in the on/off box or something. But a year or so back, thinking of doing my bathroom, I asked a service engineer how long the boiler had left. He estimated a couple of years, and suggested that I got a new boiler installed in the loft in due course; in any case he advised me not to get the bathroom done before replacing the boiler.

Don't misunderstand me, I'm not complaining. None of these things are expiring before their time (well, maybe the washing machine but apparently having had it at least five years I shouldn't expect much more out of it). I can cover the expenses with savings, so am not reliant on consumer credit, and buying them isn't going to throw me into poverty.

I am beginning to worry that at some time the nest egg will disappear with no obvious way to replace it. Interest rates will rise, and eventually I might have to go back to working full time. The trouble is, when you downshift in a progressive tax system, you don't really miss the money too much, but you know that if you then upshift the relatively minor increase in money doesn't compensate for the loss of time.

Plácido's dates at Covent Garden next season

My post arrived this afternoon, and in it was the Royal Opera House Season Guide 2009/10 (as well as three Premium bond envelopes, which made me think I was in the money. Sadly, because of the interest rates, they have introduced a new £25 prize, and I won three of those. Nothing to sniff at, of course, but I did hope for a moment or two that one of the envelopes would be four figures, or even three!).

And I checked the guide and saw that Plácido is appearing ten times, which is great, but I doubt that I will be able to get tickets to all ten (and to any Friends Rehearsals which may or may not happen). And if by some amazing miracle I do get tickets to something approaching ten, ouch, that is going to hurt financially. Especially considering I'm tempted to try and see Boccanegra at La Scala and maybe the Teatro Real, too.

The dates are: Tamerlano, March 5, 8, 11, 15, 20 and Boccanegra 29 June and 2, 5, 13, 15 July.

The sharp-eyed among you will see a gap of a whole eight days between third and fourth SB performance. I wonder if that has any connection with a certain football match occurring in Johannesburg on 11 July? I would wager my entire Premium bond prize winnings for April 2009 that it is!

Even if I can't get tickets, I shall be hanging round the opera house for the performances I won't be attending (probably with a sign saying 'will do anything for ticket, pls, pls, pls, pls').

Intermezzo: Royal Opera House 2009/10 season - EXCLUSIVE - all the details

Intermezzo: Royal Opera House 2009/10 season - EXCLUSIVE - all the details.

No surprises in that list and just about everything we expected, but great finally to have some casts filled out, and some more definite dates. There's almost nothing I wish to miss and there are certain things that you would have to incarcerate me to keep me away. Obviously, for me, the highlights are Tamerlano and

In one of those rare operatic fairy stories, June sees a baritone with less than a year's experience thrust into a leading role at Covent Garden

(Simon Boccanegra)

Obviously, being that Tamerlano stars Senor Chesthair, and is by now one of the Handel operas I know the best, and is a beautiful production, it goes without saying that I would go. I'm not clear whether it will be the ROH orchestra or a baroque specialist ensemble. I hope for the latter. I'm a bit disappointed in the conductor, but he'll do (and it's certainly not one I'd like Tony to conduct!).

The rest of the Boccanegra looks strong and attractive, and that's definitely an opera I'd want Tony conducting.

The other obvious highlights are Don Carlo and Tristan und Isolde, although whether one will be able to stand the tension of whether it's an 'on' night or a night of cracks for Ben Heppner.

Rosenkavalier has an irresistible cast, especially Soile Isokoski whom we don't get enough of at Covent Garden, and Lucy Crowe who I was disappointed to miss the other night but has a gorgeous voice and a star in the ascendancy. I will probably give the Boheme a miss. Although it would be interesting to see if Piotr Beczala has become really such a wow singer as some claim, since I last heard him, I don't think I could endure the named soprano in an opera I detest. 

 I don't really know Rake's Progress, but the cast is very tempting. Kyle Ketelsen is such an underrated singer, Stephanie Blythe is a one-off, and I was totally won over to the charms of Toby Spence recently in La Resurrezione at the Barbican; Kate Royal I just don't get.

