London Matters
5 June

Roland and I continue to persuade each other of the virtues of extending our listening capabilities - hence our visit last year to attend a performance of Krol Roger. This year, we have latched on to George Enescu's Oedipe but more of that later.

The performance at Covent Garden was, in fact, the only time that I made contact with Roland. Prior engagements for two of meant that we organised out trips separately.

I journeyed to London, hurtling backwards listening to a live performance of Beethoven's Symphony No5 given by the Berlin Philharmonic Orchestra under Wilhelm Furtwängler. It cuts up quite a storm as it struggles towards the realisation of a glorious apotheosis. The date of the recording was 1943 so the audience in the hall were struggling with some mighty realisations of their own as the War in Russia ground the German army into the ice and the USA was making its presence felt after Pearl Harbour.

I checked into Euston Square Hotel and made sure that my meeting with Aaron was still on the cards.

It was.

I made my way to Camden Town and found a park to sit and read a book until the allotted hour and the call to the flat. The text duly arrived and I headed off.

There have been many times over the years when, on meeting an escort for the first time, they do not look like their profile photographs at all. Mostly they look older. Many times this is because the photographs have been doctored and airbrushed and photoshopped until all signs of character have disappeared. Sometimes, the reality can be much more human and inviting. Often there is a palpable sense of disappointment.

Aaron was just beautiful. There is no other word for it. Tall, slender, lithe. Light brown hair - not blonde. Full lips. Blue eyes. Finnish. A resident of Tampere. Then the clothes came off and his skin was flawless and golden and I felt that all of my Sundays had arrived at once.

And so we kissed and touched and stroked and sucked and licked and, eventually, I rolled him over and he spread his legs and I slid right into him. Thank goodness I was wearing a condom (not just for prophylactic purposes) because, without one, the sheer accommmodation and the warmth would have made me lose my load on the spot. As it was, starting slowly and building, it was only two or three minutes before I gasped and released.

After ten minutes of chat, we started up again, this time more heated and raunchy, he wanked himself off on his back with his legs over my shoulders, I came a second time with him in doggie and me bucking and thrusting for all I was worth. Top experience that.

I fairly skipped down the road to the Tube Station and back to Euston. My elation was tempered by someone else's bad fortune as, leaving the station, I witnessed someone racing to the top of the descending escalator in a panicked hurry, misjudging their step and falling down the metal steps. So far as I could see, no-one else was involved but it had all of the potential to be a very nasty incident.

I had a quiet meal at Prezzo on Euston Road.

The following day I made my way out to Epping on the Central Line to meet up with Gill and Anna and Charlie. I brought with me a small gift from Grace for Charlie which involved a book which opened out into a road track with three small cars to run around it. This immediately prompted from Charlie a small person squat and lots of "brum brum" noises.

The adults chatted. Gill told me about her work and Anna told me about her work and Charlie. I updated them on my situation.

Then I came back to Central London to meet up with Roland for food at Gabby's before we went to the opera.

I'd read somewhere in advance that this tableau vivant, which comprised the drop curtain in advance of the performance, was one of the highlights of the occasion. I can agree. It was a clever theatrical take on the illustrations to be found on the ancient Greek pottery to be found in many world museums. However, it created an expectation which was immediately dashed since the style of the production was completely at odds with this first impression.

It's always a challenge to listen to a big opera with absolutely innocent ears. I don't think, in this case, that there was any of Enescu's music that was memorable to me or would would make me want to hear it again.

My overall impression was of feeling unimpressed: I sense that the work is more of an oratorio than an opera. And I was very unconvinced by the argument that predestination is proof of innocence.

Nor were we helped by a production that was gloomily dark and modern dressed in an unhelpful manner - killing your father at the crossroads as a set of roadworks, Nah.

I decided to fill my morning with a visit to the British Museum.

Despite the fabulous Egyptian, Greek and Roman artefacts, time and time again I find myself among the marvels of the Assyrian galleries. I love the fine and intricately detailed work on these bas relief friezes.

And this statue is an old friend.

Looking up, the roof of the Great Court remains a thing of wonder - a triumph of Maths, Engineering and Aesthetics.

Then home.