Gertsamtkunstwerk

Postcard from Paris

Thanks to Catherine for sending me this photo that she took on Friday night!

(PS I don't actually have a double chin, I just pull strange faces,  I say, looking at myself anxiously in the mirror. But another of my Paris photos seems to  show a double chin)

Some pictures of Plácido

Just while I catch up on other things I thought I would publish some photos

I'll write something, maybe tomorrow or later in the week!

Guess where I am, in the rain.

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European Elections (in the UK)

Stop the BNP!

Obviously, European Elections will take place across the EU, but my remarks are primarily about the UK. Actually, primarily about Britain (Northern Ireland has different parties and a different electoral system). However, some of the broad points are by-and-large applicable to other countries, too, but please forgive me for not addressing specific local issues elsewhere.

We have a confluence of events, with the 'credit crunch' and ensuing recession, coupled with the scandal of MP expenses. Both of these issues are making people turn away from the mainstream parties.

In case you haven't noticed, I am a member of the Labour Party. I joined when I was 16, during the miners' strike, which obviously was a major issue in Altrincham and Sale ;-) I am not currently/no longer active, for all sorts of boring reasons which can be briefly summarised as Iraq and Chronic Fatigue Syndrome. But I am and always will be a democratic socialist, who believes in a helping hand from cradle to grave, fairness and equality. (Big themes, too long for this post).

I shall be voting Labour on June 4 and of course urge everybody else to do so, too. However, I am mindful that even if I write screeds and screeds, and try and explain the purpose of the European Parliament, I am simply not arrogant enough to think that anybody will pay attention.

I dislike the fact that local and European elections are somehow seen as an opinion poll on the outcome of the next General Election. I think it's a corruption of democracy, and is there any wonder that politicians are not seen as being accountable when we wilfully refuse to hold them to account? So I assume that a few people will vote on relevant issues, a few more will go out and vote for Party loyalty or as a protest, and quite a lot of the rest will stay at home.

The details of how we will elect MEPs is here and other articles should also be of interest. In a nutshell, we will vote for a party, and assuming that a party exceeds a threshold, they will get an MEP elected. As Greater London will have 8 MEPs, I expect that threshold to be 12.5%; other regions will vary accordingly.

If people who would normally vote decide to stay away, this reduces the total number of votes cast, and thus requires far fewer votes to reach the 12.5%. I would dearly love the Labour Party to win all 8 seats, or even 5, or 4, but I am also a realist.

What I fear is that the BNP will get MEPs elected as a result of protest voting and disaffected non-voting.

What I want is for people who are normally voters of the three main parties but refuse to give their votes in the current climates to go out and vote nevertheless. Don't stay at home and let yourself be represented by the BNP.

If you can't stomach voting Labour, Conservative, or Lib Dem, what about the Greens, or the Christian party, or Arthur Scargill's Socialist Party? I suspect, and in the context, hope that The Greens will benefit from this, I would be surpised if the Christians or the Socialists will.

But, depending on your inclinations, voting for any one of those parties and reducing the BNP's share of overall vote has got to be a better moral choice than staying at home in protest. (If you do stay at home and protest, how will anyone know; they'll just assume you don't care).

Local elctions are more complicated, involving a tactical assessment of who is most likely to beat the BNP, and trying to avoid spreading the anti-BNP vote too thinly and letting them through by default.

This is only one of the reasons that I support PR for local elections, although I am at best agnostic and perhpas tending to the 'anti' for UK Parliament elections

The nose returns!

I have to confess that I was not much looking forward to Cyrano de Bergerac. I was looking forward to going to Paris, and looking forward to seeing Plácido, but CdeB isn't and I doubt ever will be in my top twenty of operas. But a couple of interviews he's given this week have reminded me what a gorgeous compelling story it is, and how I was in buckets of tears on each of the five times I saw it three years ago.

And these photos, even with the watermarks, have just whetted my appetite even more! (oh, those thighs!)

and one from last Monday's Press Conference

How does he do it? (I know I wasn't the only person thinking he wasn't looking great earlier in the year, and now look at him, the old charmer!)

Experimenting

The single biggest advantage of Digital photography is the minuscule marginal costs involved, which allows for a high attrition rate on 'important' occasions, and for plenty of 'messing around', perhaps just in the house or garden.

I am beginning to learn to have multiple  attempts at the same photo. What am I less good at is being brutal at deleting them. I have a a mindset which says - if I just play around in the editing software, it will be all right. Obviously, if there is a photo that's badly exposed or composed but captures an unrepeatable fleeting moment, it can be worth the effort.

I have a silly way of going through editing my photos. I find if I do them in strict chronological order boredom quickly sets in, especially when there are great similarities between the photos.

The special place on the autistic spectrum which enables me to be an accountant/auditor dictates that I do them in a particular order, using the unique reference number.  I know it's silly, I know it's trainspottery, I know it leads to severe delays while I wait for a set to be complete.

However, the advantage is that when I have similar shots, I approach them differently on different occasions, rather than slavishly following the 'inspiration' of the edit done two weeks ago.

A few weeks ago I took a few snaps in the back garden; as it happens of some wallflowers. I set the camera to Focus bracket, so basically took the same photo three times with near, middle and far exposure. I edited them on different days.

A few days later I read in a photography book that it's a good learning exercise to pick a colour and take photos of anything you see in that colour. So I rushed round the house taking indifferent  pictures of orange things.

I am not yet sure what I am supposed to learn from this, and in the meantime I have, and will be, distracted by other things photographic. Nevertheless, it is an exercise I may repeat in the future with another colour. And I did manage to get one more orange thing the next day on a lunchtime perambulation.

 

 

The Red Carpet at the Crossover Brits

A story of bad timing, missed opportunities and time-wasted!

I called the Albert Hall to find out what time the Red Carpet was happening and was told - 6pm, although it was well under way by 5.45.  In actual fact, I had made sure I got there a bit before that. I suppose if I was determined, I would have got there early afternoon with my sarnies and thermos and just hung around watching. But even though I wasn't working, Jimmy was. We met up and went for dinner at Carluccio's. Carluccio's is a wonderful inexpensive restaurant that serves fresh food - although they are clever at persuading you into side dishes where the price starts to add up. Unfortunately, despite it being delicious, I couldn't enjoy it, because of a ludicrous irrational and sustained anxiety attack. About what? Ultimately that my hopes would not be realised.

Well, my hopes were not realised, and my dreams most certainly weren't. But you know, that's life, I lived, it didn't mar my enjoyment of the evening as a whole. For a while I hung around outside the Stage Door. Aled Jones was around; Mylene Klass was flitting around with her curlers in. She seemed open and friendly but asked not to have her photo taken until her hair was done; fair enough!

I took two photos of the loveliest person there (Jimmy), just to test the camera settings, but other than that, I just took one at the Stage Door.

This is a Royal Scots Dragoon Guard. I assumed there would be loads of them, he was the solitary one taking a fag break. He turned out later to be the lone piper playing Amazing Grace. (I only like bagpipes either in the Albert Hall or playing Amazing Grace, so this was, obviously, a Bagpipe Win)!

