:: Venite a cena...! ::

Last night I went with a couple of the Amadeus cast to see a production of Don Giovanni. Even us stoical English types were a little apprehesive at the prospect of the Garden Opera Company's outdoor extravaganza in yesterday's blustering gales. The prospect of some beautiful surroundings would not have made three hours of Mozart in the rain intolerable. As luck would have it, common sense prevailed; an alternative venue had been arranged. And so we decamped to a nearby chapel. This is an exquisite building and, with a rather better acoustic than the great outdoors, bode well for the performance. The opera itself was full of the comic touches that make the more innovative modern productions interesting, accessible and popular beyond the Covent Garden set. Some may baulk at the idea of Don Giovanni played as a rather louche gangster-style philanderer, with (gasp!) an American accent. However, I think this, coupled with a certain amount of extra dialogue made the narrative convincing and engaging, in spite of the staid English translation of the libretto. I felt the staging, placed outside its intended context (a field), looked ill-at-ease in the grand venue, but for me it was the musical side of things which felt most awkward. The small band of musicians (less than 10) coped admirably in condensing a full operatic score, but the inevitable lack of orchestral depth meant that certain scenes lost some dramatic power. The singing ranged from very good to a little weak: many of the men's voices failed to carry, especially in the lower ranges. Nevertheless, the acting was surprisingly good - funny, deftly played and convincing. The idea of reimporting soap-opera into real opera isn't new, but here the sharply drawn stereotypes and vaguely ludicrous storylines were perfectly complemented by Mozart's music, alternately frothy and foreboding.

Enuff kulcha... It seems the silly season (never far away in Devukha Dungeon) is here in force. With the TV infested with sporting events, even Her Majesty's Government is unable to refrain from jokey straplines and "topical" references. This piece on library funding wins my prize for the best/worst pun in a government press release.

In Ecology news, it seems Russian bureaucracy has kept the bustards out. Oh... I think it's infectious. As long as I don't catch blairitis I should be OK...

The offensive sight of bored ferry passengers engaging in a mass orgy had me in fits of giggles. Not because of the subject matter, you understand, but due to the following sentence: 'One man is wearing a T-shirt clearly emblazoned with the words "100% Brummie".' Laugh? I nearly died... It did cross my mind that the photos could all have been touched up a little for added amusement. In fact, the Hayward Gallery's latest exhibition seems to proclaim the end of photographic portrait - at least as factual records. Frankly, I couldn't believe my eyes when I saw Doner Kebab flavour wheat crunchies in a local newsagent, but that's another matter. You can find the cheapest price for them at Fixture Ferrets, a UK grocery promotions site. If you want real ferrets, you'd better head to Ferret Central...

:: Twunted ::

It was all looking so good. I had a delicious assortment of web-goodies to proffer my dwindling readership...
...then some demented cNut managed to knock the plug out from my computer. So it's going to have to be a lame review of the week, I suppose.

I hope that since the joyous engagement of Hypatia and Taxloss, we won't be treated to a combined orthopaedically challenged "Hyploss" blog. In some things at least, I believe the members of a couple should retain their independence.

Talking of which, the pitchfork-brandishing, banner-blazing refuseniks of UKIP, led by an Arab-hating Tangerine made their mark on the recent elections. The Indy reminded us of some sobering reasons why may not be such a good idea.

Across the pond, the recent findings of the 9-11 Commission - and Dubya's denial of wrongdoing only serve to vindicate Terry Jones in his article on torturing children.

And as the media maelstrom continues over brawling contestants on Big Brother, US TV execs reaveal their new strategy for coping with dwindling audience figures. With a large number of high-profile long-running money-spinners finishing in the last year, the major networks seem to be running on empty.

Back to matters domestic. Most Londoneers I know seem to be transport-obsessed: little wonder, with a rickety old system that struggles to get us to work each morning, you cry! In truth, the problem is more about the regularity of things going wrong - signal failures and the ominous announcements about "passenger action" - and the inability to deal with them quickly in rush-hour. It can surprising how quick and effective the tube can be when all is running smoothly. This preoccupation with the London underground manifests itself in some off-beat ways - from parties on the Circle Line, to maps designed for the claustrophobic or those who wish to bypass gaggles of camera-clutching tourists on their way to work. You can buy one of those here if you're so inclined. You can even check out bloggers by tube station and find out the temperature on your prospective journey.

I shall be shunning the delights of public transport this evening, as I head to a posh boozy dinner by taxi with Feline Fatale (she's wearing a ballgown, dontcha know?). So I'd better leave you with details of one of the more worrying current give-away promotions.

:: Aaaaargh! ::

Need I say more?

:: Sunny Outlook ::

With this weekend's weather forecast, it should come as no surprise that I'm planning to spend some time at least in the garden. Whilst I shall be adjourning to Tigger's for burnt offerings to celebrate her flatmate's 30th, it might be time to instigate a barbecue of my own. All this in preparation for The Housewarming Party, that mythic and far-off event, when my flatmates and I hope to have cleared and clean, only to have it trashed again by our nearest and dearest. This trauma might put me in mind to settle for a Russian Roast and some Fish & Chips. Keen gardeners should be aware that natural aphid protection can now be purchased on Amazon.

