We're coming up for first anniversaries.
It's nearly a year since I last attended the Buxton Festival. If you read to the end of the Journal entry which describes the visit, you'll find that I was also just beginning the process of house hunting as well. And there, lo and behold, is a photograph of this very house I am sitting in followed by the comment "This one I feel could be it. I have a good feeling about it. But I want to look at more before taking a decision."
Because it was November before I actually moved in, I had really forgotten that I had first seen the house quite so early. And what has become of the lovely Phil? Sadly, it would seem, merely a passing fancy. Sometime I must look back over these five year's worth of material and see how many men have caught my eye only to be discarded.
I should also report that, following a trip to the doctor's, I have been diagnosed as borderline asthmatic and have one of those inhaler things to puff at from time to time.
I made two trips over to the Festival this year. The first was to see Verdi's Un giorno di regno with Colin and the the second was to see Shostakovich's The Nose with Roland.
I'd seen the Verdi before with Rod at a concert performance by the Royal Opera at the Festival Hall. The piece benefited from being given a full production. You would not necessarily have thought that so much fun could be had out of the work. However, it must be said that it is all very slight and, whilst it is interesting to hear the links to Donizetti and Rossini and the later Verdi works, the opera will never be a repertory piece. Twenty years time, in another Festival, I shall be more that happy to give it another whirl. But not once every four to five years as with Rigoletto or Traviata.
Donald Maxwell repeated his excellent Baron de Kelbar and he was more than matched by Eric Roberts as Monsieur Montroc. Sandra Ford was the Marquise de Cathé but, to be honest, the voice that excited in Tales of Hoffmann and the performer who was a joy to watch in La Traviata, La Bohème and Ernani is beginning to sound a little frayed at the edges. She's just finished singing some not well received Leonoras in Trovatore and is scheduled to tackle Madama Butterfly next year. I do hope that this is not another case of a fresh young talent being burnt out by over-exposure too early in a promising career.
Shostakovich's The Nose is based on a short story by Gogol. It was well
performed by The Opera Group - a troupe mainly young performers. The production
team looked as though they might all have been undergraduates together, hem hem.
Roland and I both agreed that the presentation was exceptionally well given,
that we were grateful for the opportunity to see the piece, that the piece
was in itself extraordinary and fascinating, linking cabaret styles with lyric
theatricality. We also agreed that we would never seek out another performance
in our lifetimes.
As an added bonus. on the drive over to Buxton, Roland introduced me to a lovely pub with good food called The Bells of Peover in the village of Little Peover - it's pronounced Pea-ver. He also allowed me to talk around the subject of Ross and I.
As I talked with him I found that I was using the "ought" word quite a lot - as in "After five years you'd think he would know when something is important to me". It's always a danger sign when you start using the "ought" word. It usually means that you are unsure of your case and are playing for sympathy. Roland reminded me that what I said wasn't necessarily what was heard and that I needed to go back and check this out. He also asked me directly if I was looking for an excuse to end the relationship and I replied, without hesitation, that I wasn't. I'm not looking for a way out; I'm looking for a way through.
I've finished the biography of Caravaggio, M, which Ross bought me for my birthday. I should acknowledge that there's a section in the middle of the book which is very hard going but the work begins and ends well. I've since read reasoned criticism of some of the scholarship which suggests that Peter Robb's thesis of Caravaggio being quite so at odds with Mannerist mainstream may be overstated. But heck. It made me want to see the paintings.
The Love Triumphant is in Berlin which seems like a good reason to go back to that city. The David and Goliath is like many Caravaggio's in Rome. I've never been to the Eternal City. Now I should certainly like to go and do an arts' trail.
The garden is blooming away. I'm particularly please with the Red Hot Pokers.
I bought them for the Walthamstow Ritz
but they never flourished. Last year they were uprooted and passed around
between me and my parents. I'm really
pleased that they've taken and flourished.
Also coming on a treat are the sweat peas which provide a curtain of bright colour and delicate perfume. I've taken to cutting bunches for myself to have in the bedroom window.