Jimmy went to return some tickets to the Box Office and I asked someone hanging around whether anyone interesting had been seen. I was told that Plácido Domingo and José Carreras had already emerged from the Stage Door, and that people were waiting for Katherine Jenkins.

So I walked round to the front and positioned myself in exactly the same place as I had done three years ago from where one could watch the 'Reverse Angle' of the Red Carpet. Three years ago only one celebrity had actually spotted us (and blew us a kiss - Plácido,  of course), so it was a bit of fun to see how other celebrities reacted.

I don't think many of them were particularly aware of the growing group of people peering in, so it's unfair to deduce anything from their failure to see us. I expect they are being talked at from three or four directions, maybe anxious about the photos that have just been taken, trying to work out what to do next. And so on.  But I did get a couple of almost passable photos of Jonas.

One celebrity only passed the test! David Suchet, who saw me, smiled and waved. I pressed the button on my camera, at which point my battery gave out. Aaaagh! I enjoy watching Poirot, but although I like him, I've never considered myself a fan. He is now on my list of Genuinely Nice Celebrities.

The doors were opened to admit the dining guests who weren't doing the red carpet, so I went round the other side. I was surprised that I didn't have to wait long to get myself a place on the rail, and I watched as all sorts of people arrived.

I took photos. God knows why, they all pretty turned out pretty dismal. In any case, however decent my photos might have turned out, the official paps' photos will always be better. Furthermore, the subject matter on the whole was not that exciting.

Some bloke was walking round being all charm in some ludicrous jacket. I didn't have a clue who he was but I overheard someone say he was Jonathan Ansell. Still didn't mean anything to me.

Then four blokes got out of a car, all looking like cardboard cut-outs. I guessed they were some boy band, but as I don't know my McFly from my I don't know what, I wouldn't have known who they were but for someone saying they were "Blake". I had some vague memory of some anaemic crooning on the Festival of Remembrance.

They walked round the perimeter posing for photos. I had my camera round my neck, quite possibly on, with the nose sticking out. They looked at me expectantly, assuming that I wanted their photos, and at least one of them looked quite crestfallen at what I guess was my evident lack of interest.

Hayley Westenra and Faryl Smith also came near; they both seemed unassuming,  conscientious and polite, although, like all these other pop singers, I wasn't sure of their purpose at something purportedly about classical music.

Having seen Jonas, I was only interested in Plácido and José, but they didn't do the red carpet. Why I don't know. My speculation - and I could be way off beam here - is that José refused to do it (too big a superstar?) and Plácido out of loyalty declined to upstage him!

The Red Carpet was over, so it was time to go inside and kill time. I had had half a bottle of wine with dinner. Too early in the day and too much drunk before my stomach was full, it managed to hit me towards the end of the red carpet and I was slightly squiffy for a while longer. Nicely relaxed in that 'able to follow one's instincts without fear' way. Aled Jones walked past. I exclaimed to Jimmy "That's Aled Jones!" He turned round and impulsively, I asked to shake his hand. "Of course!" he replied and held his hand out, beaming a warm smile. Just a fleeting encounter, but one more to add to the Genuinely Nice Celebrities! Of course, by the next day, I was recounting the tale in terms of 'drunkenly accosting Aled Jones'!

Afterwards I went to the Stage Door. Neutrally, I asked someone 'if anyone important has come out yet'. I was told 'Katherine Jenkins, but she wouldn't let the likes of us near her'. I was asked for whom I was waiting. Cautiously, I said "Jonas Kaufmann and Plácido Domingo". That was clearly the right answer.

Various people came out and I took a few photos rather optimistically. I also realised that I am an idiot to myself. A few times people said "Excuse me" and I instinctively let them through, until I realised that what they actually meant was "Can I get in front of you and shove you out of the way." Eventually, I just turned to some big blokes, and just said "Do you mind not pushing?" They hadn't just pushed me out of the way but were shoving other people who were in their way. None of the names were lingering; perhaps unsurprising because there was drizzle and dampness in the air. I got two shots of the back of José Carreras's head.

I did get to speak to Jonas Kaufmann, rubbed his arm (yeah, that was a bit embarrassing), and said I was looking forward to Don Carlo. I loved his reaction, it was if he was thinking 'ah, someone who is enough of a fan to know already about my career'. He smiled and said that he was, too (looking forward to it). I asked him to pose for a photo, and he asked whether it was okay. It wasn't; I'd managed to do camera shake, but seeing that he was rather anxious to get away, I didn't want to be the irritating person who goes 'just one more, no, oops, let me get it right this time, sorry for delaying you Herr Kaufmann'. I would have missed him but for Jimmy noticing him come out of another door.

Not much later Lang Lang and Herbie Hancock also emerged from that door, but they were definitely straight into the car, no hanging about.

I hung round a bit longer; there were several of the 'usual suspects' I see often at The Royal Opera House. The big question was - where was Plácido? We all have had experience of waiting a long time for Plácido to emerge, but know that the wait is worth it. Someone said that someone inside had said that Plácido had left much earlier. We didn't know whether that was actually so, but some of us were conscious we had work the next day. Jimmy was getting restless, so I decided to call it a day. I wouldn't be surprised to learn that Plácido had emerged from the Stage Door moments after I got into a cab, because that would have summed up my cleb spotting for the day!

I'll stick the least worst of my photos up as and when, but don't hold your breath waiting for them, they're not worth it.

What is it with people?

I have just ordered my neighbour out of my house.

It's a long saga. She's a rude selfish stuck-up cow with pretensions of grandeur. She had this stupid stupid idea about two years ago that we should all change our address for her convenience - to Laundry Lane.

She explained her rationale: whenever she orders something for home delivery, it comes up with my address. That isn't true. What actually happens is that she orders something over the telephone or in a shop and gives her postcode. Four houses share a postcode, which isn't actually very many for a postcode. The first one on a drop down list is my address. My address is

1 Gert Cottage
London
SW2 xxx

That's all that's needed, as per Royal Mail.

Her address therefore is

Cow Cottage
London
SW2 xxx

If I order something over the phone, the usual behaviour is that they ask my postcode, I give it, they say "Is that 1 Gert Cottage?" I say yes.

Presumably, she gets asked "Is that 1 Gert Cottage" and she replies "Yes" rather than "No, it's Cow Cottage". It's like if you live at 33 Acacia Avenue  and you give your postcode, and they say "Is that 1 Acacia Avenue" you don't reply "Yes it is vaguely that area" but you do  reply "No, it's 33 Acacia Avenue."

It's not that difficult. I know from the addresses of my family and friends that there are numerous complications in how houses are addressed, so, while ours isn't 'normal' it's not the sole aberration in an otherwise neatly ordered system. The road I back onto is numbered 1, 2, 3 on one side and 48, 47, 46, etc on the other, rather than odds on one size and evens on the other. It's a surprise the first time you encounter it, then you get used to it. I assume there are many other roads similarly numbered.

I know what these drop-down lists look like, I use them regularly online. Yes, her house lacks a house-number. So do lots of houses. So does another house in the foursome, Alaska Cottage. Funny how they don't have the same problems with deliveries as she does.

