A long time to die
Lorraine to the gym today, and I did bits and pieces in the morning.
This afternoon off to Glyndebourne. Travelled by train to Lewes in the afternoon, and then caught a special bus to Glyndebourne. The first time I'd been there since my trip to interview the likeable Gus Christie ten years ago about his controversial windmill.
We had dressed up fairly smartly for the occasion and it was full of sixty and seventy somethings ostentatiously swigging bubbly from flutes, and swanking about self-consciously in good clothes. When it was time to go into the auditorium Lorraine was prevented from entering by an officious woman who told Lorraine she could not take a 'rucksack', her little floral rucksack, in. The woman said the word rucksack as if Lorraine had been trying to make her way in carrying a cowpat. We didn't like this much. And Lorraine gave the bag to a sympathetic cloakroom woman, who said later she knew who the woman was and she was a bit scary.
Jo Green's La Traviata was one of the many operas I'd not seen, nor had Lorraine. I found the story weak. The acting, set and staging were all a bit disappointing too, with mobs of party-goers on stage milling about untidily in nondescript costumes. The orchestra was good as was the singing. The auditorium was splendid and at half time Lorraine and I snuck off to sit in the gardens again, and have a glass of wine, before the last act. I am afraid some of the melodramatic acting, and the hilarious and lengthy death scene at the end left me snickering. When it was time for the applause the man behind us shouted Bravo! lustily at the lead diva, when as any fule kno that should have been Brava! The snobby atmosphere didn't bring out the best in us. Especially me.
Home to London Road station, and we stopped off at The Open House and had a proletarian beer and some chicken wings and fries. We enjoyed this lots, before walking home up the hill, having greatly enjoyed another lovely half-term day.
Below me, Lorraine and a Henry Moore bronze in the lovely Glyndebourne gardens.
This afternoon off to Glyndebourne. Travelled by train to Lewes in the afternoon, and then caught a special bus to Glyndebourne. The first time I'd been there since my trip to interview the likeable Gus Christie ten years ago about his controversial windmill.
We had dressed up fairly smartly for the occasion and it was full of sixty and seventy somethings ostentatiously swigging bubbly from flutes, and swanking about self-consciously in good clothes. When it was time to go into the auditorium Lorraine was prevented from entering by an officious woman who told Lorraine she could not take a 'rucksack', her little floral rucksack, in. The woman said the word rucksack as if Lorraine had been trying to make her way in carrying a cowpat. We didn't like this much. And Lorraine gave the bag to a sympathetic cloakroom woman, who said later she knew who the woman was and she was a bit scary.
Jo Green's La Traviata was one of the many operas I'd not seen, nor had Lorraine. I found the story weak. The acting, set and staging were all a bit disappointing too, with mobs of party-goers on stage milling about untidily in nondescript costumes. The orchestra was good as was the singing. The auditorium was splendid and at half time Lorraine and I snuck off to sit in the gardens again, and have a glass of wine, before the last act. I am afraid some of the melodramatic acting, and the hilarious and lengthy death scene at the end left me snickering. When it was time for the applause the man behind us shouted Bravo! lustily at the lead diva, when as any fule kno that should have been Brava! The snobby atmosphere didn't bring out the best in us. Especially me.
Home to London Road station, and we stopped off at The Open House and had a proletarian beer and some chicken wings and fries. We enjoyed this lots, before walking home up the hill, having greatly enjoyed another lovely half-term day.
Below me, Lorraine and a Henry Moore bronze in the lovely Glyndebourne gardens.
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