Taking liberties with Puccini

I was grateful for a good long sleep without a nose bleed. Clare and Ann went off to St Catherine's wrll before I was ready to leave for St German's where this morning, Lay Reader Mike Cook preached a wise and thoughtful sermon and I celebrated. 

This was a welcome respite for me, as there was a christening straight after the service, for a very tired and wriggly two year old toddler. His heavily pregnant mother had to hold him over the font for baptism which was risky for her climbing up two narrow steps in high heels. The child was too heavy for me to hold and pour water over and would have screamed even louder and wriggled if I tried to pick him up. Thankfully all went well without mishap.

It was twenty five to two when I reached home for lunch. At three we drove to the Millennium Centre for the matinée performance of Madam Butterfly, a new production. The singers and orchestra were under the direction of favourite conductor Carlo Rizzi. He was cheered when he arrive at the rostrum. 

The music was superbly sung as ever by all involved. The new stage set is strikingly modern and simple, making use of LED lighting technology, projecting video effects on to the white building to conjure an atmosphere. Centre stage on a turntable was a house consisting of two cubes on top of each other. linked with stairs. The upper cube was a glass box and in the lower cube a modern kitchen and laundry room. In these spaces and on the stairs much of the action took place.  The house rotated to effect scene changes, which would have been fine if the mechanism hadn't emitted mechanical noises that penetrated  orchestral interludes.

One main criticism all three of us had was of the costume. Cho Cho San's bridal dress looked like that of a Can-Can dancer. Admittedly she's a teen bride but if she was from a traditional culture did she have to resemble a bride from a reality TV show? Or was that a deliberate interpretative insinuation? She dies by stabbing herself with her father's suicide dagger in Puccini's plot, but her instrument is now a pistol, but there were no sound effects of shooting. 

Worse still. CSI forensic investigators would have seen immediately it was staged - a neat blood stain on a shower curtain (hommage to Hitchcock's movie 'Psycho'), plus another on the bathroom door which was revealed on opening when Cho Cho San's bloody arm tumbles out from within. That may also be a cinematic reference. But, it doesn't portray the far messier horror of a scene when someone blows their brains out. This looked like two deaths not one. Its implausibility distracted from the tragic ending. Not so much a controversial interpretation of a death scene as sloppy thinking about its representation. Someone should have a word with the producer. 

After supper when we returned we watched the Leeds Piano Competition on BBC Four with five superb finalists delivering pianistic fireworks, playing with an orchestra. Then I went out for a late night walk in the park, as my knees were complaining after spending so much of the day sitting down, and not always comfortably.

WNO re-emerges triumphantly

Despite the glorious weather, I spent the morning working to complete next Thursday's prayer video upload. I feel the need to clear some space to enjoy the coming weeks, as we're off to the Gower en famille next weekend. I also want to complete the upload that's due the morning after we return. I enjoy creating these things but not when I'm under pressure these days, when I have time but don't always use it wisely.

After lunch I walked into town to get some updated photos of the redevelopment work, also the current state of the city centre as lockdown eases.It's great to see lots of people again in the streets, many more now sitting to dine and drink at new outdoor restaurant facilities, many of them attractively designed, with colourful enclosures, and flowering plants uplifting the streetscape. A lot of hard work and a big  . I hope it pays off.

At half past six we drove to the Bay to attend the re-opening our our national opera house after 14 months of covid closure, with an hour's concert before an audience that was a tenth of the normal full house, everyone being correctly socially distanced in their 'bubbles'.

Just one entrance was open for check-in, and we were slowly and carefully channelled through the building to our appointed seats. This was a trial event to test the robustness of the in-house team's implementation of safety protocols.

There were fifty in the orchestra, seated on stage and another thirty singers of the opera chorus in the front stalls facing the orchestra. This actually worked surprisingly well in terms of sound balance, as the auditorium acoustics are so well designed.

The orchestra played with fervour and precision. I have never heard the overture to Rossini's 'Barber of Seville' played at such a breathless pace. Every instrument was clearly audible in a way no hi-fi disc could ever match. Sound from the orchestra pit, partly under the stage cannot be as clear as the sound emanating from down under is constrained by the smaller space.