Without knowing the full cast for Cosi I can't say more, but it's a wonderful production of an opera that, although it can drag a bit, is fun, and chocked full of great tunes. To my shame I don't know Cunning Little Vixen at all, but I don't see a reason to stay away. Turco in Italia doesn't interest me, so I'll probably give that a miss.

Aida is far from being my favourite Verdi, but Marcelo Alvarez makes it a must-see. Plus, of course, David McVicar being in charge of proceedings.  Traviata throws up an interesting combination - Saimir Pirgu and Ermolena Jaho, interesting for both being Albanian. The 'B cast' Violetta is La Ghoergheous, so that demands two visits (at least). But can we have a new production, pls?

La Fille and Nozze are unmissable, Manon I don't know, but who could miss the Trebs and Eyebrows show? And the season finishing with Salome. I don't recall what I wrote of this last time round, and although I could search on here, the point is that the more time since it happened elapses, the more of a strong impression it makes on my memory

There is barely a production where I think - oh god, I would like to see that but there is someone in the cast who is such a deterrent I'm going to have to avoid it (although there's no details yet of the B casts for Boheme and Carmen, and in any case I need to be drawn to Boheme by a don't-miss singer, and I'll be bored once Che gelida manina is over).

I'm not sure it's a particularly balanced season, but thankfully, except for the inevitable dreary Boheme, it's cut out a lot of Puccini over-kill of the current season. There are several operas I am avoiding this season because of certain cast members (Trovatore and Traviata in particular, and Tosca I'm going to despite certain cast members). All my favourite tenors make appearances, but I regret the absence of my favourite baritone.

But only two operas from the first 200 years of opera history (and one feels the Handel is only there because of Plácido). And the only concession to modernity is Rake's Progress (1951) by the only composer whose life overlapped mine (died 1971). Perhaps there will be more in ROH2. ENO's season is more balanced and exciting, although of course lacks the starpower of ROH, and because ENO doesn't do mediocre, one runs the risk of getting the appallingly bad as well as the brilliant.

Obviously this season won't satisfy the overwhelming vast majority of fossils on newsgroups because a) it will include visual aspects b) most of the singers can do more than just bellow loudly and c) the biggest crime of all, not one of the scheduled singers is dead, which means that none of them can be taken seriously.

I have read that the official announcement is either 21 or 23 April.

Dido and Aeneas and Acis and Galatea double bill

What a fabulous night. I was on such a high even before I checked out the Porto 0 Manchester 1 result (that was me going "Yes, yes, yes....!" orgasmically in the Ladies at Covent Garden!).

I have decided that I don't especially like Dido & Aeneas (Purcell) as a piece of work, but it had sufficient highlights to make it enjoyable. The highlights were obviously that whole closing sequence with Dido's lament and that gorgeous chorus. Special highlights were Ji-Min Park singing his aria as the Sailor and Iestyn Davies singing from the Dome as The Spirit. I have to confess to having a massive crush on Iestyn Davies. It seems a little bit shameful to have a crush on a counter-tenor, but he has such an unbelievably gorgeous voice, and unlike most counter-tenors he has so much vocal  drama and colour. Although not evident tonight, because he was singing in the roof he cuts a fine figure on stage, too. If he was as ugly as fuck, I would still adore him. But he isn't.

I have to acknowledge Sarah Connolly was good. Whenever I see her she is good. But I have to confess that I don't get the cult of Connolly. I know so many people go crazy about her. I don't, even though I know she's good.

I didn't like the ballet in Dido and Aeneas.

After the interval was Acis and Galatea (Handel). Now, this is weird. It seems to me that I know this opera, but I don't know that I know it. I don't believe I have ever seen it live. I don't thnk you would forget having seen something live at the point where you are seeing it again. I don't have it on CD. I don't think I have it on DVD. It is bizarrely lodged in my semi-conscious. I can only assume that I must have heard it as a child, at that age where one only has to hear a tune once to be able to recall it when heard many years later. Only, how can I possibly have heard it as child? Obscure Handel operas weren't done when I was a child.