She's gone and ordered a bed from Argos, to be delivered to my house, on a day I shall be at work. So she's come round to warn me.  Or rather, to ask a favour. Jimmy and I have agreed we have done her too many favours and been treated like dirt in return, so, except for the fact that her husband is infirm, we won't do any more favours (in actual fact, if we were at home and one of her delivery people came knocking, of course we would redirect them). She's accused him of trespassing on her land (yeah, she's that grand!); she's had her priest friend sneering at him and our house name.

She then started on the 'something must be done...'. I knew what was coming; she was moving on to discuss Laundry Lane. I've already told her I'm not interested and why; I've already explained how the postcode database works. She chose not to listen then, so I chose not to listen this evening, saying with a somewhat raised voice "Get out..." She told me not to be so rude. I said she was the rude one, with her postcode nonsense, her sneering friends and her f..bloody Laundry Lane.

Not a defence, but...

All this stuff about MPs' expenses is fascinating. To say the least.

Nothing in this post should be considered as a defence of anything we have read in the media in the past week or so, but I do have several disconnected observations.

I find it difficult to understand how someone can have 'forgotten' they have paid off their mortgage. For me, and for people I know or read, any mortgage-related transaction is noteworthy. It seems to be fairly well demonstrated that working long hours and being deprived of sleep does affect one's memory and judgement. All ethics apart, it doesn't exactly fill me with confidence that our political representatives are so mentally impaired that they are unable to remember paying off their mortgages or unable to judge the implications of potentially fraudulent claims. And I doubt that such mental impairment is confined to politics. Throughout the world of work, 'leaders' are working stupid hours; how clear are their judgements?

I didn't like my reaction when I read of David Cameron's wisteria clearing. "That's only £600" I thought. In my defence, it is small and sort-of almost understandable in contrast to multiple flippings etc. I am ashamed because I know that in reality it is a lot of money - bearing in mind I work part-time, so although my grossed-up salary FTE is well above average, £600 represents just about what I have left each month after all the Direct Debits (but we are a two income household and I'm playing fast-and-loose, and shortsightedly using my house equity). But it does illustrate how easy it is to lose sight of the real value of money.

I have been active in politics for quarter of a century; this has not been a great way to celebrate my silver anniversary in the Labour Party. Despite studying Politics at University, despite being trained and paid to be sceptical, and despite 8 years serving as a politician, I remain an optimist with a benign view of human nature. Whether my self-awareness of my naivety is proof of an absence of naivety, I don't really know. I have always known that there are people who go into politics solely for personal gain, that it is common for people who start-off as idealistic to become jaundiced, but I do believe that most people are merely venal. But I am being shaken out of my innocent rose-tinted innocence by this unfolding saga of greed.

Two things annoyed me at the Classical Brits (well, more than two, but let's concentrate on the MPs' expenses issue).

David Mellor (ex-MP) appeared to present the Critics Award. He made a speech about how the critics had assembled for a long liquid lunch, and he made some quip about expense claims. Understandable and verging on the almost humorous. Except I found it very smug. The inference I took was that as it's now many years since he was an MP, he of course is above all this. Possibly, as an ex-MP for Putney, which I suppose counts as Inner London, he was never entitled to the Second Home Scam. But 12 years on,  his expense claims,  submitted long before Freedom of Information, are free from scrutiny. I got annoyed with some news headline yesterday which said "The most corrupt Parliament ever?" To which I reply, "I doubt it. We just don't know and can't possibly tell. The difference is there is growing transparency. Not enough, but more than there has been previously"

I was asked by my neighbour Langrabbie whether I had encountered Iain Dale. I didn't, but I did spot his companion. She was high on Jimmy's list of 'women who ruin nice figures and nice dresses with poor posture'. Turns out this was Nadine Dorries MP , who, as it happens, is today entwined in the exes issue. More interesting to me was that she was at a dining table at the record industry annual shebang. I may be making a big mistake and in fact she is a madly fanatic José Carreras fan and so felt compelled to buy an arena/dining ticket in the Albert Hall for his Lifetime Achievement Award. If so, I apologise profusely.

More likely, she was a guest of some or other record company, getting free dinner and wine, and a concert which some of us paid up to £65 a ticket for. So what, you might say. All I can say is, the next time there is a Parliamentary vote on matters relating to, for example, copyright on recordings, I believe that Nadine Dorries,  and anyone else who accepted the freebies,  should excuse themselves from the vote; otherwise it would be a prima facie case of corruption actually more serious than dodgy home claims  - Iain Dale's blog says

I am afraid I now have to bow out until later this evening as I am going to the Classic FM Brit Awards (sic) in my role as "escort" to female Conservative MPs (note the plural)

I just use this as an example. I feel angry at the memories of my time on the council,  when we were over-cautious. For example, Licensing Committee did a night-time tour of nightclubs. The head of Licensing, Trevor, reminded us not to accept drinks.

In one place (Caesars) we were offered a drink. Everyone declined but me. Because I was parched I requested a glass of water. Trevor's face changed very quickly from exasperation/annoyance to relief and amusement. I am sure some people would read this and sneer.

But the point is, no one could then accuse me or my fellow committee members of accepting inducements. Imagine the hilarity if a newspaper tried to run "Councillor Gert solicited and accepted a half-pint glass of tapwater from Streatham's leading nightclub owner". Surrey Cricket Club tried to treat us to a slap-up reception; our Chief Whip reminded us that there was a major planning application pending for The Oval.

All I can say is, irrespective of how you feel about the main parties, do go out and vote for anything but the British National Party. If nothing else, make the European elections, and Local if you have them, a vote against the BNP. Ultimately, hatred of ethnic minorities (and gays, and women) will continue when we've all forgotten the MPs' expenses scandal. Hopefully, this is something on which the activists, members and supporters of all mainstream parties and decent citizens can unite.

Plácido at the Crossover Brits

More here

Apostrophe fail

In a Double Fail, I think "Taylors" should actually be "Taylor's" - it's supposed to be the bar of Taylor, isn't it?

What I love about signs like that is that someone has designed it and placed the order with a printer and neither of them noticed the errors!

Lohengrin at ROH

I went to this with very confused expectations. Everything I had read had told me that the production was the worst example of Met trash this side of Manhattan. It's an opera I do love, but I was a bit scared that my adoration is based too much on the DVD I own of a very special knight in shining armour being very seductive.

I didn't leave the house as early as I intended and pondered how much I would regret arriving late and missing Act I. Not much I decided. But then there's Act II and that's very long, as well. Ah well, I'll just put up with it.

After four and a half hours in the opera house (with intervals) I emerged wrung-out and strung-up and yet bouncy and elated too, a real catharsis.

I can see why the production came in for so much criticism. An eighties production, it was obviously dated. This was particular noticeable in the costumes, some of which bore close resemblance to those in My Primary School Silver Jubilee Pageant where we celebrated the subjugation of Wales - I had to peer very closely to ascertain that the chain mail wasn't in fact knitted by someone's Mum. I am certain though that they borrowed some shepherds' tea-towels from the Infants' Nativity play. The King turned up to the wedding dressed as a Dalek. Here's a picture of René Pape from six years ago. He's very tall; Kwangchul Youn isn't, and looked swallowed-up in that costume.  It didn't help that the costumes clearly  didn't fit some of the singers, or else weren't cut to flatter their figures. Petra Lang, who is not plump had her large breasts squashed unflatteringly inside her dress.