One thing I shall be avoiding is the dreaded f-word. Even with this BBC online guide, I remain diffidently dispassionate about all things footie related. However, it may be worth turning up in Lisbon in a football shirt after all...

The entertainment world was hit by the death of the Godfather of Soul. Meanwhile in London, Charles and Camilla Park N' Ride demonstrated their "taste" in music by attending a gala performance of Mamma Mia. I bet they were the berks in the box rustling the Murray Mint wrappers. And Chinese man illustrate the perils of trying to emulate the stars of 60s musicals.

After fending off a proposal from my boss that I should change my working hours (10.30-18.30? I ask you!), I've concluded that I work more effectively in the mornings. I don't relish this kind of ante-meridian assignation, but fear for my ability to hold out against such powerful distractions as silly photoshoppery. palindromes and shopping for cheap CDs. "Eh? Palindromes?" you splutter. There are lots of them about - some bloke's even written a 5000-word palindromic story. It's bullshit, but I salute the pointlessness of his endeavour. Who said language teaching was boring?

One final point...
Someone has at last picked up on the media's obsession with silly pseudo-scientific formulae. Over a bank boliday or quiet news patch, a normally respectable paper will print a piece on one of life's eternal questions: Why does bread always fall butter side down? Why do dropped keys always find their way to the nearest drain? How does one make the perfect cappuccino? The answer is invariably provided by a semi-respectable bespectacled scientist, who provides an algebraic formula to illustrate the problem. This is hardly e=mc² territory. Far from being tangilble or concretely defined factors, the letters employed by aforementioned scientist always represent things like "the ordinariness of human behaviour you're explaining". How is this quantifiable? I call on my friends of a scientific bent to refute such mathmatical inanity. The ruthless pursuit of over-definition is a waste of time - particularly when, in these articles at least, the factors described must be explained in detail after the formula is given. It addition, I'm dubious of any attempt to quantify certian things which are, by their verbal definition, subjective. Is my perfect cup of tea the same as yours? More importantly, are the same factors relevant to all tea drinkers? I doubt it. Words, it seems, are better for describing some things, just as numerals are better at describing others. Who, in their right mind, has ever written the following in a maths exam: "seven thousand eight hundred and nineteen divided by thirteen equals six hundred and one point four six one five three eight recurring"?
/rant

:: Blog Extra ::

How did the Grauniad get away with this headline?

And, before I forget, thanks to Hypatia for turning up to see Amadeus.

:: Rock Me, Amadeus ::

After weeks of preparation and hard work, Amadeus is now but a memory, and I have finally succumbed to temptation by mentioning that 80s "classic". You may remember that Falco, the singer - Austria's finest techno artiste no less - was killed in a bizarre accident in 1998. True afficianados can sing along auf Deutsch if they prefer...

I'm pretty knackered after the production, especially given the fact that I had no time off work. My feet are in need of attention from Dr Scholl after wearing heels for 4 performances. Perhaps a foot massage is in order. In the likely event of my not having time to consult a Chiangmai practitioner, maybe I should splash out on a foot massage machine. To remove the excess make-up, I might need some cold cream and a little E45 for good measure. Or maybe I should just shut up and get on with cleaning the new house.

In my cyber absence, the usual round of tawdry tales and tittilating trivia bubbled freely from the internet gulch: Taxloss revealed teenage obsession with 90s guitar-wielders, Mansun and a controversial museum revealed how Houdini did it. Weebl's secret TLE is conquering the world (T-shirts and other memorabelia now available here). I also discovered a Russian version of Fark.

Still with our Slavic friends, it emerged today that Russian oil giant Yukos is branching out - by manufacturing cannabis-flavoured vodka. And evergreen buttmunch beefcake, David Hasselhoff has been charged with drink driving. For sincere reviews of how Hasselhoff's music has changed lives, read these reviews on Amazon.

Apart from the inescapable news item of the week, I read some good news about the state of UK regional theatre and a less positive piece with a predictable conclusion: for-profit hospitals charge more.

So that's that, I guess. Time to take up something new to fill the gaping whole in my social life after Amadeus. I think I might learn how to play with poi...

Search terms finding me this week:

  • RUSLANA EUROVISION SEX PORN
  • "origami kite"
  • "ben foskett" music
  • hoxton wanka

:: All movements go too far ::

The above quotation Bertrand Russell is a slightly facetious way of admitting that I'm a bit busy to research and write a proper post today. After humping most of my possessions up to the second floor of the new place, I deserve a rest. The fact that it's production week for Amadeus means I won't get one... Like me, it seems Weebl has also been experiencing the tedium of attempting to buy items at a certain large homeware store. More details to follow.

Recent search terms finding this site include:
portrait of brezhnev and write-ups on 3 extinct animals

Curiouser and curiouser...