After the overture, we had Figaro's famous opening aria, then the Cantique de Jean Racine from the chorus, an aria from a Massanet opera sung by WNO favourite Reecca Evans , Sibelius' New World 9th Symphony, and a song from a Bernstein opera with chorus and soloists to finish with. It was a moving and powerful event, filled with defiant hope and confidence for the future. Whatever happens in future, there will be music, there will be opera, and we'll be there!

Opera Matinee

I celebrated the Eucharist and preached at St Dyfrig and Samson's church this morning  at nine. This week I wasn't caught out by the different lectionary usage, as I was last week, having made a note the Ordinary time Sunday it is in the Roman lectionary is used. The Revised Common Lectionary has Transfiguration as its theme, one with which I am probably over familiar having got married on the August feast day, and having this on the Sunday before Lent for the past twenty five years. So, it gave me an opportunity to work with a different set of texts with the theme of fulfilling God's Law, Holiness and Perfection. I quite enjoyed that.

At lunchtime we drove down the Bay to met Martin and Chris for lunch at Ffresh in the Millennium Centre before a four o'clock performance of 'The Marriage of Figaro'. I think the production was a new one, as the scenery was abstract rather than naturalist, albeit the costumes were period pieces of the 18th century. It was beautifully sung by all the performers, and played for humorous content. I think the translated surtitles had a freshness about them. The movement and body language of the cast brought out the farcical nature of the script. Conductor Carlo Rizzi waved the WNO orchestra along at a very breezy but smooth pace, giving it an added dimension of vitality. The slow lyrical sections were played just right to let them breathe with emotion. Mozart would have been delighted,

What a lovely treat to share with two good friends.

Birthday opera treat

It rained on and off for most of the day, which was frustrating, as Clare had arranged for a carpenter to come and rebuild the frame of the door on to the lane at the end of the garden. Despite dodging the downpours, he worked diligently and did a superb job. Clare has already decided to trail a climbing plant across the lintel. When we get a dry day, I'll give the new ensemble a coat of preservative paint. The previous construction lasted ten years before rotting away. Hopefully this one will last longer.

Sister in Law Ann arrived in time for a late lunch today. Her birthday falls next week, so we invited her to come for the weekend, and a night at the opera. Before we drove to Cardiff Bay, I managed a shorter than usual walk in between showers. The river Taff was running high and fast, displacing almost of the resident waterfowl. I hear the squawk of one heron, a few minutes before I saw another perched on the limb of a dead tree overhanging the river, and got a super photo about 10 metres away.

This evening's opera was the premiere of a new version of Verdi's Rigoletto. We sat in the front row of the ground floor circle, a good seat but not quite enough leg-room, or should I say wriggle room for me, so it was an effort to remain comfortable throughout, despite my much improved condition.

The production was new, with a contemporary mise-en-scene - Washington's Capitol Hill, and the cast wore suits. One scene was placed in the imposing office of a public official (suggestions of the Presidential Oval Office. The audience sniggered as the lights went up. Point taken, since it's a tale of powerful men abusing women, corruption, vengeance and hitmen from 170 years ago. It worked well in a modern context. The layout and presentation of the scenery for several acts, though given a face lift, seemed much the same to me as in the previous production, which I've seen twice, though I can't exactly remember when. The singing from all the main characters was sublimely beautiful, fresh flawless and unflagging right to the end. I splendid birthday treat for Clare and Ann alike.
   

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.

Letting go at Pentecost

This morning, a double portion of the Pentecost mystery, with a celebration at St John's Canton, then another at St German's. The road across the city centre was still closed, with pedestrian check-points all around as UEFA cup security arrangements are still in place for 24 hours after the match is over, to allow visitors to celebrate and then leave for home in safety. Heaven knows what this has cost to arrange, and what it has cost to retailers in reduced income, with many regular shoppers and visitors reluctant to travel in from the valley and further afield for weekend retail therapy. Restaurants pubs, clubs and hotels will have profited no doubt, but I suspect many rate-paying citizens feel frustrated and alienated by such disruption to their habitual work and leisure.