I didn't particularly like the lighting. Too much reliance on spotlights and not enough effort to disguise the shadows they caused.

I took a dislike to the floor coverings. In Acts I and III a wrinkled sand-coloured cloth served as...sand (obviously pre-dating the era of ROH wonky boxes and paddling pools). In Act II a red cloth was rolled out, a brilliant shade of red, symbolic of Elsa's wedding night. I especially loved the Arabic women who did their  exotic  dances on it, although I couldn't quite work out what they were doing in mediaeval Brabant. No matter.  After a few  minutes, though,  it just started to look like a threadbare cloth.

The production was very static indeed, and I guess I was lucky being in Row K of the Amphitheatre where I was able to take in the big panorama rather than sigh from the expensive seats at the lack of action. The chorus had nothing to do but sway from side to side occasionally. And sing, of course. And, for the most part, the principals had little to do but raise their arms in traditional but thankfully now outdated operatic semaphore.

But I think that static works in Lohengrin. I couldn't really imagine it as manic dashing around; short of totally re-imagining it, I am not sure how it can be much more than a concert performance in mediaeval costume. What I would want though, is there to be more personal chemistry, especially between Lohengrin and Elsa. I regard Lohengrin as one of the most Romantic heroes of opera; he's so Romantic he buggers off at the end!

This reads as if I didn't like the production, which isn't really true. Perhaps because I had been prepared for the worst. Or perhaps really it was adequate. Having seen so many productions live and on video that are not adequate, that is in itself something.

If I have to single out one great aspect of this overall very enjoyable evening it was the conducting. It was quite an achievement for the Royal Opera House orchestra (especially the brass...) to get through an entire performance without one flub discernible by me.

Semyon Bychkov conducted an extraordinary performance. I had expected a lot of Wagnerian bambambam and crash-bang-wallop (those aren't the official technical terms); instead I got a sensitive, intimate performance of a chamber opera. I suppose it would have been lovely to have that matched with a production that was also chamber-like. I accept the downside of chamber-like and intimate is an absence of passion. That was noticeable especially at the end of Act II and start of Act III. The pay off was a stately, dignified, restrained reading which thrilled me with anticipation even as it unfolded.

The very special treat for me was the singing. I cannot believe that Johann Botha has escaped my notice for so long. What a beautiful voice! He can't act for toffee, physically or facially. He barely moves, his sword fighting was lame. There is no polite way of saying that he is fat;  his fatness (and a dodgy wig) makes him  look a lot uglier on stage than in photos. But there is something special about this short fat ugly bloke with the honeyed voice, secure at the top and sonorous at the bottom.

Even though he can't act and doesn't move much, he arrived in a stately manner, and was dignified and regal throughout. I did feel let down in the bridal chamber scene which I know can be romantic with barely restrained eroticism bubbling under the surface. It only struck me that the tenor doesn't appear until late in Act I, and barely figures at all in Act II. But Act III belongs to the tenor, and most certainly belonged to Johan Botha on Monday night. In Fernem Land was masterful; by Mein Lieber Schwann I was in tears, wanting to curl up in a ball and die, but in a good way.

Edith Haller was interesting. She wasn't initially planned to be it, but was drafted in to replace someone or other, I forget who, who withdrew months ago. Looking at her biography, she is not much over thirty if that, and having spent several years in inconsequential houses I've never heard of, she's suddenly taken on big roles - Elizabeth in Madrid's Tannhaueser, and now this. I'm not being dismissive of inconsequential houses; it's a great foundation for learning the roles and not forcing the voice.

I have to say she is not yet the finished article. She clearly lacked that intangible something I crave 'Stage Presence'. There wasn't a great deal of vocal personality nor colour, but there again what does Elsa do but "Lovz u, haz teenage crush on u shinning kniht on swan. Pls tell me ur name LOL" (Ortrud and 2 others like this).

But her voice got right to me. It has a pure bell-like sound, and sounded very unpushed. There was one note where she cracked at the top, but she recovered quickly, and it didn't mar that phrase let alone the evening. To me, it was an interpretation of Wagner that was influenced by the bel canto. To some extent, anyway. I read the reviews, mainly from the first night, were not particularly positive, so I feel pleased to have left this until late in the run. I suspect she will return in the not too distant future.

(Veering completely off topic I looked up her future schedule and discovered that she will be singing Emilie du Châtelet in Emilie in  Amsterdam in March. Having never heard of this opera I looked it up in wikipedia and instead got the biography of a fascinating 18th century mathematician and physicist. The opera is by Kaija Saariaho; Edith alternates with Karita Mattila.)

The rest of the cast were fine, without being particularly memorable. I found Petra Lang's voice to be quite harsh, which I suppose suits Ortrud, but I'm not sure I would like it in a more sympathetic character.

A few random thoughts - there were several musical reminders of  Weber's Freischutz.I thought it was a serendipitous pairing (for me) with Peter Grimes, looking at the  role of outsiders, the power of the crowd, the 'if in doubt, blame the woman' mindcast. Also, although they are both secular works, they both have strong religious-style chorus writing.

The next few days

Some of the keener eyed readers may have noticed me mention in passing that I am off the Classical Brits tomorrow. Because life is never meant to be straightforward, I am going with Jimmy. I hope to attend the red carpet, although I am not holding out much hope. I expect the Katherine Jenkins fan will be there mob-handed watching her totally upstage José Carreras, whose night it is.

Those of you who know me know that I am not tall, far from it! I will have my camera with me and will be looking out especially for Plácido and Jonas, as well, of course, as José. I may hand over the camera to Jimmy, who has the advantage of height, but tends to use it as a point-and-shoot. I will also have my phone with me and I will twitter when I can. That, of course, would be easier without Jimmy. It's not like I can stand/sit there and ignore him. I have warned him it might be a long night.

As it happens I'm not working tomorrow, but the bad news is that I am working Friday, then I'm out at L'Elisir D'Amore in the evening, so I will have very little time to write things up. I will try and do so on Saturday, but I will also have other things to do, too, and on Sunday I'm attending the Handel double bill.

I am full of hope but trying not to build my hopes up. The  weather forecast for tomorrow is heavy showers; I hope that won't affect the red-carpet. Just my luck to be stuck standing behind someone with an umbrella blocking my view and dripping into the cleavage of my soggy cocktail dress. And I suspect that will put paid to our plans for a picnic in the park.

So flaming stupid having a bloody dress code. I've never known anything like it in my life. Not for a concert, anyway. Weddings, formal dinners and Trooping the Colour, yes, but not for a pop concert which is going to half-resemble amateur night down the Legion, with the joke acts they have in strange juxtapostion to greatness. 

If I remember from the last time I was there, there are quite long pauses between acts, because of telly. So I shall try and send pithy messages, but don't cancel your evening plans on the off-chance of intermittent updates.

Théâtre du Châtelet-Cyrano de Bergerac

includes preview video - look for the relevant icon to the top right - with comments from our hero

Théâtre du Châtelet-Cyrano de Bergerac.


Thanks to Christine for the tip

11 days to go 'til I see it! The Alfano will be a nice change from the Wagner, Donizetti and double Handel that comes first...