Everyone in the blogosphere and the MSM seemed to hate A&G, or at best, find it disappointing. Particularly open to criticism was the ballet and the staging. I must admit, when the curtain opened I was disappointed by the painted backdrop. Oh god, how ballet, I thought. And I wasn't much impressed when that went up to reveal another painted backdrop. But Act II, which is much longer than Act I had some real scenery.

The highlight of this was Matthew Rose as the Giant, Polyphemus. Never in the history of opera has a singer been so suited to the role. He has a wonderful voice, is so obviously musical, and has come on leaps and bounds as a stage animal. I think he is an exemplary Handel singer.

Ji-Min Park was fine in a small part. Danielle de Neise was okay, but nothing special. No reason I could put my finger on, she was just disappointing. Paul Agnew wasn't very good at all, but seemed good in comparison to the other tenor.

Charles Workman, let's be honest, had no business whatsoever being on that stage. I don't know whether he was actually out of tune or whether his voice is just so unbelievably horrible that the grating tone just sounds like he is. Didn't seem to have a clue about how to sing Handel. It wasn't just the tone, it was the lack of legato, the broken runs, the poor breath support, the cracks (not mega cracks but lots of nano-cracks). He moved well on stage and from a distant looked fairly easy on the eye, although the photos show that he's nothing special. I don't understand why the Royal Opera House has to employ a fourth-rate American tenor to sing this role when there are plenty of second-rate English tenors who could have done it justice. With the exception of Marco Berti, he is the worst tenor I have ever heard. This was the most welcome death of an operatic character since Katie van Kooten breathed her last as Mimi, and it was the first time since Sondra Radvanovsky in Stiffelio that I have had to cover my ears to take away the pain of ugly loud singing. 

And I loved the ballet, even though there is nothing intelligent I can say about it - except it wasn't modern. I've seen moderner ballets in the provinces in the 1970s. But I loved the choreography and I loved the execution. 

If I get a chance I might write a more reflective piece later in the week. And again, maybe not!

And I've discovered an interesting interview with Iestyn from a few months ago

15 April 1989

Being a Mancunian and specifically a Manchester United fan, I "hate" Scousers. Obviously, of course, I don't really. There have been so many economic migrants from Merseyside to Manchester that one finds that most of one's friends and neighbours are at least part Scouse.

And, anyway, the Easter vacation of 1989 found me in Nottingham. I had a job in one of the University Halls of Residence, mainly doing bar work for Conferences.  That particular Saturday there was a wedding in Hall. We spent the early afternoon preparing, pouring out the glasses of sherry and orange juice, and then circulating with a tray, to allow guests to take another glass, and to collect the empties.

At 3.30 the guests were called through to the sit-down part, whihc was our opportunity for a break. I was working with an older woman, a local, who worked permanently at the Hall. She suggested we went into the Senior Common Room and found out how Forest were doing in the FA Cup Semi-Final.

In the doorway of the SCR stood a post-grad, Malaysian I think. She was visibly upset. My colleague asked how Forest were doing. The post-grad said "There's been some people killed." It takes time for that message to sink in. At that stage, barely half an hour after events, the news from the TV was confused. I began to think of all the people who might have been there: all sorts of people at Nottingham University adopted Forest as their team. Also, my cousin's son was a regular at matches in those days. I didn't know at the time but found out subsequently that he had been unable to attend the semi-final (no doubt to considerable annoyance) due to a conflicting requirement to attend his cousins' (on the other side) christenings. I didn't specifically know who among my friends, circle and acquaintances would be at the game but I knew potentially it was many.

When it became clear that the casualties were Liverpool fans, I was relieved. It's not a nice thing to write now  and wasn't a nice thing to feel then. But being around Nottingham over the next few days, I knew I was not alone with conflicting feelings. It's a heavy burden of guilt to bear for the feelings of relief.

I spent the evening working the bar for the wedding, conscious of a tense, non-celebratory atmosphere. Many of the guests were Nottingham graduates. But it wasn't just a Nottingham thing; many years later a colleague was saying it was her 21st and her father's 60th joint party; nobody felt much like celebrating, and that was somewhere in the Home Counties.