Fortunately traffic on my route to Adamsdown around the back of Cardiff Central station and through Newtown was flowing freely, so I arrived at St German's in good time. The congregation here and in St John's was smaller than usual. Travel anxiety about traffic restrictions, and the last weekend of half term may well have encouraged some people to go away for the weekend. Strange to think this would be my last weekend as locum pastor at St German's, having been there for half of the Sundays over the past two years, in which a third of the rest were on duty in different Spanish chaplaincies. It's been wonderful to have the constancy of this connection with one 'home' parish and its marvellous people. When I return home in the autumn, unless there's a surprise appointment, I'll be helping out in Canton, filling the gao left by Fr Phelim's appointment to St German's and St Saviour's Parishes,

After the service, the congregation gave an impromptu send-off party in the church hall, a pre lunch apertif, and the gift of of a unique custom photo album of action photos taken during Parish services and events over the past two years. I found this very touching indeed, as it gives me something to show guests who ask me what being a locum pastor is all about. These are memories to treasure.

On my return journey from church I  forgot to re-trace my route in reverse, and out of habit made for the city centre route, only to discover Cowbridge Road East road bridge was still closed. I had to do a U-turn in front of the Castle to avoid diversion down Westgate street to Callaghan Square, as traffic including several buses was backed up into Castle Street. Instead I had to drive up North Road to Gabalfa and return along Western Avenue to Llandaff, and get to Pontcanna a very long way around, but at least traffic was free flowing. Clare had by this time gone for an early siesta, and left a meal on the table for me. 

There was just enough time for me to eat, before setting out to seek a route to the Millennium Centre, aware that many roads into Cardiff Bay were still closed due to the continuing UEFA cup fiesta in Roald Dahl Plass. We got there by going west along Penarth Road, and then taking the A4232 bypass road across the Bay, to access the multi-storey car park on the east side of the Millennium Centre. This proved trouble free, apart from having to drive up seven level to find a parking place, but we got there in good time for our first experience of 'Der Rosenkavalier' by Richard Strauss. This matinee performance was the first of this new WNO production, a rich musical and emotional experience.

The music of Richard Strauss is similar in character to that of Mahler who lived in the same era. Both were influenced by the music of Wagner, a generation earlier. His writing requires a huge orchestra and variety of instruments. We certainly felt this with our bargain front row seats. The disadvantage is that when the main singers are on the same side of the stage towards the front of house, their sound is somewhat masked by the orchestra when it's playing at full blast, although this is less of a problem if singers are elsewhere on stage, strangely enough. The singing and the acting was just wonderful, and the entire opera was presented through the eyes of its central character the Marschallin in her old age. In each scene a frail elderly woman appeared and would move about, sit among the actors or observe them silently, occasionally making a gesture, never speaking or singing, just seeing. Very powerful.

During the overture, a translucent veil hanging from the proscenium arch covered the stage, and was used as a screen for image projection. It showed the date of the first production in Leipzig in 1911 and the 1946, some 35 years later. It also showed lines from the German poet Rilke reflecting upon the passage of time, like sand running through the fingers. It was a puzzle at first, but it then became clear that the silent woman was the heroine looking back at her former self from the perspective of old age. I don't know if this was in the composer's stage notes or not, but it's a brilliant idea, and so simply done. Lighting effects were used to convey the impression of grains of sand falling from the sky at various times, and at each scene change, increasing piles of sand seemed to appear around the periphery of the stage set. This felt a little contrived, but point taken.

Three women occupied the leading roles, Rebecca Evans, singing the Marschallin, and Lucia Cervoni singing the young Count Octavian's part. I think it would have been too high for a tenor, perhaps too exacting for a counter-tenor too. Louise Alder played Sophie, a marriageable teenager. The story tells of the changing relationship between the three, impacted by an odious predatory middle aged Baron, sung brilliantly by Brindley Sherratt. Above an beyond this it's a work that reflects on the changes of the era as they are about to happen. Rather than time seeming to stand still, as historic events unfold and Europe moves to the breakup of empires into world war, it seems to slip away like sand through the fingers, in Rilke's poetic imagery. The music is harmonically rich and varied, and occasionally it breaks into dissonances that aren't resolved, giving the impression of things falling apart, as does the evolution of the stage set from scene to scene. By the last act it seems to be actually collapsing. What a powerful theatrical experience!