Peter Grimes at ENO

One of, if not the, most important opera written post WWII. Probably the greatest opera written in the English language.

Such statements not only risk accusations of subjectivity but could be seen as the sort of faint praise that damns a work.

English National Opera provided persuasive evidence last night to support both statements and demonstrate that they are not trifling.

Prima la musica, or as we say in English, above all else, the music is supreme.  Kudos of course to the masterful Ed Gardner and his splendid orchestra. But most praise to the very great Ben Britten. I listened to his music when I was very young (when he died I recognised his name, which is more than can be said when Elvis Presley died some months later).

The entire score is imbued with sounds of the sea. Each scene (two in each of three acts) is preceded by a Sea Interlude, evocative pieces of music without singing or drama. In this production, they chose to play them with the curtains closed; I chose to close my eyes and let the music engulf me. The themes continue throughout the scenes. As an unabashed percussion fan,  I have to give special praise to that department, although it is less prominent than in many other Britten works. But that which lingered is an oft-repeated phrase with the clarinet and the piccolos. It's not a work where you leave humming the tunes (often these can be quite superficial); instead, the music creates the atmosphere, mood, context and drama. I am not synaesthetic but, nevertheless, I was left with an abiding sense of the sea.

Being the première of a new production I am obliged to write in some detail about David Alden's production.The scenery was dominated by trapezoids and the consequent triangles. The foundation of the sets were five trestle tables with marble-effect Formica tops. Used in combinations of three (for the Prologue in the Moot Hall), five (in The Boar) or three and two (in Grime's hut) they contributed to the trapezoid/triangle effect.

The choreography of the chorus often extended the trapezoid/triangle device, often to stunning visual effect. One very striking image came in Act III, outside the Moot Hall. The apex of the triangle of the Boar's Head was centre and front creating trapezoids either side, wide at the front of the stage and narrow at the back. The chorus and actors massed on the left (from the audience's POV). The colours of the costumes (mainly muted but Ned Keene in a bright mustard suit) and the lighting were evocative to me of a painting, familiar enough to be conjured up in my mind's eye but not so familiar that I can actually name it!.

Overall, the production was set mid-century. I have to confess to not being quite sure when. In some aspects it seemed very 1930s, but in other ways it seemed closer to 1940s. Auntie, a cross-dresser with a silver-topped cane, and Ned Keene in his spats, seemed left over from the 20s; the crowd waving Union Flags seemed 1945, as did the sailor's hornpipe (I had previously read a report on the Dress Rehearsal that referenced On the Town, and that seemed an apt description).Of course, in real 1945, when this was written, ordinary people would have been wearing the fashions of the 30s and possibly the 20s, too.

Such an updating will inevitably appal the purists who express their horror at the anachronisms (the buying of a boy from the workhouse; the reliance on a carter) yet don't seem to mind that an entire Borough execute all their conversations in song. They don't bother me, perhaps because I seek the inner meaning rather than a literal portrayal.

There s discussion in the programme about the theme of being an outsider, debating whether Britten (and his muse and life partner Pears) were influenced by their experience of being outsiders as Conscientious Objectors or as homosexuals. For me, the most powerful theme is mob justice. The Borough ostracises Grimes because a child apprentice died in his care; when they realise he is physically abusing the new boy and his love, Ellen Orford, they go mob-handed to his hut. Hearing the approaching crowd, he momentarily lets go of the rope that the apprentice is using to climb down the cliff; the apprentice falls to his death. The implication is that the Borough is responsible for his death.

Even more telling is one's knowledge that once the gossip has died down and the scandal is history, no one will remember or miss the children who died. No Safeguarding Children Board, no Serious Case Review, no Independent Enquiry. It was okay to sell a child into the 'care' of a man who was clearly totally unfit to care even for a hamster. Perhaps the Borough are not to be condemned for their summary justice by Mob; there was no real justice. I think one is supposed to have some sympathy for Grimes, perhaps a victim, too, of a society that knew no better (or, rather, did know but chose to do nothing). I don't. Surely, it is human instinct to protect not harm people who are weaker and more vulnerable.

I thought the lighting was marvellous. It is a dark story and it would be tempting and easy to reflect that in the lighting. This was not the case. Especially on the beach in Act II, the light was an accurate reflection of coastal light. The storm scenes were excellent, the contrasts of light and dark in time with the music.

In Act III Scene 1, the dance at the Moot Hall, there were scenes that, no doubt, will cause sensationalist reporting from some quarters. One of the nieces was simulating giving Ned Keene a hand job in perfect time to the music; Ned eventually finished himself off. An actor threw several times into a bucket; in between up-chucks he swiged beer from the bottle. And many of the male members of the Borough were seen lined up against the wall in a communal peeing session. No doubt if I had explored further in the increasingly Croydon-like Clapham on the way home, rather than merely catching a bus, I would have seen similar scenes. They were a bit of fun, not necessary but lightly amusing and adding a little to the colour and character.

And, finally, the singing. This was must-see for me partly because of the presence in the cast of Gerald Finley my favourite baritone (and I regret even more that my May diary is so packed I cannot fit in more than one attendance). But I had to remind myself that it is overwhelmingly a tenor's opera. I had heard of, but knew nothing about the Grimes, Stuart Skelton. I think an indication of how much he impressed me was that I actually quite forgot that Gerald Finley was due to appear until he did!

He was superb. Not especially a pretty voice, but just about right for the part. A strong stage presence, a convincing portrayal of the character and great singing. Amusingly, his physique is not dissimilar to Bryn's (although not as tall and somewhat slimmer), and his sailor's outfit was very similar to that worn by Bryn in Dutchman.

I was less convinced by Amanda Roocroft as Ellen Orford. I am sure that many people would have found her performance satisfactory. I didn't find it bad. No need to wince or cover my ears, but I did find her vocal performance to be lacking. Sometimes wayward of pitch, and very little emotion or character conveyed by the voice. A few ugly notes and I don't recall any phrases that made me sit up.  Physically, she did enough, but it was not a memorable stage performance. 

There was strength in the smaller character parts. Special praise to schoolboy Benny Gur in the non-singing role as the apprentice.

I really liked the performances of the nieces, Gillain Ramm and Mairéad Buckle, although their being dressed in school uniform and carrying dolls  did disturb me (as I am sure it was meant to). I liked their dancing as much as their singing, and the sense that they were almost 'Siamese Twins' that they were just another two replaceable young women being exploited by The Borough. Leigh Melrose as Ned Keene was outstanding; Michael Colvin as Bob Boles and Felicity Palmer as a Miss Marple-ish Mrs Sedley were also notable. And no weak links among the rest.

Particularly impressive were the chorus. I often feel that ENO's chorus has better collective acting ability than singing, but this was not the case last night. I could nit-pick, remark about occasions where they did not close their consonants together, but that shouldn't detract from what was often a wall of sound resounding round the Coliseum, stirring stuff, goose-pimples, arm hairs standing up etc.

As you should know by now, I am very much a fan of Gerald Finley. I'm sure I would have booked for this without his presence; knowing he was in it was an added bonus.

Very difficult to know what to say. He was faultless. A low key portrayal of the character. Rightly so, I think, because Balstrode is a rarity, a non-grotesque balanced human being. I was not quite sure why he was cast as a one armed sailor, but it didn't do any harm.

