Amsterdam Time
11 October

What a difference a year makes.

This time last year, my friend Roland and I took a brief sojourn to Barcelona. Had I but known it at that stage in my life but I was already beginning my progress towards depression. I felt ill and exhausted whilst I was away and increasingly on edge and thwarted on my return.

This year, we headed off to Amsterdam; work is a completely different environment; home is increasingly home; Ross and I are more secure with each other than we have ever been; family matters are mostly well; my mental health is gradually improving and stabilising.

The journey there was surprisingly easy with EasyJet and a fast train from Schiphol Airport into the centre of town. A taxi from the train station took us to the Hotel Eden and, shortly after that, we were ensconced in a very pleasant gay bar called the Amstel where we supped a few small beers and a couple of Dutch gins before bed.

Roland and I are very different personalities and beings. He makes transitions from one place to another very quickly; I make those changes more slowly. He can press on with very little rest and very little calorific intake; I need my repose and I need regular food. The consequences of these differences were that, after nearly twelve hours of sleep and no food, I threw a minor wobbly on the first morning.

Actually, it frightened me for a moment as I felt entirely anxious that history was repeating itself. But David these days is a much happier and more resilient bunny than that and, after a return to the hotel and a shower, I laughed it off and settled down.

We spent the afternoon meandering around the centre of town taking in the vibe of the place. We spent a little while poking around a flea market and then I went into a supermarket and stocked up on all the things I should have brought with me like bananas and museli bars and water and such. As we crossed one of the canals near the Rembrandthuis, we heard cries and cheers and, looking down, spied a number of large row boats being raced by motley crews down the canal. So, we stopped and spent a pleasant twenty minutes or so in the sun watching the fun. I have some sort of memory that this is a regular feature of the Amsterdam calendar; it has possibly featured on Blue Peter or some such. However, I couldn't have told you that we would be there on that particular weekend.

We had a delightful evening meal in a restaurant we just happened upon. Roland had been using his guidebook to find an Indonesian restaurant which had, in fact, closed and re-opened as a Tibetan restaurant. So we ate at somewhere more Dutch. I have a marvelous fish soup to start and a fabulous beef stew which really stuck to my ribs.

Then we were off to the Muziektheater for the excuse that formed the basis of our trip; a performance of Arrigo Boito's Mefistofele by De Nederlandse Opera. The work does not get many outings and I had enjoyed the concert by the Royal Opera which I attended in 1998 and the staged performance by English National Opera in 1999. So, we were hoping for good things.

Well, frankly, it was all a bit of a disappointment. It just lacked the tingle factor of the previous two performances I'd attended. To be sure Gidon Saks was an outstanding Mefistofele and Miriam Gauci sang Margherita's big aria L'altra notte with heartbreaking tone but it wasn't enough.

The orchestra under Carlo Rizzi seemed to be horribly underpowered. It could be that, in the stalls where we were sitting, all the sound went up to the Gods but the Prologue and Epilogue particularly were not the sonic wall of sound that they are supposed to be.

I also disliked Graham Vick's anti-spectacular and anti-redemptionist production. It was just too, too cerebral. You could always see what he was doing and why. And he took his queues from the text and the music. But it was a response from the head not the heart and this work is nothing without a good dose of heart in it. The overly long scenic changes also contributed to robbing the performance of any momentum and cumulative tension.

I'd have to give it just two stars despite the fact that many of the audience gave the cast a standing ovation. Still, I liked the theatre and perhaps Ross and I will come hear next spring possibly to see Korngold's Die Tote Stadt.

In fact, the other covert reason for coming on this trip was to scope the place out in advance of a joint trip by the boys. Mostly, I'd say that it is going to be OK apart from the fact that many of the pavements are non existent which is going to make getting around with a wheelchair and interesting experience.

Sunday, I put my foot down about rushing around the city to attend concerts. I just wanted some time that was not against the clock. So, again we wandered. We took in the Flower Market, some pancakes, a boat cruise around the canals, the Vondelpark, some onion soup, the Red Light district, an excellent coffee house, the Wester Kerk, Dam Square, the Royal Place, the Nieuwe Kerk, a gay bar, a fabulous Chinese meal and then it was time for the train back to the airport.

My sense of journey and punctuality meant that we arrived at the airport some two hours ahead of takeoff. This meant that we were early in the queue for tickets but this did us little good as the plane was delayed by about an hour.

So, I was a tired bunny as I climbed into bed at near one in the morning. But I'd managed a very good weekend.