There was romance and enchantment, degeneration disillusionment, reflecting the changing of the old imperial social order, but for me it was this idea of time slipping away out of control which really moved me to tears, capturing an experience I feel more keenly now in old age than I did during my mid-life crisis. It takes a work of art of this majestic quality to draw out such deep emotion, and shed light across a lifetime. A worthy conclusion to a memorable Pentecost Sunday.

The balancing of time and energy

Kath left soon after breakfast, with a weekend of performances ahead of her. Rhiannon had a long lie-in, so I got on with preparing a Sunday sermon, and a funeral service for next Thursday, before having lunch and being driven to Thornhill for this afternoon's funeral. Despite the high winds of yesterday, the grounds looked immaculate. No fallen branches or other detritus. This service was unusual in that the next of kin booked a double time slot in the big chapel. There were a couple of extra pieces of music, but also quite a lengthy eulogy delivered by the son of the deceased, telling his father's life story, plus a poem written by a grandson, and a video slide show of photos from the last seventy years, so we were in chapel for longer than the usual assigned half hour. Much thought went into the family's preparation, and this made it easier for me to officiate.

I returned to an early evening meal, as Clare and Rhiannon had tickets booked for a performance of 'Pride and Prejudice' at the Wales Millennium Centre. I decided not to accompany them, when Clare booked last week, as I've come to appreciate having 'down time' after funerals, which require a lot of energy and attention to perform well and make it meaningful, as every event is different. Celebrating the Eucharist with an assortment of church congregations I know quite well now is quite different, as each setting and each group is more familiar, and I can receive as much energy as I put into a service, simply because the congregations are 'friends not strangers' (John 15:15). 

Congregations for a funeral or other occasional office are generally strangers to me, if not each other, and that demands a lot more energy to work with. As I get older, I'm more aware of this, and simply need to take time before and after, so that I'm satisfied I've done the best I can to minister to others in public. How hard this can be for working clergy with half a dozen funerals a month, if not more, plus all the other demands, both pastoral and organisational, involved in serving a Parish.

There wasn't much on telly to relax with, after sitting through a couple of repeat episodes of NCIS, I switched off and continued reading the biography of Hewlett Johnston, the 'Red Dean' of Canterbury, which I received for Christmas. I don't read nearly as much as I could, and didn't have much energy for reading when I was occupied with running CBS, and spent much time working on the computer. Now slowly, I'm finding I can read undistractedly and enjoy it. With so much rubbish on TV, I'm glad of a relaxing alternative which feeds my mind in a different way.

    

Unexpected operatic premiere

I was back on duty, celebrating the midweek Eucharist at St John's Canton this morning. Clare has been doing battle with the internet, trying to obtain confirmation of tickets booked on line for a string quartet concert here tomorrow night, thankfully handled by an agency, not by the Parish! She had trouble with the ticketing website, which sent confirmations and info relating to password changes that ended up in the Spam folder, as often happens, except the spam folder wasn't in evidence. I looked for it and missed it, as for some reason it requires scrolling to find, rather than being near the top of the display, which would be a more useful default, given the common need to manage spam messages frequently, or go crazy, unable to tell the wood from the trees.

After lunch I had a bereavement visit out in Danescourt. Now I am fully briefed on the three funerals at which I have to officiate next week. At six we took the X1 bus to town, then the Bay Car to the Wales Millennium Centre for an evening at the opera. I knew nothing about what we were about to see, and nothing about Frank Martin, composer of 'Le vin herbé.' We were surprised to discover that he was a 20th century Genèvois, and that it first saw the light of day in London with an English liberetto by Hilaire Belloc, seven months before it premiered in Zurich, either in French or German, both in 1948.

Le vin herbé translates into English as the Love Potion. The story told is that of Tristan and Iseult, also used by Wagner in his opera of this name in the late German Romantic mode. Martin, on the other hand, was musically in a similar vein to Benjamin Britton, wonderfully rich creative use of dissonance, but not atonal, nor making use of fractured rhythms. It's not a long opera, short enough to be delivered with no interval in an hour and three quarters. A spell binding hour and three quarters, as the production did not fail to retain one's attention throughout.

