1,000 Miles for Opera
21 November

My late autumn holiday began.

Ahead of me I had a positive opera festival but I began on the Saturday afternoon with a trip to the Liverpool Playhouse with Colin whilst Ross was off making space ships and monsters with kids at a school in Everton.

Our purpose was to attend a performance by English Touring Theatre of Middleton and Rowley's Jacobean tragedy The Changeling. It's the usual, for the period, blood soaked farago of unrequited love, lust and honour. The best of the performers was Adrian Schiller as Deflores. It was probably a mistake to cast as inexperienced an actress as Anna Koval in the lead female rôle of Beatrice. However, after a tepid opening, the plot gathered pace to a suitable gory conclusion.

I liked the way that Rowley (principally) wrote the plot scenes in the madhouse and that Middleton penned the main love-triangle plot. I liked the way that both worlds eventually collided. I liked the way that the whole idea of changing and deception and disguise worked throughout the whole play. I liked the density of language that allowed for images of buildings and passages and chambers to link with corporeal bodies and penetration. A good afternoon's theatre.

Ross and I spent a happy Sunday together. We're beginning to put colour on the ceiling, walls and chimney breast at last. The folk in Best DIY in Crosby village almost think of us as kith and kin.

Linking in with Remembrance Sunday came a very superior piece of television drama in the evening, My Boy Jack, the true story of Rudyard Kipling's son who was killed, aged 18 years and 1 day, in the First World War. Like many of his generation, he wanted to fight. Having a father who was touring the country whipping up patriotic fervour probably was an extra spur. Jack was a boy officer. Training up his men, he told them that he wouldn't ask them to do anything that he wouldn't. His father did the same. He was asking other fathers to sacrifice their sons; he knowingly sacrificed his. It was very interesting to see Daniel Radcliffe get shot and die. He was rather good.

Monday passed much the same with me painting on. The room is beginning to feel as though it is coming together as the colours bind. Ross and I didn't go swimming as a consequence. He took the time to prepare for an interview at a school in Anfield which should lead to some work in the new year.

News is coming in that thousands of turkeys are being culled in Suffolk after a new case of the dangerous H5 strain of bird flu has been diagnosed. More upset for the food producing industry. On a more positive note, it appears that the brussel sprout crop has not been as badly affected by the summer floods as had first been feared. So, Christmas dinners can be steadfastly traditional from the veg point of view even if we're all suddenly avoiding turkey.

I allowed myself time off to complete Dark Fire - the second of C J Sansom's Matthew Shardlake novels. It was all that I have come to expect from this accomplished series - an interesting murder mystery set against an equally interesting and equally well portrayed historical background. It would appear that there is a fourth novel due out next summer. I shall look forwards to it.

Tuesday began early as Ross prepared himself and then set off for Anfield. Eventually, I headed into town and caught a train to London and thus began my opera travels.

The journey was fine and I checked into the George Hotel with ease.

To while away the afternoon, I took in Renaissance Sienna - Art for a City at the National Gallery. It was OK. I liked Matteo di Giovanni's altarpiece The Assumption of the Virgin. I liked the works by the Master of the Legend of Griselda. But overall, this exhibition didn't hang together for me. And given the high standards of these presentations over the years (viz Raphael: From Urbino to Rome and Caravaggio: The Final Years), I can't give it more than two stars even if I did pass a pleasant hour or so with the paintings.

Off to Covent Garden and a meet up with Keith who I haven't seen for a very long time. With the Theatre Museum closed, he's been subsumed into the Victoria and Albert Museum where he continues working on the theatre collection but with a slightly different focus. We play catch up and swap stories. Years dissolve and time flies by.

Then to Covent Garden for the first night of a new production of Donizetti's L'elisir d'amore. Back in January, I came to Covent Garden for a new production of Donizetti's La Fille du Régiment. Both productions were the creation of Laurent Pelly. I went to La fille to hear Juan Diego Flórez as well as to hear the work. I booked for L'elisir because I wanted to hear Rolando Villazón sing. But he cancelled.

Which needn't have been the end of the story. But to be honest, what was on the stage was perfectly fine but just not out of the top drawer. I didn't like Aleksandra Kurzak's portrayal of Adina - she was just too much of a tart rather than a flirt. Stephano Secco was a second division singer in the main rôle of Nemorino. Ludovic Tézier was a non-entity as Belcore. The best sung performance came from Paolo Gavanelli, which is something of a surprise as the last thing I heard him sing was Rigoletto. I felt that Mikko Franck's conducting was hard, unyielding and lacking in finesse. And whilst the production was perfectly fine in most respects, it totally lost the levels of class distinction and hierarchy which underpin the working out of the plot. Frankly, I enjoyed WNO's performance back in 2003 much more. And I didn't have to travel so far or spend so much to experience that. So, just two stars I feel.