Later that week I was in town using the Trent Poly library (Film Studies essay to complete; their library was better than ours for certain things). There was a nationwide few moments silence. I hovered on the outer reaches of Slab Square. I have no visual memory of that time, but will never forget the silence, tension and emotion.

Several months earlier I had been to Hillsborough, when Manchester United had played there. It was a particularly unpleasant experience, second only to the Baseball Ground Derby when I had been literally lifted off my feet and carried along by the crowd. In retrospect, I know I should have made a fuss about the experience, but in those days, we accepted crush and confusion, it was part of the football experience. To complain would mark one down as a girl, a prawn-mayonnaise eater from the suburbs. Besides, who to complain to? We didn't have www back there. My MPs were both from a party intent on demonising football fans as hooligans and scum (I had had a letter from Martin Brandon-Bravo, Conservative, Nottingham South, on the subject of compulsory football club membership, which hadn't used those words but had implied the sentiment).

There is always this little niggle in my head. Could I have prevented Hillsborough? The answer is, of course, no. But it taught me. Always question, never accept. What was ultimately a trivial case of claustrophobia and confusion for me turned into death for 96 others, many of them younger than me (which in itself is quite difficult to take at 21).

Spring cleaning and dead Germans

One thing that Spring makes you do is spring clean. I have to confess that I am not the most conscientious housekeeper in existence. To put it mildly. But there does come a point where needs must.

I think one of the reasons why I am not diligently domestic is that, once I get into it, I don't stop.

I had it all planned, a room a day over the long weekend. And actually, I didn't do too, badly. Although I did nothing on Monday; the bedroom can wait until next weekend. Supposedly menial tasks can be made much easier by the judicious selection of music. Favourites, not just the latest CD that happens to have arrived.

I had played Parsifal the previous weekend, rather ruling it out for Good Friday. Ditto Messiah which had gone down on Maundy Thursday. But, nevertheless, most of the weekend was given over to Handel and Wagner. And why not! (with a bit of Gluck thrown in for good measure). It's good to get a whole Ring Cycle in; one of these days I am going to throw down random unconnected thoughts as I go through an entire Ring. The Handel was best represented by Tamerlano on DVd. And just for a bit variety,Christus am Olberge also featured on Friday. Interspersed were various discs from the 'Acoustic' series, which most definitely isn't dead Germans, but also deserves a marathon play-and-blog session at some stage. Some pure gold mixed with turkeys!.

Anyway, this is a roundabout way of saying why I haven't blogged. While I was labouring away trying to achieve a nirvanic state of cleanliness, thoughts were going through my mind about writing purple prose about the delights of wiping the herb-and-spice bottles and the fizz of descaling the kettle. But, really, there isn't much point.

I'm out tomorrow at Dido & Aeneas and the controversial Acis & Galatea, and I'm going to a leaving do on Thursday. There will be more domesticity over the weekend, but I expect I shall get back in to the blogging thing.

In the meantime, my thoughts and emotions, and indeed my very essence, is available on Twitter

Light sabres! (NSFNY*)

A short clip of brief highlights from Los Angeles Die Walküre

Not Safe for New York;-)

Proms announced

They really have a strange way of doing this. They pre-announce that they will announce at 6pm but hold the Press Conference hours earlier. Obviously oblivious to the way the internet works, presumably thinking that neither the nationals nor the specialist press will publish anything until breakfast time, they fail to update their own website. Which I think should go on line the moment the Press Conference finishes. And at 17:59 they text me. Old news, old news.

What's On

So what appeals to me?

Very little, if the truth be told. Certainly, if it means forking out money, making my way to South Ken and sitting in a hot airless tin hut.

But there are some 'not-to-miss' concerts for me, the most obvious ones being Samson, Fairy Queen, which includes one singer I love and two who are on my list of 'must see more of', Partenope, I suppose, but I can't see it matching up to the superb production and performance from ENO last year. Also, the Sixteen, with Carolyn Sampson singing, in a Handel night. And definitely the Fidelio with the West-Eastern Divan Orchestra, and Waltraud Meier.

