Friday night I went for a massage which was good. It had been one of those quick, long weeks. I needed the relaxation as I knew that it was a busy time ahead of me. As soon as I was finished on that massage table, I was off in the car to Tesco's to buy food for the picnic the following day.
The venue was Hampton Court - the occasion, my sister, Linda's, 40th birthday. And, as far as she knew, it was going to be just a few members of the family. What she didn't know was that a dozen or so other family members and friends were going to turn up as well. Anyhow it all worked well. Most people who had said they would come turned up and one or two more. Linda was gob-smacked which was the object of the exercise. And the weather was belting
In the evening, I met up with Colin to go to the Open Air Theatre in Holland Park for an opera. You may remember that last year we went to see Mascagni's Iris there and that it was my operatic hit of last year. Iris, by the way, is pronounced ee-reece rather than eye-ris - you need to know this so that I can make a very bad pun later on.
It's funny how revisiting a place a year on can bring back memories - like there was the statue of some Hungarian patriarchal saint and the graffiti which read Old Queen Free Zone - I mean just who were they kidding. Of course, the opera does bring them out, you know. What was noticeable was the number of Orientals in the audience this year with their white friends (Rice Queens as the lingo goes or if it had been last year's opera Iris Queens - now you see why you needed to know the pronunciation).
The work was very good and, as Roland said to me on the phone on Sunday morning, the acid test these days is far more in the nature of Was it a good night out? than anything else and Cilea's L'Arlesiana, though little known, is a right good night out. Big tunes sung by a big woman in a big frock. Actually, Liane Keegan, in the pivotal role of the matriarch, Rosa Mamai, gave a barnstorming performance that was also full of simple truth. For once, in the inevitable scene with a prayer to Catholic forces for delivery from evil, I felt that a performer actually believed in the sentiments being sung - or, at least, empathised enough to give a portrayal of doing so.
I got back from the day's outing late - gone 11pm - which is extraordinarily late for me these days. And Ross had recorded More Tales of the City for me. And he'd cooked some food that I could re-heat the following day. And he took me upstairs and shagged me silly. So, all in all, I was very contented by the time I got to sleep in the wee small hours.
Sunday was lazy in the morning but soon I was off again round the M25 for the official birthday meal with Linda and the family. It was good and it passed well and, by the time I got home, Ross was gone. Still, he's made some headway with the flat hunting. And he'll be back in a few weeks house-sitting and flat hunting whilst I'm in Edinburgh. We've both agreed that things are sorting themselves out. We've both got our own lives. But we are also very close to one another.
I did have a moment's peeve, however. When Ross was here packing his things in boxes
back at the beginning of July, he left a message on
the fridge. I was hoping for another one. But no.
I've begun the week with a new book - Julian Barnes's Metroland - actually I'm reading it again because posters announcing a filmed version have sprung up around the Tube system. It's good and I like Julian Barnes' stuff enormously. It's entertaining with just enough intellectual content to make me feel as though I am using my brain whilst I am enjoying myself.
After work, I spent a little time out in the garden, watering the borders and
dead-heading the marigolds - and you do realise from the context that I'm referring
to the genus of flowers rather than the brand of kitchen gloves. After all,
what would I be doing with rubber gloves in the back garden -
Weeeelllllllll...... - OK I see what you
mean. Anyhow, just take it from me that, on this occasion, I'm referring to the flowers.
Now I don't know if you know but the sap of marigolds is very pungent. So, there I was
at yoga later on, working with a partner, doing some shiatsu massage,
and having to apologise saying I'm sorry, it's the marigolds.
This morning in the shower, I discovered that I have muscles in my thighs. Yes, I know I've always had them otherwise I'd just fall over in a tangle of bone and tendon. But these were distinct muscles on the front and to the rear of the thigh with shape, mass and a (slight) bulge to them. I cannot remember ever having had muscles in my thighs before and it felt rather good. Anita, my masseuse, says that the muscles in my abdomen and back and shoulders are firming and toning so the long term swimming and yoga and stuff is beginning to have some appreciable effect.
So, it's Tuesday, it's my sister's birthday and I'm having a man to fix my washing machine. I'm looking forward to Maisie Raine of the television this evening. It's a low-key policier but it stars Pauline Quirke who is a very watchable character actress and Steve John Shepherd who played Jo in This Life of blessed memory and is exceedingly easy on the eye. Life is full of small but good things. Oh, and it took me until today but I did find a message on the fridge. But this time it was round the side...
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