Shepherd's Give Warning
Saturday morning dawned bright, frosty and with beautifully rouged clouds hovering over the houses on the other side of the street. The warning signs from the shepherds were being gleefully posted all over the borough. Ross and I tore into the preparations for the arrival of his family.
However, a word first about the previous evening's
jollities. I've often
semi-jesting remarked that what we want from opera is big women in big
frocks singing big tunes. And by golly that is what we got. To say that
Sharon Sweet is a big girl is a bit like saying that the Atlantic Ocean
is quite wide. However, the voice is tremendous. I can't imagine hearing
anyone else ride out the climactic moment in the second act after Calaf
has guessed the three riddles, soaring over full orchestra and chorus
with such accuracy and generosity of tone.
Our tenor was quite a different matter. His voice actually fell apart during the Nessun dorma. It was quite astonishing watching him as he manipulated his jaw, throat and mouth in a desperate attempt to get everything back in line. To his credit, he managed the rest of the performance but my guess is that it was an act of defiant courage that kept him from walking off stage immediately. After all, a lot of people in that audience had paid a lot of money to hear him sing that aria and he cocked it up for them. In certain parts of Italy, he would have been lynched.
There was also a poignant moment watching the production when I remembered Adrian Galliano. Adrian had been a member of Spiral Dance Company in Liverpool. Through that route, he knew Kate Flatt who choreographed the show originally and he danced in several of the revivals including the televised performance in 1987. He died from HIV related illnesses in Gibraltar a couple of years later.
On to Saturday. What can I say about Ross's family's visit. Well, it went fine really. The only heart stopping moment came in organising lunch. Luckily I hadn't booked anywhere in advance because more people arrived than I had planned for. However, when I came to ring round a few places locally, the restaurant I had in mind was closed because of a wedding party and everywhere else was shut on Saturday lunchtime. I could not believe it. Open every lunch hour of the week except Saturday. There must be something very strange about eating habits in North East London.
Anyhow, eventually I found somewhere not too far away on the Lea Bridge
Road and we had a very festive time of it. Afterwards, Ross and his mum
and his nana went off to the market whilst his granddad, dad, younger brother
Sam and I went home. We watched King Kong. Well, Sam did. The rest
of us fell asleep. And that's despite all of Fay Wray's screaming.
We spent the next 36 hours camped out on the sofa, apart form a brief foray to Tesco's.
I should tell you about the seminar I attended on Monday which was being held by the lesbian and gay section of my Union but it was such a woeful event that I don't feel like giving it a proper mention in these pages.
I move swiftly to Tuesday and our group Christmas meal at lunchtime and Divisional Christmas Party in the evening. Bad clash but at least it kept me away from the majority of the Margeritas during the midday session. The meal was fun and convivial, the evening do only so-so. I left early enough to be sure of being compos mentis.
Apparently I missed one of my colleagues giving young Duncan a bite on the neck. I must say I'm envious. He's quite a sweetie. Of course, it's all been laughed away but I must confess to being constantly surprised by what heterosexual men get up to when they have the excuse of being the worse for drink.
Wednesday was a littlesome doing day really. It culminated in the Clinical Sciences section gathering in a local hostelry. Most pleasant. And the best part was meeting up with James I. It's been a long, long time since we just sat down and chewed the fat together and it was good just to spend some time in his company. I'd forgotten how much I missed him.
Unfortunately, three pints of Stella was more than my system felt capable of dealing with in an equable fashion. Ross was a saint. Despite being back home late, unforewarned and clearly pickled, he sat me down, plied me with liquid and food, left me to my own devices and then packed me off to bed.