Five Sleeps Apart
12 March

Ross and I have had a funny old week of it.

Last Sunday we managed an afternoon cuddle before Sue, Ross's work support carer, called for him and the two of them drove off to Chester. Ross was engaged to be leading some sessions at a conference/workshop at Chester University College on the Monday. The first session was due to begin at 8.00am and so, sensibly, rather than begin the day before dawn, he placed himself within easy distance of the college.

So, I slept alone and had Monday at home on my own. I had a quiet day, did some shopping and a little tidying before Ross returned late on Monday afternoon.

Lunchtime I spent in Stamps having a sandwich and a pint and reading some more of Close Range by Annie Proulx. This is the set of short stories from which Brokeback Mountain is taken. I'm finding it a difficult read. Not because the stories are badly written but because the culture they present and represent is wholly alien to mine. However, it fills in an awful lot of background to Brokeback. I understand much better where Enis del Mar's fear of violence comes from. Nevertheless, I can't see my way to giving the book more than three stars.

Tuesday I was into work. By the time I got home, Ross was out at Tate Liverpool doing some project work there. By the time he got back home, I was out at yoga. By the time I got back from yoga, he was ready for bed where I joined him a little while later.

Wednesday was another day at work but this time, by the time I returned home, Ross was off again, this time with Sue to London. This time, he was away for two days attending a workshop/training course on project assessment organised by Tate.

Luckily, he built in all sorts of extra time to his schedule because it was all taken up. Firstly, bombscares on the train lines in London meant that he was delayed getting to Twickenham. Then the hotel that he was staying in on Thursday night had completely let the organisers down and had placed Ross in a room which had difficult accessibility. He was then re-located into a room whose entrance was blocked by two cars so he couldn't get his wheelchair up close.

All in all, it was a pretty poor show and the organiser from Tate was really upset and apologetic even though it was not her fault. Ross and Sue were moved to another (five star) hotel near by but it was all enough to leave my little bunny well and truly depleted by the time he got home on Friday afternoon.

I, meanwhile, was travelling down towards London on my own to stay for a couple of days with Gill in Epping. All in all, we had a very pleasant time of it chatting and touching base over a number of things.

I also saw Robert, briefly, on the Saturday morning which, again, was most pleasant.

Saturday afternoon I took myself into town and met up with Keith for a chat before heading off to the London Coliseum for the first opera of the year which was Sir John in Love by Ralph Vaughan Williams.

The story is a familiar one and I have seen two other variants during the past twelve months; namely Nicolai's The Merry Wives of Windsor and Verdi's Falstaff. So, there were no surprises with the story but there was exceptional delight in the story-telling. So much so that I am moved to offer four stars.

It was a delight to encounter so many much loved singers from nearly thirty years of opera going. The title rôle was taken by Andrew Shore who I have seen and heard most recently in The Elixir of Love, Gianni Schicchi and King Priam. As ever, his was a performance of acute observation and exemplary vocalisation. Alastair Miles who I last encountered in Mephistopheles matched him all the way as Ford.

The three main women were all singing actresses who have contributed to the joy of my opera going. Jean Rigby was a feisty Mistress Ford,just as she has proven to be a mettlesome Maddalena in Rigoletto. Marie McLaughlin took the rôle of Mistress Page in the Royal Opera's Falstaff and had the same rôle here; she was just as sparkling this time round. Sally Burgess who took on Mistress Quickly was a Carmen of renown back in 1986 and was still of ripe and voluptuous voice in 2006.

There were other much loved performers among the men. Robert Tear took the rôle of Dr Caius here and in Falstaff at the Royal Opera in 2003 but I also heard him sing Peter Grimes there in 1978. Russell Smythe was Page and was my first Papageno with Welsh National Opera in 1979. Nicholas Folwell was the Host of the Garter Inn and also took a small part in WNO's Billy Budd in 1978.

Younger singers were well represented and I especially liked Sarah Fox as Anne Page and Andrew Kennedy as Fenton. The production, designed by John Gunter and staged by Ian Judge, was clean, quick, unfussy and served the evening with equal moments of sentiment and humour. I spent the last ten minutes with a big grin on my face. It wasn't a full house but the ovation made it sound as though there was.

Saturday night was the last of our five sleeps apart. I was looking to have an easy drive back on the Sunday morning but the weather took over. The morning radio was full of severe weather warnings for Scotland, North West England, Wales and parts of the Midlands. So, I set off from Epping with a spirit of adventure.

Frankly, I saw no snow until I got to Knutsford on the M6 and the weather did not become really wintery until I turned onto the M62 and into Merseyside. Even then, the motorways were easily passable if slushy. The only real test of my driving were the roads in Crosby itself. The whole journey took four hours which is what I might have expected under normal circumstances.

Ross and I cuddled a lot with Nutkin and Jemima and put the weather outside. We bathed, ate, watched Time Team and then listened to Alan Bennett's The History Boys on Radio 3 which helped make up for the disappointment of missing it last November. Ross liked it very much; I found that I couldn't easily distinguish between the boys and they certainly didn't sound as though any of them came from Sheffield. At some point, I wouldn't mind seeing it live.

Most of the snow was gone by the time we fell asleep.