There are several big orchestra pieces that I would like to hear live but far too many of them are programmed with works I don't have the slightest inclination of listening to. I know the idea is that the well-known work draws one in and then one is open to the unfamiliar work, but just because one ought, doesn't mean one must.

I think I will give Messiah a miss; can't say I fancy the massed choirs of thousands of schoolies, even less the idea of being in the audience of masses of parents many of whom will be there to preen and show off rather than enjoy the music.  And I'm not even sure I am that keen on Creation. I expect I shall go, though, because Ilove the work so much more than almost any other piece of music that exists

The post I didn't send

The thing about internet news group is that they have immense value in the overall, being sources of information that aren't necessarily available in the mainstream media. In Real Life one can avoid the intellectually challenged, boring and miserable; email lists keep tumbling into one's inbox leaving one without the means to discriminate (assuming one receives digests to manage the volume and therefore sacrifices the ability to filter and block)

On Tue, 7 Apr 2009 16:17:50 +1000, Grant Smallacombe <[email protected]> wrote:

>> Date: Mon, 6 Apr 2009 20:48:55 -0400
>> From: [email protected]
>> Subject: Re: The Rape of Wagner’s   Ring continues in Los Angeles.
>> To: [email protected]
>>
>> Sorry, but I require a tree in Act I
>
>Here, here!
>
Well, this is quite something, not only do we get a meaningless post, to which the only possible answer is 'So what', or, at least, a request for expansion of what almost amounts to a thought process.

Then we get quite possibly the first ever internet post which is 100% mis-spelled, which has to be quite an achievement, but not as  great an achievement as making the previous post seem profound by comparison.

I'm sorry if this seems like a personal attack, but having taken a few weeks break from opera mailing lists, I return to Opera-L to see the same small-minded mean-spiritedness in greater relief.

I'm just here for the hilarity,  whether intentional - thanks Hermine, and John in reply** -  or the unintentional - A.C. Douglas asking whether the Met audience lacks sophistication,* only to be answered perfectly in little more than an hour by the idiot who thinks that opera is about nothing but singing, and can't resist yet another opportunity for getting in an attack on Marcelo Alvarez, for whom he had it in long before the Trovatores ever happened.

Yeah, I'm joining in the mean-spiritedness with glee, but, really, it's very difficult to identify more than a few people on this list who actually enjoy opera.

Note to moderators: feel free to put me on moderation or ban me; it's an obvious weakness on my part that I allow this dross to come into my inbox, only to feel obliged to scroll through it for the rare posts of value.

* did anybody outside New York actually think that the NY Met audience was sophisticated, with their scenery applause and their devotion to unimaginative staid pretty productions that say nothing?

** after several increasingly depressive posts moaning about nothing in particular and boring me stupid, some miserable git wrote

There are few things more annoying than the turning of pages during a concert

to which the incomparable hermine replied

Then you have obviously not had your hair set on fire

which made me LOL, and caused John to reply

Only once, but there was someone sitting next to me turning pages in a score and so I missed the fire.

Dear Diary, again

Those who follow me on Twitter and/or Facebook will know that I had a spill from my bike today. The only surprising thing is that this is the first since I got it seven months ago. It was my own stupid fault, the details are tedious, suffice to say that I swerved at speed to avoid a tree and hit a railway sleeper (that had been laid down to mark the path).

The worst aspect was the dent to my ego and the realisation that it is much harder to take a tumble at 41 than at 14. No great damage done, other than a trembly feeling that took some time to go. I have a grazed knee and a few sore points that will turn into bruises by tomorrow or Wednesday. I broke one fingernail, but not seriously - not down to the quick, or loss of blood or anything. My toenails hurt when slammed against the front of my trainers. The best bit was that I bumped my head. Not in any serious way, but I did wonder, if I hadn't been wearing a helmet would it have hurt a bit? If I carried on hurting during the week would I develop hyperchondria? A cycle helmet is never going to save one from a collision with a 12 ton lorry but it takes the hassle out of trivial spills.