There was one bit where the stage was completely crowded with all principals, chorus, extra chorus and actors (at the end of the beach scene, I think) and he dominated that crowd scene. Not by anything overt but by something, I don't know what - presence, I guess.

As for his voice, it's just one perfect column of honeyed gorgeousness (except when he was singing in a falsetto-ish parody, which was cool, too!). He is the most perfect opera singer around (and that is not meant to diminish my most favourite singer, because part of his appeal is the apparent anguish and suffering for his art!)

I know from conversations held and overheard that my opinions are by no means universally heard. It was my first experience of seeing this work live, although I have seen at least two different versions on DVD. I am also conscious that however objective one tries to be in a review, it is difficult not to be affected by extraneous factors including one's state of mind, physical wellness and alertness, and the behaviour of one's immediate neighbours.

One next to me decided to spend most of the interlude beginning Act II rummaging in her handbag, for her binoculars, which she handed to her companion saying 'Do you want to see? I'm so short-sighted you know,' while the music was playing; the chap in front of her spent most of the time leaning forward obscuring my view of the front right of stage where Gerald Finley spent a disproportionate amount of the performance; then he had the nerve to moan about a mobile phone going off, which I didn't hear. 

On the whole, the audience was well-behaved. Coughing and sneezing much subdued - yay for swinefever hysteria, see it's not so difficult to stifle them in a tissue or one's sleeve. Apart from one wanker who decided to loudly lead a burst of applause as the curtain fell at the end of Scene 1 (of Act II, IIRC) but was quickly shushed, the audience more or less respected the music, waiting until the music faded away and after the curtain fell until the house lights were half-illuminated before beginning the applause. To do otherwise (eg applaud as the singing finishes, or the curtain begins to close) is sheer ignorance.

I have set up a Diigo tag for Peter Grimes. It is barely populated now but I'm sure will fill out tomorrow and throughout May. No doubt photos too will emerge from a very visual production. A plea to SkyArts - any chance of recording it for televising or DVD?

More TV alerts

Somewhat in the manner of London buses, there are several programmes scheduled soon on BBC TV that will be of interest to fans of opera and classical music.

Starting tonight on BBC2 with Purcell: The Londoner and continuing in subsequent weeks with Handel: The Conquering Hero, and then Haydn and Mendelssohn (ie getting more tenuous on the 'British' as we go along!). It's just an excuse to wallow in anniversaries of years ending in 9, of course. I could be churlish but I can assure you I shall be setting my Sky+

This coming Friday - note, a week earlier than previously advertised - is Purcell's Dido and Aeneas from ROH, starring Sarah Connolly, with some other notable performances.

I guess the Acis and Galatea part of the double bill will be shown the week after. But I'm sure we'll get more info nearer the time.

The Sky+ will be set.

Also potentially of interest is Bill Bailey's Remarkable Guide to the Orchestra , also tonight on BBC2.

Finally, in probably the nearest that ITV will get to 'culture' (The South Bank Show is set to be abolished) - The 2009 Classical Brit Awards at the Royal Albert Hall will be broadcast on Tuesday 19th May, at 10.35pm on ITV1. I imagine my Sky+ may be set. I wouldn't be surprised if selected highlights end up on Rapidshare and/or YouTube.

TV ballet alert

Tonight on BBC4 7.30 pm, Manon with Carlos Acosta and Tamara Rojo.

I don't know much about ballet, but I do know those names! If I could be said to be a fan of any dancer it would be Carlos Acosta. And I was impressed by Tamara Rojo when I saw here in that one, wassname, got a lot of swans in it.

Kenneth MacMillan’s three-act ballet Manon is not just one of the great showpieces of The Royal Ballet, for whom it was created, but also now of the classical ballet repertory worldwide. The famous story follows the young girl Manon, torn between her impetuous love for the student Des Grieux and her desire for wealth and comfort as a kept woman of a rich man.

These two central roles are showcases for the skill and dramatic power of any dancers, and this time round there will be the extra thrill of catching several debuts from up-and-coming young stars of The Royal Ballet. The stage picture brings to life the 18th century – from the bustling courtyard of an inn where the couple first meet to the louche atmosphere of a Parisian house of ‘entertainment’ and its courtesans. Expressive music drawn from Massenet has been skilfully woven into a ballet score that alternates the sensuous and the dramatic to match the adult themes of a world-class ballet.

Technology is bad and scary

I was reading an article in last week's New Statesman Don’t sell me your dream: Far from liberating us, technology isolates us and makes us stupid.

It is a prime example of writing (and getting paid for) nonsense. Some small points that ring true - how Blackberries are just a way for employers to keep control over employees' free time - but are misused to 'prove' a greater fallacy.

He says

It is also important to remember that technology is not altruistic. Facebook and MySpace are ad sales scams. They get free content and demographic data from their members, then sell it to advertisers.

The New Statesman (funded mainly by Geoffrey Robinson - until last month ) is a bad example, but, in general,  the paper-based Press has depended on advertising for centuries.

I used to read Cosmopolitan regularly. There were numerous glossy adverts for all sorts of 'lifestyle' and fashion products, sitting alongside articles extolling the virtues and the route to happiness via the purchase of totally unrelated lifestyle and fashion 'must-haves'. I am not the greatest fan of capitalism, but as a democratic socialist, I can see advantages as well as disadvantages in the capitalist market. The disadvantages are how the advertising and acquisitive culture makes us stupid and isolates us from emotions and experiences that have little or no monetary value.

He slags off Wikipedia as being inferior to getting on one's bike and going to the library to get reference books. He clearly doesn't know that Wikipedia has been found to be as reliable as the Encyclopaedia Britannia. He obviously doesn't understand the difficulties of being a teenager and cycling to Manchester Central Library on a cold wet windy winter's school night on the off-chance of being able to get a reference book that isn't available in Trafford libraries but would help with that history essay, in the mid-1980s.

I am a massive fan of web-based technology. Since I took up blogging, I have transformed the way I take photos. I got a digital camera in 2001 but initially used it as I had used film camera - for snapshots of sights and people. Inspiration by other bloggers changed how I saw the art of photography. More importantly, I was inspired to take days out for the ostensible purpose of blogging and photography. The pleasure of those days out, inspired by technology, have been about the sensual and physical connection with place and - often - nature, and the companionship of my partner.

I never went to the Royal Opera House until they introduced online booking (although there is little direct cause and effect). I had swallowed the myth that tickets are impossible to get and extortionately expensive. I still meet older people who believe it will be impossible to get tickets for Plácido at the ROH in either Tamerlano or Simon Boccanegra next season. Extremely difficult, I think, to obtain one of the approximately 10,000  available. But not impossible. And made simpler by technology, specifically the world wide web.

I get to download recordings of operas and concerts broadcast on radio and TV in other countries, (or recorded in-house!) including some dating from before I was born. Perhaps this New Statesman 'journalist' would dismiss my interest in music (irrespective of taste and genre) as another pointless addiction to technology. But such a dismissal would make the article even less relevant, and isn't implied in it, anyway.