First - no scenery, minimal staging. Costumes? Black and black. Tragic Iseult alone appearing in white and later in gold. The libretto makes use of the fifty strong WNO chorus, as the means to tell the story, with chorus and individual voices, just a handful of roles being distinguished by the movement required of them. Belloc's libretto is a simple rendering of a classic story with group narration and passages of quoted speech from key characters delivered by individual singers. Group choreographed movement of the storytelling chorus was also an important element of the presentation. It made us think of Greek tragedy performances we last saw fifty years ago.

The stage is bare, minimal furnishing. A string sextet plus piano and conductor are centre stage throughout, the cast move around constantly. The backdrop is black, everyone save Iseult is dressed in black. So much depends on stage lighting, and it works superbly, from the start. There's no curtain, and the lights don't go down immediately either. The cast take their positions and stand still looking into the audience until they have everyone's attention, a bit like a teacher with a distracted class of pupils.

When all are settle, out of complete silence, the music and voices emerge. The audience is sitting at the feet of a storyteller, in this case a group of fifty. It's intense and engaging from the outset. As ever the singing by principals and chorus is excellent. Only as it was starting did I learn that it's the premiere of this WNO production.

The house wasn't totally full as it often is. I suspect that this 20th century opera lacks the glamour and pull of Mozart, Verdi or Puccini favourites, yet, it's music of our lifetime, and an inspiring effort made by Martin to connect with the ancient tradition of storytelling, which transcends culture and keeps being reborn in the artistic endeavours of rising generations. This production, and all who take part in it are a credit to our other major Welsh national past-time, the difference being that great opera always wins.

Blog restored, operas booked

The man from SSE came to read our gas and electricity meters this morning. We chatted briefly about how smart meter introduction will affect his job. It seems they've not yet been told. I told him my concern about how data was to be harvested wirelessly from our side of the street, suffering as its does from such a poor phone signal. He didn't say much except that uneven reception happened in all sorts of places. I wonder if there is a Grand Plan, or if it's a case of hi-tech trial and error?

Thankfully for Owain, the blog failure crisis is over. It was nothing more than a broken SQL database link. No hacks, no data loss. Immediately he set about installing a site backup plugin on his WordPress software, and has learned how he can do his own repairs in future. There was a time when I was keen to learn all the technical details to be able to build and manage websites, but I was never well pleased with the results for the effort invested. I used Google sites to build web pages for several years, but in the end, got daunted by the enhanced security measures and difficulties encountered in linking pages to URLs I'd purchased, and gave up altogether. Now I concentrate all my effort on journal writing, and minimise the amount of time I spend on design or tweaking default settings.

Over the weekend I received two more requests to officiate at funerals, so that I have three next week, none this week, and so have enough time for preparation. After several days in succession without a good walk, I got out at the end of this afternoon, and walked around Llandaff Fields and then Pontcanna Fields, covering three miles as the sun was setting. There was an east wind, but the temperature rose to eight degrees, so the wind didn't bite quite so hard as it has done since new year. Not that spring is yet in the air. Snowdrops and crocuses are out, and a few prodigious blossoms among the abundance of daffodil shoots growing taller by the day, but few signs of buds swelling yet, ready to burst. But who knows what a few days of milder weather might bring?

Early booking for the 2017-18 season of opera performances at the Wales Millennium Centre started today. Rather than buy on-line, Clare went down to the real world booking office and obtained perfect seats for four operas in our usual place, the middle of the few rows of front seats behind the orchestra pit which are at subscriber discount prices due to the steep line of sight to the surtitle screen. There are three Russian operas in the schedule. We decided we could cope with one, 'Eugene Onegin'. Then there's our old favourites 'Tosca' and 'Don Giovanni', and Verdi's 'La Forza del Destino', which we've not seen before if my memory serves me right. Plenty to look forward to.

  

Mobile Office after the Opera

How cheering to wake up to a sunny day after yesterday's rain. Although it's cold, there's just a hint of Spring, with daffodils starting to blossom, along with crocuses and snowdrops. The morning slipped by writing my Lent blog before it was time to go to the office for a couple of hours. I came home early, as we had tickets for Humperdink's opera 'Hansel & Gretel', last seen in the WMC WNO performance of 13th June 2008, according to my pre-retirement blog 'Edge of the Centre' on that day.