Then Pewari twittered me some virtual medicinal wine, which inspired me to demand gin, large and several, which then caused much of the rest of the evening to descend into farce, as I randomly misplaced kitchen utensils and became extremely philosophical about science, religion and social science (a programme recorded a few weeks ago where Professor Colin Blakemore theorised that one day, science will replace religion - I exclaimed that that was a typical scientist's reaction when any social scientist will know that people behave irrationally, want something that one might call a crutch, or social networking, or community, or comfort.

Dear Diary

My internet silence has been cunningly disguised with a spate of automatic or semi-automatic posts. And endless Twittering/Facebooking.

The reason is the acquisition of a new PC. There was a time when acquiring a new toy was occasion for unalloyed pleasure. Nowadays, it seem generally to be replacing something that is failing or outright broken. Even though the replacement tends to have better functionality built in, and, on account of its newness tends to work better, to begin with anyway, the pleasure of newness is overshadowed by the hassle of customisation.

For example, when I got a new mp3 player a few weeks ago, all I could think of was the number of CDs I would have to process having already done so in the past three years. At least when you get a new stereo you don't have to do anything to your physical CD collection. If the hassle of a new mp3 player wasn't enough, multiply that manifold by a new PC. It was due to be delivered "between 8.30 am and 5pm on Friday". So I made sure I was up and dressed by 8.15. And I sat around, unable to focus on the chores I ought to have been filling my time with.

At ten to five I phoned the retailer, who were polite and responsive; by two minutes to five they were able to tell me the delivery driver was pulling up outside my house. So I went to look. Needless to say he wasn't. I knew he would have been pulling up outside someone else's house, where his GPS had sent him, without the wit or wisdom to consult an A-Z which would have shown him the folly of his location. At seven minutes past five I spotted a man carrying a package knocking on my neighbour's door. Funny, I don't recall directing several hundred pounds of consumer goods to my neighbours.

I then spent several hours just getting the new PC into something that resembled working order. Before Christmas, when I had so much hassle with my broadband connection, when BT swore blind the cause of the problem was me (it wasn't) I bought a new modem, a wireless one. It has since sat in the box; it seemed a good idea to install it on the new PC.

Epic Fail.

I can't say I have really diagnosed the problem, but because it doesn't dump an icon on my desktop or in my tray, I can't take the next step in installation. Further investigation shows that it isn't actually compatible with Windows Vista. It seems particularly dumb or cynical to sell something in November 2008 that doesn't work with Vista. The manufacturer's website has some workarounds (I don't think they're actually updates) but the instructions, obviously written by techies, bear very little relationship to working English.

Is it so difficult to write explanations that say clearly, simply and unambiguously, what to do. I am proficient in English, not unintelligent, and above averagely geeky, but it makes no sense to me. I pity the thick, the semi-literate, those who just want a Pc to do stuff, and those whose first language isn't one of the few options available.

I've now got it to a reasonable state of being able to do things, and there are certain new features that I really like. But I do feel a bit resentful at the several hours spent already, and yet to be spent, which seem redundant.

On Saturday I decided to clean the house (well, tidy, mainly) in preparation for an Easter weekend to be spent in thorough blitzing. I realised that I was missing several vital cleaning products. I also know that I am nearly out of vital store cupboard ingredients, and the freezer is half full of random nonsense. I initially Twittered that I would be heading out to Sainsburys in the evening, then decided against it.

As a parenthesis, I am not a big fan of the Supermarket experience. I prefer to buy fresh stuff in Sainsburys Local or M&S Simply Food. Fruit and veg from our local greengrocers (Jimmy's sister-in-law and late brother), wine from a wine specialist. I do the very occasional massive over-shop in a big store and then spend months depleting the stocks.

I decided I couldn't be bothered to trail round the supermarket, so I ordered on line, and it came today. I could have sworn that I ordered a 1 kg bag of rice, so was surprised to see a 4 kg bag. I have to confess I am a sucker for offers - two for a pound or, as there's 20p off I'd better take advantage and get more than one, to save more than 20p (yeah, I know!).

The delivery man, who was very sweet, explained that he had to ask the postman and someone else where my house was. What was I supposed to say? Well, you know what I said - "it's on the A-Z".

