Easter Holiday
25 April

We've just begun a period where, for there weeks, there are reduced working weeks because of bank holidays and a royal wedding.

Still it's nice to have the extended Easter break.

Roland and I got into something like the correct spiritual frame of mind for the occasion by attending a performance of James MacMillan's St John Passion given by the RLPO. James MacMillan, himself, conducted and the Evangelist/Christ soloist was Christopher Maltman.

It was very good indeed. It's not an easy listen though there are moments of extraordinary beauty in the score. On the surface, it's just a re-telling of the gospel account of the crucifixion. But it is much more. It is a profound meditation upon this central Christian moment - in fact the defining Christian moment. And when Christopher Maltman as the godhead asked us all to account for ourselves, it caused a great and rightful sensation of discomfort in the auditorium.

My sister Linda came up for a couple of days for Easter itself. We had a meal together and this was good.

However, her presence, staying in my parents' house, gave her some insights into how far my dad is slipping into senility.

For example, on the Saturday morning, when the postman came to call, the house keys could not be found and so, amidst much jollity, he handed the post through the transom window in the porch.

It later transpired that the keys were under my mother's pillow and that she has been sleeping with them there since January. Because in January, she woke up to find the bedroom light on and my father not in his bed. In fact, all the lights in the house were on and my father was nowhere to be seen.

Luckily, he had not strayed far. For some reason, he was out in the car port trying to fix the water buts. He was in his jim jams and the temperature was sub-zero.

We both knew that mother was trying to make the best of things but neither of us had realised the depths of her duplicity.

So, things are beginning to move. Grace has not accepted any of my suggestions. I am the Crown Prince and she is the Queen. Whilst the King is still on his thrown, she will not take suggestions from me. Taking suggestions from my sister, woman-to-woman, however, is another matter. So it looks as though there may be some grudging acceptance that assistance is required and can be provided. There is a local voluntary group which looks promising.

On Saturday night, I was at FACT for another telecast from the New York Met. This time it was Capriccio by Richard Strauss starring (and I do mean starring) the wonderful Renée Fleming as the Countess.

However, the whole was very good too.

The major parts were taken with more aplomb. Russell Braun (Olivier), Sarah Connolly (Clairon), Joseph Kaiser (Flamand), Morten Frank Larsen (Count) all acquitted themselves admirably. The director was John Cox and the production was based on his Scottish Opera production from the 1980s. Sir Andrew Davis conducted a pellucid account of the score.

I cannot image the work being better presented. Nevertheless, I can never see myself entering the opera house to attend a performance of the work ever again. It really did nothing for me no matter how good the presentation was.

Sunday and Monday we worked in the garden. The early snows of last year coupled with the hard frosts of January has done for many of our garden plants. Three of our four lavenders have gone and we've lost a caryopteris, a hebe, a jasmine, the euphorbia, the artemis and the cordyline. The fuchsia in the front garden looked like a desiccated twig but has started to regenerate from the root up; the one in the back garden died completely. The St John's Wort again has died right back and our twisted willow is looking very sorry for itself.

So, we've been moving things around and buying some new stuff. A new hebe and some more astilbe. A broom and a new hosta. I think that our garden still looks fabbity, however.

Oh, and I've yet to receive any response to my letters of complaint to Hugh Baird College. I have to say that I think that they've behaved shoddily throughout for a place of learning. The whole experience of dealing with the administration has taken away any sense of motivation that I may have had towards completing my CTLLS qualification.

The one thing I can say is that, by comparison, our own small efforts at Connect seem to be models of efficiency and humane dealing. The one thing about having a bad experience is that is shows you what you should be avoiding yourself.