Come Wednesday morning, I meandered slowly down to the British Museum for the exhibition about The First Emperor subtitled China's Terracotta Army. The site of the tomb of Qin Shihuangdi had been known for some time. What amazed the world was the discovery of pits full of near life sized terracotta warriors. That was some thirty years ago. The finds keep coming. Not only are there military figures but new discoveries include bureaucrats, entertainers, birds and such like. In fact, there is a whole, extended court under the ground.

I booked to see this at the same time as I booked for L'elisir d'amore and before the exhibition opened. When it did, I discovered that only a handful of the actual figures would be on display. I was prepared to be disappointed. In the event, I was blown away. The exhibition is everything that you might want. It is compact; takes about an hour to tour with the audio commentary. It is big on context. I now know things about China 200 years before the Christian era that I didn't before. For example, Qin Shihuangdi introduced common weights and measures, a common language and script, a common currency, and created a political entity which (to all intents and purposes) is still in existence today. It is all quite phenomenal. I had intended to perhaps go to another art show afterwards. I was so exhausted that I simply sat in the sun in Bloomsbury Square and reflected on - well - everything. Definite four star event.

Easy journey back, nice meal and bed. Up in the morning and lots of painting. The walls are pretty much now done. I should look at at third coat on the chimney breast and under the windows but, other than that, I can start the glossing. The carpet people are coming tomorrow to measure the room. We'll see when they can fit us in.

My travelling reading has been A Short History of Tractors in Ukrainian by Marina Lewycka; it's another of my Oxfam books. And I'm glad that I didn't fork out the full price for it. humour is such a personal thing and I really didn't find this book to be the rip-roaring rib-tickler that the blurbs all promised. Maybe you need to be Ukrainian or Jewish or both to get the sense of humour.

I went to this performance of Opera North's new production of Madama Butterfly for a number of reasons. Partially, it was completism; I got to see the whole Opera North season. Partially, it was the rave reviews. I have to concur that Tim Albery's production was very good and I liked Wyn Davies's lyrical reading of the score. Anne Sophie Duprels was an excellent Cio-Cio-San even if she lacked the amplitude of voice for the larger moments. Rafael Rojas was an Italianate Pinkerton. Peter Savidge's Sharpless was somewhat low key. Ann Taylor's Suzuki was superb and Amanda Echalaz was luxury casting for the rôle of Kate Pinkerton (presumably she was covering the title part). However, despite the inevitable tingle moments, I can't say that I was drawn in to Puccini's world. I don't think that the heroine's sort of blinkered self-sacrifice cuts much ice. Still, it was a good evening.

Meanwhile, events elsewhere in the world make troubles on this island look puny by comparison. Cyclone Sidr formed in the Bay of Bengal and made landfall near Bangladesh. It has caused widespread flooding. Already, the death toll has reached over 3,000 and it will climb much higher.

The carpet will arrive next Wednesday. That puts a pressure on me to complete at least the glossing of the skirting boards well in advance so that the paint has time to harden before the carpet goes down.

I bought a full tank of petrol to see me through the travels of the next few days. I bought the petrol at 99.9p per litre. When I last filled that tank over a fortnight ago, petrol cost 94.9p per litre. And, of course, all of the oil companies are announcing big profits.

Friday night was Falstaff night. I had my fingers crossed here. I hate re-visiting productions that I have loved. Usually it's a disappointment. I needn't have worried. I was as captivated as I had been back in 1997. Robert Hayward was an excellent Falstaff mixing nobility with rambunctiousness. Susannah Glanville, Deanne Meek and Susan Bickley made a formidable trio of women. Olafur Sigurdarson was a forthright but tuneful Ford. Tecwyn Evans kept everything going at a respectable lick. The stage pictures were a constant delight with their painterly foreshortening. I bounced out of the theatre.

That saw an end to the operas I already knew and loved. From here on in it was back to the eighteenth century and, for me, uncharted territory.

Actually, Saturday night's opera was uncharted territory for everyone in the audience. Reinhard Keiser's 1730 work, The Fortunes of King Croesus, was being given its UK premier. I should love to say that I responded to the piece but I didn't. Hats off to Opera North for their willingness to enter new territories but I left at the interval. It was a sequence of delightful gems but I wanted something more developed and substantial. And I was tired. Everyone on the stage and in the pit gets plaudits. It wasn't them; it was me. Three stars for endeavour.