It is by 'meeting' people on the internet with shared interests (and often, meeting them in 'Real Life') that I have been emboldened to travel abroad for operas. But not just for operas. Take the forthcoming trip to Paris. The main reason for going is for Cyrano de Bergerac. But we are going for several days and intend to do some intensive sight-seeing. Despite, or perhaps because of Paris's proximity, I'm not sure I would ever have got round to organising a city break there. Opera tickets, train tickets, and hotel were all researched and booked on line, by electronic transfer of funds. All could have been done by post, but I doubt that I would have taken the initiative without the www.

One of the things I like about Facebook is that I have daily communication with members of mine and Jimmy's extended families, with slight acquaintances and old friends, government ministers and opera singers.  A Luddite would say that I should make more effort to keep up with them in Real Life (not the ministers and singers!). And that is undoubtedly true. But geographical and lifestyle separation makes this impractical. I like the age and generation mix; my Facebook Friends range from ten years old (unofficially - having sneaked in under her Mum's - my sister's - ID) to someone I think is 61 (his birthday is 29 February; if he was 57 that would make him the twin of someone else, such a coincidence would surely have been remarked upon in 1994 or 1998).

I think with just about anything one can think of - food, exercise, football, politics, opera, work, leisure, shopping, sex, DIY, religion, alcohol - social media are best in moderation. It's almost certainly unhealthy to define one's existence by just one of those things, and very stupid to see them as the ultimate panacea.

Daily, I see acquaintances in, outside or heading for the same old same old pub where they spend their entire leisure time, rarely venturing to neighbouring pubs, let alone far away Brixton, Streatham and Clapham town centres. If that's how they want to spend their time, fine, by I believe my life is infinitely richer because of my above-average internet use than it would be if my life revolved around my local.

I am certain I shall see more people I know in Paris than if I wandered into any local pub except those on my road. Stupid? Isolated? I think otherwise.

Concert in Washington

Update: that link to the YouTube clips...

Wonderful contributions from commenters. White Rabbit has drawn our attention to a splendid collection of videos uploaded by Rebecca. I say splendid, it's not like I've had time to watch all 11. They are obviously filmed on a hand-held home camera, with all the inevitable limitations, but having watched at least 'Granada' (with extended obligatory flower-throwing) I definitely think it's worthwhile.

And ZS has sent me a photo which unfortunately languished in my Spam folder (raspberries to btinternet - too many false positives, on all my email accounts).

But languishing no more!

 

How not to write an article

Norman Lebrecht notches up an impressive list of inaccuracies in one short article

Are we down to our last tenor?

• Rolando Villazón...looked cheerful enough in a flowered shirt at an impromptu Covent Garden recital

almost certainly from the description the 'In Conversation with...' evening, which I attended

• What seemed to be an orderly succession to the semi-retired Placido Domingo with Villazon as front-runner has now become a very open question.

Semi-retired? Semi-retired? (I work with someone who's just a bit younger than Plácido, and is now working four days a week rather than five, but Dave is no more semi-retired than the thirty-something four dayers and me as a three-dayer)

• but what it takes a tenor to sustain an entire role is more than just a voice – as Andrea Bocelli, the former pop balladeer, discovered

I'm no Bocelli fan but what he has proved is that he can sing the occasional performance. Not great, by reports not very  good, but arguably not the worst tenor performing professionally (and isn't the worst thing about him his voice?)

• José Cura, 46, who flowered for a couple of seasons before deciding that he needed to be a conductor, a composer, a stage director, a visiting professor - anything other than a high-hitting tenor. His schedule over the coming year involves productions in Zurich, Liege and Oslo, no longer the heights of parnassus.

And this current season he has sung Dick Johnson and Calaf at Covent Garden to critical acclaim. If he chooses to sing at prestigious Zurich plus the lesser houses of Liege and Oslo he probably has his reasons. Perhaps they pay more than the bigger houses! (JDF alluded to this on the so-called Culture Show)

• His compatriot Marcelo Alvarez had even less time at the top before he began to market himself as Il Duetto with the unremarkable Italian, Salvatore Licitra.

in what parallel world is Marcelo Alvarez not at the top?* Il Duetto was several years ago, a CD and a few concerts. Marcelo picks his houses carefully; he won't sing at Vienna until Hollander retires, he's fallen out with the unprofessionalism at La Scala, he's disinclined to work at Mortier's Madrid, and family reasons mean he doesn't venture out of Europe too often.

• Rolando Villazon ...with a range that descended to low baritone

WTF? Having a dark colouring to the voice doesn't a baritone make

• That leaves just two lyric tenors still standing. Juan Diego Florez...

    two? Doesn't that contradict the headline

...is a hard-working colleague with no outsized ego – something of a backhanded compliment, since it implies a lack of strong charisma.

I get the sense from Stage Door/signings that JDF is quite a reserved person, but hasn't Lebrecht seen him perform? I would describe him as charming more than charismatic, but that's hair-splitting.

• It has taken the tousle-haired Jonas Kaufmann until he is 40 to become a heartthrob and his rise has been so swift that his record label has yet to launch a working website

wasn't Lebrecht aware of performances of La Rondine in November 2004, when Jonas was 35, newly discovered by Angela Gheorghiu. And what's heartthrob got to do with it.It wouldn't matter if he looked like the back end of a bus; has Lebrecht heard the voice and witnessed the Stage Presence

But even without these elementary mistakes, the article is flawed.

If his criterion is finding somone with the Superstar/name recognition of The Three Tenors, that isn't going to happen. Record companies have tried on numerous occasions to do the impossible - recreate a phenomenon.

If he is looking for attractive engaging tenors with the ability to bring something special to the roles they choose, he seems to have overlooked, for example, Piotr Bieczala and Joseph Calleja, both of whom have been round for quite some time (and Jospeh Calleja is still extraordinarily young considering it's ten years since he was an Operalia finalist).

There are plenty of lyric tenors who are still too young to be considered yet in their prime (names such as Saimir Pirgu and Dmitry Korchak spring immediately to mind). The likes of Barry Banks and Paul Groves are never going to be considered glamorous, but it would be fool who avoided their performances because of a perception of an absence of glamour. And there are always new names emerging. Some won't make it, but some will. Last year I especially noticed Ed Lyon, Ji min Park and Ismael Jordi.

* excluding the world of the senile unmusical thicko from New York who vents his personal vendetta against Alvarez in an increasingly repetitive manner on sundry newsgroups

Plácido walks out midway through Act I Die Walkure

I ought to be in bed now, but if there's any more info I guess it will be at parterre or Twitter

high blood pressure it says here.

Anagrams

One of my blind-spots is my inability with anagrams. It ranks alongside my poor reading of optical illusions - I hated those magic eye pictures that were all the rage once upon a time.

Broadly speaking I like crosswords. I like cryptic clues that are, for example, a play on a word that sounds like another word that has more than one meaning. I struggle with solving anagrams; I rely on the clue outside the word to untangle the anagram; if I don't get the exterior clue I just can't 'see' the anagram. I also struggled with wordsearch puzzles.

However, if there is one thing I am worse at than unscrambling anagrams, it is making ones from names.