Clare was still feeling unwell with her op-stopping sore throat. Despite our efforts to find someone to use her ticket, I ended up going on my own. The story is familiar enough, and the presentation of the first act I did recall, but the other three acts seemed not to have lodged themselves firmly in my visual memory, making something of a surprise for me. I can only think that the opera didn't make much of an impact on me when I saw it last. Maybe a consequence of being preoccupied with work worries. Now I am retired, I find I can take more in and savour it better. Is that perhaps why opera audiences tend to made up predominantly of grey and white headed people. 

The music, from the same era as Wagner, is relatively easy listening compared to Wagner, but nevertheless rich and melodic with tunes that I did remember hearing before in performance, quite apart from the opera itself. It was beautifully sung, with two female lead singers, a children's choir on stage in the final act, a funny pantomime dame of a witch,  most enjoyable, although sad not to be able to share the experience with Clare.

Ashley and I conversed by phone while I was waiting for the sixty one bus home. He asked if I could send him a Board member registration file to print off and hand out as soon as I got back. With a few more minutes to wait before the bus came, I thought I'd try and do this on my Blackberry, hunting down the file on the office One Drive account and emailing it. I was astonished at how easy this was to do, both because of the speed of the 4G connection, the clarity of the phone's display of the file system and a really good workable keypad. 

This is the kind of relevant performance which has over years earned global respect for RIM. Such a shame they had bad luck with the Z10 recently and lost market share. I grew to hate my previous Blackberry Bold because of its feeble keyboard and small display, although once it had been state of the art, and connectivity was always reliable. The Q10 hardware shines in comparison to both. Let's see what RIM will come up with next.

On form again

Following an afternoon in the office yesterday, I drove to Penarth for another evening of Chi Gung followed by Tai Chi. In the second session an experienced group went through the full short form and I joined them. It's the first time I've attempted playing the form in full for about five years. I only managed about a third of it before my body memory for the patterns began to break up, and I was reduced to watching and try to copy familiar movements, but not adequately retained. I enjoyed doing it too much to feel frustrated by failure.

Christie our teacher always exhorts me not to let my mind get in the way. Of this I was guilty in times past, but I do believe that I'm more in tune with letting my body remember, and building on the recognition of when positions and moves feel right. This doesn't stop me wanting to think and write about the value and inner meaning of Tai Chi in a western context, but this will take time and a different context. First things first: re-engage fully in physical apprenticeship to form and movement. The more the body benefits, the more mental activity takes on a better quality, and the writing more worthwhile.

By the time I arrived home, Eddie and Ann had arrived after a long journey all the way from Felixstowe, for a long weekend including the opera. They arrived later than expected and the meal had only just started, so it was good we were all able to eat together and then talk until very late.

  

After a late breakfast, we all walked the Taff Trail, as far as the Melingriffith Water Pump. This visit, I was able to take photographs before the local shuttle bus arrived to take us into Whitchurch village for a bus into town. We stopped off at the Royal Welsh College both to show Eddie and Ann Cardiff's latest architectural triumph, and have a light lunch before a pre-operatic siesta. Not that I managed a snooze. I realised I'd forgotten to re-tax the car, and had to go back into the main Post Office to do this. Fortunately the queues were short and I was back within the hour.
  

The WNO's production of Mozart's 'Don Giovanni' was magnificent. Outstanding singing all round, and an amazing set, baroque bas-relief decoration, with all the scenery and backdrop painted black, made visible by changes in lighting colour. It was built from a series of movable modules, deployed to create the variety of scenes against which the action took place.

I was struck at the characterisation of Don Giovanni in the libretto as an amoral psychopath. It's the conquest of seduction that enthralls him rather than the acquisition of lascivious pleasure. It's the exercise of power without scruple or sensitivity. He faces his damnation with bold indifference, like dictator or a Balkan warlord on trial for crimes against humanity. The opera's commentators observe that it was written following a time of enlightenment liberalisation in the Hapsburg empire. Some perceived this as failing to achieve its humane goals. Mozart, despite his naughty youthful reputation was in this opera speaking up for a return to values and behavior based on traditional religious teaching. Quite an interesting perspective for our times, I think.