Sunday saw me moving on with the painting and, glory be, all of the skirting boards and most of the picture rail is now glossed. And it's looking very good. Ross really is very good at selecting colours that hang together well.

One of the joys of painting is that I get the chance to select my own background music and I've been having a real opera-fest. Earlier in the year, I listened to Reginald Goodall's recording of Wagner's Ring. I've complemented that with an off-air recording of him conducting Die Meistersinger. And then I've forsaken Wagner completely by listening to Mozart's Cosi fan tutte, Saint-Saëns's Samson et Dalila, Handel's Rodelinda and Verdi's Il corsaro, La battaglia di Legnano, I vespri Sicilani, Aroldo and Don Carlo. Rather a lot of Verdi there.

Monday we have lunch at one of our favourite coffee shops, The Olive Tree. Normally, we'd have gone to Stamps but there has been a big change there. Firstly, the welcoming and winsome Craig has left and none of the other bar staff are quite as cute. Secondly, and more importantly, the food has changed. They've gone up market. And the consequence of this is that is it more expensive and less filling. So, it's not as good value for money and, to be frank, it's not as reliable - menu not complete; food not ready; food just not available.

So, there comes a time to try elsewhere and The Olive Tree fits the bill. It's no more expensive. The portions are substantial. And they don't serve alcohol which means that I'm not tempted to a lunchtime pint on a regular basis.

And there is also the cute waiter there. We think that his name is Oliver - Olly for short. He's a decent substitute for Craig.

And again, I polished off yet another of my Oxfam books. Anita Brookner's Undue Influence didn't grab me. I'll acknowledge that it is a stunning literary achievement but I did not feel at all engaged by the main character - a complete fantasist, heading for a nervous breakdown, disengagement from reality and, one presumes, eventual suicide. So, worthy but not something that I warmed to.

Come the evening, I'm on my travels again. This time it's Buxton for English Touring Opera. Now, back in April, it was this jaunt which ended up with me being involved in a road traffic accident. Am I frightened? No. I am nervous? No. Am I apprehensive? Well, maybe. Certainly, I set out far too early and go by a different route and am cautious in my driving. And, once or twice, as I slow, I quickly check my rear view mirror to see that the person behind me is doing the same.

These two days were supposed to have been a short break for Ross and myself. We were to have stayed in the same hotel we stayed in for the Festival two years ago. But Ross got himself some work and so he disappeared early on Tuesday morning and I decided to go to the operas on my own.

The first offering was Handel's third London opera, Teseo, first given in 1713 and it was rather good. English Touring Opera gave us an excellent Ariodante two years ago. This work was not in the same category but was still splendid. I had wondered if my dislike of Opera North's Croesus was to do with an aversion to the early eighteenth century but no. Where that work was a succession of lovely moments, here was real drama in the voice and the music. Special mentions for Jeni Bern as Medea, Gail Pearson as Agilea and Valérie Komar as Teseo.

I have a problem here with my star ratings. I gave Croesus three stars for endeavour. I want to give this performance more but I don't feel that it really rates four stars. I need a category in between. I shall have to see about this next year. Meanwhile, I'll be generous and offer up the four stars because I did enjoy this more than Opera North's performance.

The following night brought Haydn's L'infedelta delusa given under the title of Country Matters - presumably with a rude nod towards Hamlet. I've never attended a performance of a Haydn opera before and, if this piece is anything to go by, I wouldn't avoid seeing another. Premiered in 1773 at Eszterhàza, you can see it as part of a developing line that will include Giovanni Paisiello's The Barber of Seville and Mozart's Cosi fan tutte - the character of Vespina is almost a blueprint for the character of Despina in Cosi.

The evening rattled by at a cracking pace. The production was acceptable; the singers not as good as the previous night (with the exception of Andrew Staples). I can't recall a particular tune but I know that I enjoyed what I heard. It was a good enough end to my opera fest.

Six operas in just over a week. Three I knew (L'elisir d'amore, Madama Butterfly, Falstaff). Three I didn't (The Fortunes of King Croesus, Teseo, L'infedelta delusa). I awarded nineteen stars in all out of a possible thirty - which is pretty good going. Only one received two stars and that was the one I travelled furthest for. One 500 mile round trip to London. Three 86 mile round trips to the Lowry in Salford. Two 134 mile round trips to Buxton. Over 1,000 miles for opera.