Stopping the Show
22 January

Kylie got ill.

My Rossi was supposed to attend a performance by the diminutive pop princess in Manchester last Monday but she cancelled. Some sort of flu bug that began to affect her over the weekend so that she only got through part of her show on the Saturday night.

So, there was a lot of texting and a lot of Internet activity to ensure that there wasn't an unnecessary trip to Manchester.

So big disappointments all round and anxious waiting to see if there would be a complete cancellation or a re-scheduling. And, miraculously, there was a re-scheduling for the following Sunday night. But then Sue couldn't go with Ross that night and so another frantic search began for a companion and, eventually, it was Sam, Ross's brother, who stepped into the breach.

None of which was as exciting as the high winds that ripped over the UK on Thursday. We suspended the project I work on as two canopies were ripped off the side of the building just under the window where some of the students sit. I tell you. When you see large sheets of fibre-glass being lifted and thrown around with enough force to endanger human life and limb, then you change your view about the power of the wind.

Anyhow, the high winds abated as the afternoon wore on and we got sent home early. I forbore to mention that it was, in fact, only ten minutes before I would have gone home normally anyway but, hey, you take what's offered to you in this life. The journey home was mad. Not because of the wind but because both of the Mersey tunnels were closed to traffic, the ferries were all off, there was major disruption to the rail network and the bus system was in meltdown because of the overload. Luckily, I sensed trouble and headed across country rather than into town and so skirted the gridlock.

And it was for this reason rather than the weather that I didn't go to Philharmonic that evening. I rather imagined that the centre of town would still be jammed with people still unable to get home at 7:30pm. So, attending a live performance of Elgar's First Symphony must wait for another time.

Half way through the day at work, Ross got a message to me that Nutkin had been in a fight and required treatment from the vet. Usual thing. Ear mauled. Scratches all over including one on his right eye. Big thing though was that he had a temperature. This is not good in a cat. So, he was on antibiotics and had to be kept in. It was a mark of how low in spirits that he was that he did not complain about house arrest in the slightest.

The other worry on Friday was whether or not the weather would impinge upon a planned trip that Roland and I have scheduled for the coming weekend. Roland, himself, was trapped in London on Thursday evening as Euston was shut down.

However, during Friday all was righted and so we headed off to Runcorn on Saturday morning to park up and catch the train to London. We checked into Roland's favourite cheap hotel in Cartwright Gardens just off the Euston Road and then headed down to the British Museum for a bowl of soup and a cup of tea before a quick look at some artifacts.

Roland had never seen the lion hunt from the Mesopotamia which Ross and I discovered last year. They originate from the North Palace of King Ashurbanipal (who reigned from 669-630 BC) at Nineveh in what is now northern Iraq. Like me, twelve months previously, he was quite taken with them. We both reflected on how much human blood had been spilt over claims for those territories during the past three millenia.

From there, Roland went off to do his own thing and I spent a couple of hours with Robert. I caught up with his future activities and his recent time at a Vipassana retreat. I also learnt more about his love of rock climbing - he's promised me some photographs at some point though I'm not sure if I want to see my son dangling by a thread over a precipice. Anyhow, I've bought into the deal by purchasing some climbing equipment for him for his birthday - don't know what they are called but they look like the sort of D-shaped clamps that you use to press wood together when its being bonded.

The three of us then took in a reasonable Italian meal in Covent Garden before Roland and I trotted over the road for the main (artistic) reason for our trip.

Let's be clear about this. Donizetti's La Fille du Régiment is a slight work. It offers no great philosophical revelation concerning the turning of the universe; it offers no great insight into the motivations of the human soul. But it is bloody good fun, it has some excellent tunes and, when treated with appropriate seriousness, is full of elegant sentiment.

And for once, we had a director in Laurent Pelly who did take the work at its own face value and gave us a production which was witty, elegant, easy on the eye, full of humour and a joy to sit through. To say that the house went wild at the end is something of an understatement. I've only experienced a Covent Garden audience refusing to leave when the house lights came up on two previous occasions - Joan Sutherland's last London Lucia and Nureyev's Petrushka.

My main reason for wanting to attend was Juan Diego Flórez. I'm building up quite a list of works I've now heard him sing in:- La Cenerentola, La sonnambula, Don Pasquale, Semiramide and now this. I just think that he is one of the most accomplished male vocal performers before the public today. There is an honesty and sincerity about his vocalism which is totally winning. He tossed off the celebrated nine consecutive top Cs in Act One's Ah, mes amis with aplomb. However, it was in the second act aria Pour me rapprocher de Marie that his voice really came into its own - elegant, clear, plangent, affecting. We'd splashed out on tickets valued at £47 and it was worth it just for Snr Flórez alone.

However, the riches did not stop there. I'd heard Natalie Dessay once before at the Liceu in Thomas's Hamlet. It was a treat to hear her again although I had to overcome one slight hurdle. My recording of this work is the classic Decca offering with Sutherland and Pavarotti, two stalwart performers who possess voices which are larger in amplitude than either Dessay or Flórez. It took a moment to remind myself that both these voices would be much more like the ones that Donizetti had in mind. Anyhow, she was absolutely excellent flinging her voice and her self around the stage with abandon.

What to say for the rest. Felicity Palmer was a rich and fruity Marquise de Berkenfeld and Alessandro Corbelli was as good as in Don Pasquale just over two years' ago. Bruno Campanella, who also conducted Don Pasquale, made the whole evening go with zestful élan. It was all quite, quite excellent.

Roland and I could have done a number of things with our Sunday morning. We had thought about going to the Velasquez exhibition at the National Gallery but, as it was the last day of a four month run, we reckoned that it would be just stuffed to the gunnels. So, we opted to return to the British Museum instead.

And we took in The Past from Above, an exhibition of aerial photography by Swiss photographer Georg Gerster of major archeological sites from around the world. Below are a few highlights.

They are the hill of Tara in Ireland, the minaret of the Great Mosque at Samarra, Iraq and the monolithic church of Beta Giyorgis at Lalibela, Ethiopia. I really came away from this exhibition with a wish to travel. I also came away with a big book of photographs and I would have easily bought the tee-shirt as well. Three stars for sure.

But the treats didn't end there. Roland whisked me off to Rules - a restaurant in Covent Garden which purports to be London's oldest restaurant with a continuous history of serving the public (it was established in 1798). To say that we ate well would be a further understatement. I started with a dry sherry and some potted shrimps. To follow, there was a steak and kidney and oyster pudding with a side order of honey-glazed parsnips and some wonderfully fruity Pauillac wine. We finished with rhubarb and pannacotta and fresh brewed coffee. It was superb. It cost the two of us £128 - not a sum I'd willingly part with for Sunday lunch every week (though some obviously do) but worth every penny on this occasion.

And so, replete, we journeyed home. By the time we hit Crosby, Ross had already departed with Sam to see Kylie. He came back on Monday morning full of beans and having had a wonderful time.

We had a quiet day together as I gathered myself for the coming week. The most exacting part of the day was taking Nutkin to the vets for a checkover. He still had a temperature and so a few more days' house arrest were in order. Come the evening, I had a bath and then sat on the side of the bed cutting my fingernails. I felt good. And it was lovely to cuddle up to my Rossi before sleep quickly overcame me.