I remember years ago being with a minicab driver who said that he believed he knew South West London pretty well, but almost every week he was presented with a destination that challenged him. It might be a private hospital/nursing home,  a new block of flats, a hidden mews address. So he carried a detailed A-Z. He opined that some drivers see it as loss of face to consult a map; he saw it as a way to get the customer where they wanted to go with the minimal of fuss with the least time wasted. I consider him to be a very sensible man. Unlike too many modern delivery drivers who believe that the GPS will always get it precisely right each time, and have no fallback when it doesn't. 

But then when the stuff comes, it takes ages to put it away. You then realise that you've bought things that won't need replacing for years, and yet, you only have one tin of tomatoes in the cupboard!

I'm a fraudster, or so it seems

But please don't tell my employer or my professional institute because both are inherently opposed to fraud.

Yesterday evening, I indulged in a bit of online shopping. My logic being, that as I have to stay in potentially all day tomorrow to receive a delivery, I might has well as line up various others - one stone, several birds.

Amazon, no problem. Except that they didn't have a particular DVD I want, so I decided to order it from HMV. But they told me that my card had been declined, and asked me to enter my three-digit security code. I did. Same message. Tried again. Same message. Gave up.

I tried another retailer. Told that my card had been rejected. Tried again. Same result. Used my Solo card instead. Success.

I wondered if it was anything to do with having got a replacement card a couple of weeks ago.

Remembered I hadn't go round to booking Lulu and Tosca from ROH. Booked seats. Tried to pay. Card rejected. Tried again. Card rejected. Recalling that my card worked last week for booking Un ballo in maschera.  Tried Solo card. Success.

Having just spotted a matinée of Agrippina at Royal Festival Hall (the same day but not, I think, overlapping, as the Arianna in Creta I have already booked at the Barbican), I decided to book that. Tried to pay. Card rejected. Tried again. Card rejected. Tried Solo card. Success.

I'm beginning to notice a pattern here (you have to get up early to catch me out, I don't miss a trick!). I looked for contact details only to discover that the non-emergency help lines close at 8pm.

So, this morning, I phone up my branch, who tell me that a stop has been put on my card as a result of "recent unusual activity" on my account, and suggest that I contact the card services department. They confirm that my card has been stopped, irrespective of the healthy balance of surplus funds in my account, despite me not having reported it lost or stolen. The unusual activity is at Amazon. To which I can say 'WTF'. There is nothing unusual about me splurging at Amazon. Why reject me spending at the Royal Opera House, which is a frequent entry on my account, probably about once a month? And frankly, what fraudster, realistically, is going to book medium price tickets for Lulu?  I mean, seriously? Tosca, possibly, but Lulu?

I was extremely pissed off, because it turned out they had put a total stop on my account. I could have gone to the supermarket and attempted to pay for a trolley-load of goods, or a restaurant and be faced with a bill I could not pay, or maybe be travelling, possibly abroad. It could have been embarrassing, it could have been extremely inconvenient. It could, conceivably, have stranded or endangered me. But they didn't even bother contacting me, despite having my phone number and my email address.

  What is so pathetic is that of the four rejected transactions, I was able to complete three with my Solo card. My Maestro card is for main bank account, into which my salary goes and from where my Direct Debits come out. My Solo card is for the linked First Reserve Account, which is held at the same branch, with the same sort code. The statements arrive together (FR only once a quarter, enveloped with my monthly main statement). I can transfer freely between the accounts online. I can walk into a branch with my Maestro card and use it to withdraw money from the FR account.

And NatWest Bank has decided that there is fraudulent activity on my main account, so take steps to prevent it. Yet they allow exactly the same allegedly fraudulent transactions to go through on that same account's twin sister.

Utter crap controls. Anti-fraud FAIL.

Verging on defamation of character. Customer service FAIL.

I would just like to remind the NatWest bank that you are owned by the taxpayer, who bailed you out,  and accountable to the taxpayer. Stop doing that private sector piss-on-your-customer thing and start being a responsive customer-focused public service.

Cenotaph, boarded up

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