A royal night out

Another visit to the GP surgery yesterday morning for a blood pressure check. As usual, the readings there were high, in contrast to readings taken at home which average out at the desired 'normal'. I make a point of taking my home readings chart with me, to add to their record. It's all a bit strange really, but at least I'm no showing signs of contracting an infection. The wound varies from day to day and so does its impact on general well being, whatever the logging of vital signs reveals. If this operation does happen next Thursday, it will be interesting to see what impact this has on vital signs, once recovery is under way.

Clare's cousin John arrived by coach from Halifax mid-afternoon, to spend the weekend with us. We haven't seen him since we went up to Northowram for his wife Dorothy's memorial service a year ago, so there was a lot for us to catch up on for the rest of the day. 

The weather wasn't kind enough to encourage a walk this morning, but we drove down to the Bay after lunch to show John around before going to the premiere of a new production of Verdi's opera 'Un Ballo in Maschera' at the Millennium Centre. Prince Charles attended. He's the WNO's royal patron; also the Mayor and other civic dignitaries, with no ceremony, but with unusually punctual start. We arrived to discreet security checks, previously notified by letter, and were required to take our seats fifteen minutes curtain up. The performance didn't finish until ten thirty, and sitting for the best part of three hours apart from the interval was a uncomfortable and tiring, but it was rewarding nevertheless..

I think it's the first time we've seen this opera. As ever with WNO, the solo and choral singing was superb and choreography was executed with style and a certain humour. The music is unfamiliar, in the sense of having few well known popular arias, but it's beautifully rich. The production, however, was quirky and confusing. The opening scene, wasn't set in the heroic nobleman's audience throne room, but around a coffin, from which he then emerges to preside. This coffin reappears in the final scene after his murder is staged, but he's not shown lying dead in it, but walking around and singing on-stage. A few moments earlier we saw his stabbing, or did someone else take the hit for him? This was unexplained. Or was it meant to be his masked alter ego killed off? Or was it his spectre singing about the legacy of regret and pardon in the wake of the avenged amorous encounter with his best friend's wife? I thought this was muddled, especially as the programme's plot synopsis referred to his dying words uttered on the ballroom floor. Altogether too clever, I'm afraid, adding nothing to the evocation of tragedy.

Some other plots of Verdi operas, like Rigoletto and Forza del Destino, as well as this one, feature an element of doom brought on by a curse or a moment of clairvoyance. Does this reflect the dark side of the nineteenth century society he was part of? Or was Verdi looking back to how things used to be in generations before him? There's a thread of inescapable tragedy which isn't exactly cheerful or inspiring. Despite the beauty of his operatic music, they deliver an overdose of melancholy, which I'd rather do without at the moment.

A St Nicholas Sunday

I woke up early and was out of the house, on my way to Kenilworth's St Nicholas' Parish Church before sunrise this morning to attend the eight o'clock Book of Common Prayer Holy Communion service. It's a refreshing change not to need a book, having memorised it back in my days of BCP early Sunday Communion services in Halesowen, nearly thirty years ago. I was delighted to learn that the Parish now has a new incumbent, the Revd Stella Bailey, inducted on 11th October. 

As this is the Sunday nearest the Parish patronal festival, she started, preaching about St Nicholas, then moved into speaking about the extent of people trafficking, the broad modern designation for slavery of all kinds. She got there by citing a story about St Nicholas secretly providing a dowry for the three daughters of a poor man, about to sell them, as he was unable to afford to keep them and the rest of his family. It's something still happens today, we were reminded. A wholesome remedy against Santa sentiment. Invigorating stuff for a frosty Advent morning,

Rhiannon enjoyed her weekend lie-in, and I cooked us lunch. She then suggested an afternoon walk, and we tramped across the Abbey fields, white with frost, past the lake, where Mallards and a solitary Moorhen were coping with the largely frozen waters, to Kenilworth Castle. Its dark sandstone walls became almost incandescent, lit up by the setting sun - a lovely moment. Then we walked into the town for drinks and a cake in Costa Coffee, a favourite Rhiannon place to go and chat. She told me all about school and the subjects she likes most. She's lucky enough to be taking Spanish and French this year. Her school is in the throes of becoming an academy, she told me, unsure what this would mean, apart from a more prestigious status at this point. Yes indeed, we'll see. I'm not sure either.

Kath and Anto arrived home from their gig in Bournemouth just before eight. I'd already decided that I wouldn't drive back to Cardiff in the dark, as the temperature had dropped below zero, so Rhiannon and eventually Kath and Anto after they'd eaten, watched 'I'm a celebrity ...' together before turning in. I watched the fourth episode of S4C's 'Y Gwyll' (Hinterland) on my tablet. Impressive as ever and far more unmissable. 'Fraid I have no time for any of these celebrity programmes. I'd rather listen to the shipping forecast instead.

     

Enter Young Montalbano

On my way into the CBS office yesterday morning I went into St John's City Parish Church to join a congregation of 150 celebrating the golden wedding anniversary of the Reverends Eddie and Sally Davies. Edddie is doing locum duty at St John's these days, but 50 years ago he and Sally were married there, so this was a special double act for them. Archbishop Barry led the service and preached. The choirs of St John's and of Christchurch, where Eddy used to be Vicar and Sally is now doing locum duty, joined forces to lead worship and Cardiff City Male voice choir was there to sing special items as well. It was so good to be there and congratulate them, as well as greet old friends.

Clare and I were back at St John's this afternoon for the 'Friends of St John's' Annual General Meeting, preceded by Evensong at which I'd been asked to officiate. It's the first time I've sung a full Evensong since retiring, although I have said Evensong at Flemingston a couple of times since, but it's not the same as singing the office. I started to do that in Vale country churches  during vacations when I was a student at St Michael's. Sung Evensong is a rarity in parishes nowadays. It was part of normality back then, and something churchgoers often express nostalgia for though not enough to support it regularly any longer.

On the way back from St John's we stopped at 'Almeida', the Portuguese restaurant on Cowbridge Road East, which replaced the Turkish restaurant there, which replaced an Italian one ... It's hard to make a living from a small speciality restaurant at the best of times, even worse in the sixth year of recession. I admire the zeal, courage and belief  of those who invest their lives in giving it a go. The food was good, and so was the Portuguese wine that went with it. The background music was interesting too - a mixture of Fado and Brazilan, or was it contemporary fusion? I wonder. I forgot to ask. Definitely worth another visit.

We arrived home to the surprise discovery that a new Italian crime drama series was just getting under way on BBC4. 'Young Montalbano' is a prequel to the popular and well established 'Inspector Montalbano' series which endeared us to Sicily long before we went to Taormina last December. This series portrays the beginning of the Inspector's career in charge of Vigata Police Station, with an all new cast of actors to portray characters from the book, remaining quite faithful to the way the characters presented themselves in the original series. An impressive piece of work, with hilarious moments and intriguingly complex plots to sustain interest throughout.

Maybe it's something to do with the producer's own approach, but in this series I noticed how clearly everyone spoke and how easy it was to distinguish between the accents of characters, the use of Italian and Sicilian dialect. Over the past few years of European Saturday night drama I've got used to reading subtitles. It's less essential with Italian, however, as I understand much of what I hear. I still struggle with this when the language is Spanish. The challenge of making sense of the spoken word, however, is part of the entertainment pleasure.