On Facebook, a friend* of a friend - you know how it works - came up with several anagrams of my name:

• sing rude article
• strange ridicule
• daring cruelties
• turgid larcenies
• a sludgier cretin
• sliding creature
• trailing seducer
• cute and grislier
• is nice large turd
• irate dung slicer
• raciest nude girl
• reticular design
• custard lingerie

I'm tempted to lob him my middle name, which is an anagram of  tear gram and tram gear might be included.

This was inspired by my previously praising his rearranging Glyndebourne Opera House to Handel bores young Europe

* I've just realised I've heard him sing and when I did I listed him among: There was a strong cast in depth; also, he was an Operalia finalist

Overexposed

I decided, after all these years, it's about time I learned to use my camera.

I took the following photo, deliberately over-exposed, in RAW format (although saved as jpeg for web publishing. Obviously)

I edited the jpeg in my usual photo editing software, MGI Photosuite

Separately, I also converted it to an 8 bit TIFF and edited that in Photoshop (although Photosuite also handles TIFFs). Obviously,I had to then convert it to jpeg for uploading

An apology

I think I owe this couple an apology. There I was on Tooting Common yesterday afternoon, relearning how to use my camera. I thought I would have an attempt at hi-speed continuous shooting. To test this out one needs something that moves. Just their luck that they happened to walk into shot just at the "right" moment. I took fifteen shots of them. I think they had noticed by shot ten.

Sorry, it wasn't anything personal. I wasn't attempting to do good photos or even use you in any sort of documentary or
commentary way. You were just there, at that time! And I certainly didn't do close-ups, although I could have done.

Now is the month of Maying...

For various reasons I haven't been out much to culture in the past few months. There hasn't been a great deal that has taken my fancy. I have sometimes realised, after the event, that there are things that I would have wanted to attend, if only I had known before the event.

The great Covent Garden Ticket fiasco influenced my decision not to book for Capuleti e Montecchi. A friend went to the Dress Rehearsal and reported that the production was one of the most egregious examples of Met Trash available East of Manhattan. Plus, when writing the music - basically, tralalalalala - Bellini was clearly unaware that this was one of Shakespeare's greatest tragedies.

I knew months ago that I had no wish to see Trovatore. I would have liked to have seen Trovatore but couldn't stomach two of the singers - one for her painful foghorn and th eother for his unsuitability for the role. This review confirms everything - and more - that I feared in advance and completely vindicates my decision to stay away.

But in May we go mad! I say 'we' I mean 'me'. There will be no stopping me. Next weekend I have Peter Grimes and Lohengrin; a few days pause before the Cr**so**r Brits (which I am looking ofrward to with equal parts fear, dread, thrill and excitement).

The next day - after I have done a presentation at work - is L'elisir d'amore, a day's rest (but for the Manchester United v Arsenal Premiership match), then marathon Handel - Agrippina at RFH and Arianna in Creta at the Barbican.

A few days rest will be punctuated by running round and panicking about my trip to Paris (during which the Premiership will come to its conclusion - I hope it will be all over by then because I'd rather be at Versailles then shouting and going mad with myself in some Parisian bar). The trip  to Paris encompasses a performance of Cyrano de Bergerac. I return, possibly for the European Cup Final on the telly, possibly not, and attendance at Wuthering Heights the ballet. I no longer have any interest in the FA Cup Final but expect I shall watch it, before finishing the month with a day trip to Paris for the matinée of Cyrano de Bergerac before collapsing exhausted.

I shall endeavour to Twitter as I go along; but I shan't Twitter for its own sake. I shall also try to write timely and non-turgid reviews, including photos where possible and appropriate. 

I want to fit in some exercise around these events, and have to accept the inevitability of chores. Oh, and , you know, work. In order to make it happen, I will also need to get to bed at decent times, especially on my 'nights off'. I suspect I might get behind with reading of blogs and so on. Sorry. And I can't see me getting involved in the Euro elections. No real health-based complaints, just disenchantment and demotivation.

All I can say to my British readers. Of course you know I want you to go out and vote Labour, but I can't think of any persuasive reasons to convince the 'antis'. What is really really really important is that each and every single one of you makes the effort to go out and vote Labour, Tory, LibDim, Green, Plaid Cymru, SNP - anything to ensure that the BNP, who are always well organised, don't get any MEPs elected.

Dear Diary

I forgot to blog! How did that happen?

Simple, really. Various explanations.

Once upon a time, when I was really quite ill, I didn't go out very much. When I was at home (most of the time) when I was sleeping, I spent a lot of time in front of the PC.

So much of that has changed. I do go out a lot more now. And when I'm in, I'm far more likely to be doing something active. For example, I have recently taken up baking again, something I find intrinsically enjoyable, and not merely through satisfaction with the end result (compare with ironing and washing up).

And yet, when I do go out, there is relatively little to report. There is a limit to the number of original posts that one can write about a cycle ride down to Tooting Common or Brockwell Park. There is a danger that, in order to keep the content original, I am likely to moan about the solipsistic behaviour of self-centred individuals - generally those who fail to keep their mutts or brats under control, or dangerous drivers (either school-run Mums or arsehole twunts in vans)  - that maybe occupy five minutes of the trip, rather than:

• sheer exhilaration of going down hill;
• wow I've got some speed up there;
• that flower's lovely;
• woo, the bump bump of careering over tree roots;
• that puddle never dries up whatever the weather;
• really, Jimmy, there is no need to chat up every woman over 70; 
• that small child is so cute toddling along - whoops he's fallen;
• do they really expect to catch fish in that stagnant pond?;
• oh, look, the swan's showing off again;
• the coffee here (Brockwell Park) tastes like dishwater and isn't even hot;
• strange how two coffees and an egg and chips here (Tooting Common) costs only 30p more than two coffees in Brockwell Park. And the coffee tastes good, too;
• I'm just experimenting using different functions on the camera - they won't be great photos;

that take up the remaining two hours or so.

And the other reason is Twitter. I remember now why I abandoned twitter after about six months of using it regularly. It does tend to steal one's blogging material.

I suppose there are various ways of looking at that. One is to say: Twitter is pants, and abandon it again. Another is to try and recreate the passing thought that inspires a <141 character muse and turn it into something longer.

The third option is to go with the flow while simultaneously re-examining my modus blogerandi. I am by nature a hoarder and a bit of an archivist. It sort of goes against my grain to have these fleeting pronouncements and even while acknowledging that they are preserved, for now, on some giant server, they are nevertheless transitory.

Yet why should the electronic world be any different from the physical world. For longer than I can remember I have had multiple conversations with numerous people. Rarely, outside of work, have I made a formal record of the conversation. Occasionally I have made a written note for future reference. Sometimes I have made a mental note. Frequently, I have allowed the content to enter my memory for further use. But I would guess that the overwhelming  majority of the words I have uttered and the words I have heard are gone for ever.

And not only does that not matter, it is actually a good thing. The relationships matter more than the words. In any relationship, with a lover, a friend, a family member, a casual acquaintance, a whole lot of bullshit is uttered. Many platitudes and empty words. Harsh words and downright disagreement. What she said what he said are totally irrelevant. They are merely tools in how we operate as social animals.

(But I have just discovered something I searched for in vain a month or so ago - a daily dump of my twitterings. The joy for you will be unconfined!)

Palm tree on Brixton Hill

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