I had two alternatives: either write some dark poetry and keep it all to myself, bottled up and all, or, (preferably since I don’t fancy an ulcer) vent, complain, whinge at leisure :-) The good thing about this is that I can write and have a fit and you don’t actually have to read it ;-)))
I should have paid attention to signs…. A couple of weeks ago when it turned out that work had changed my plans again I should have known it was unlikely to end there. So no first time visit to the place where Lipatti played, because you can’t be one evening in the Pleyel and the next morning beam yourself to Italy for work. You’d think Italy for Paris, not a bad trade after all…
Except you wouldn’t know somebody planted this industrial district in Northern Italy if it wasn't for the guys wearing sunglasses in pitch darkness at 8pm. Or if the mobile network wasn’t busy all the time because everyone is on their frigging phones!
Then about 10 days before this exciting business trip, my landlord decides November is as good a time as any to have the whole flat painted and while at it, have some building work done at the walls. First glad I was out of there, I suddenly realised it was too late to change my flights and I would have to come back during the weekend in the middle of the building site. Not to worry they said, we will keep one room to the end… ( word of advice, ALWAYS worry when somebody assures you not to!)
So I switched the planned celebrations from the weekend in the town of romance for dark ghosts in the town of rain and spent spare time resulting from switch with the form boosting activity of moving my belongings into pretty orange recycle bags. I’ll come back to the ghosts as they definitely were the less tingling events of the week..
4am Monday morning up, 4,45am Heathrow , 5,30 morning 2km run through T1 completed, including barefoot gymnastics at security check point. 2h flights, 10 am Milan. 25min wait for 10 suitcases, 20 min playing find the right bus-ticket sales point, 10 min play find the bus which matches your ticket, rush into bus as driver says it leaves in 5 min, 15 min later busride to Milan starts, trying to snooze – no can do, everyone is chatting on their mobiles, benvenuti a Italia! 1h later Milano train station, new game – find the right ticket machine to extract tickets purchased on internet followed by 5 min find the working ticket machine among the lot. 5 more minutes run with obstacles to platform, finally on train nr1 and one more transport mean down. 1h, 30 min later benvenuti a Verona, 20 min later ciao Verona (no Romeo or Juliet in sight..), switch to train no2.. welcome to regional trains in Italy. Sweet memories of childhood! In as they haven’t been scrubbed since my childhood…. 2h later destination.. or almost, after another 30 min taxi ride. I realised I skipped the boat and the balloon ride in this trip, must put them on the list next time! 4pm, 12h after getting up, reach destination! God, the Alps are beautiful, especially the tips covered in snow, this will surely make for one breathtaking view from the office window.
So we get shown around the offices and finally to our room… my mouth opens and says: Where are the windows?? Answer : finger pointed towards the sky…indeed two wholes looking out on a grey patch of sky… nops, no Alps. Uh-oh…
You’ll be thinking, well, at least the food is nice in Italy… yes, but in this industrial district there is a choice of 2 eateries – 1 is a McDonald’s and the other is the hotel restaurant with a total of 16! Items on the menu, including starters and desserts. No pizza, no tiramisu but yes to steak and chips at 15euro starters, 25 euro mains, 10 euro desserts = the price in London of a 3 course meal in a Michelin star restaurant… and people think London is expensive! But, you get to choose – you can have your meals in your room while relaxing in front of tv , ammm, for 25 euro extra charge that is, or speed-eat through the pasta in the drafty restaurant.
At least I became good friends with the Ms mozzarella di bufala…
B-day approaching I get careless… and naïve, trip up to next town to get a hair cut, after all cute little village in Italy should still have good hair stylists. If price is an indicator they do… the cute little salon said 100 over the phone and it turned out 130 in practice. I managed to translate in Italian what I wanted and specified : please, I don’t want to come out looking like my mother! Couple of hours later and I look back into the mirror into a transformation of one of those posh ladies I saw in Firenze, all dolled up, minus fur coat and sadly, also minus nice Italian jewellery… Eduardo caro! ( my cute Italian hair dresser in London, half the age of Fernando in North Italy ) I hereby solemnly swear I will never ever be unfaithful again!!! It wasn’t disastrous, but it was clearly one of those things that would not withstand a night’s sleep…. Which meant on b-day I would be back to my normal, un-posh self… but 130 euro poorer! (and Eduardo is cheaper than Fernando, AND he throws in the bottles that make me look every day just like when his fingers worked their magic..)
Come b-day… my colleague comes back from day trip for work and greets me in hotel lobby with these kind words: My God, you look even more tired than me! ( geeeeez and I managed to avoid the visible signs of ageing until that hour!) and later at dinner goes : Like your hairs! ( oh jolly!)… you look exactly like my mother!! ( BUGGER! I kid you not, those were her exact words). So much for that. Rest of the evening was spent explaining to various well wishers that no, I hadn’t received any cards, but not to worry I would survive… even if the Royal Mail strike took care of that anticipation fun as well. My boss got particularly generous and meant : treat yourself (I saw cheques in my mind)… have a dessert or something sweet! All right then…. No, not fancy icecream at 5 degree outside, no, neither the semi freddo which I had tried and knew to be hard as stone and beyond freddo. And since there was no cantucci with vin santo I decided a double shot of caffeine went better with the ever so slight irritation…
B-day finally off the calendar, 12 h journey of looking forward to a quiet weekend in my own flat. If only…. Bingo, forgot the building works: generous powdering of dust everywhere, kitchen in a WWII decoration, unusable, sofa under dust, books and stuff piled on sofa, piled on more dust. Painting white, wasn’t it supposed to be blue? Aaaaah, but never mind! They threw in my own personal mud-bath at no extra cost! 20 sqcm under the shower, extend your foot beyond that and dunk your toes in the muck, back to shower, step out, slap on more muck, back to shower… etc. Since I love quizzes, I invented my very own – How to come out of the flat clean? You’d be surprised the stuff I came up with!
By the way, it turns out that in the meantime cards arrived, but also packets, including some of early Xmas presents I had to order due to not being in London for reasonable shopping time before Xmas. In their good intentions ( which the road to hell is paved with…) these good people switched from Royal Mail to things like DHL… And since painting is such a noisy job, my builders and neighbours did not hear the postman ringing not twice, but 3 times! With it being DHL , instead of the trip two streets down to pick up the stuff I had to trek half way across London… Sunday was a marvellous day! Sunny, bright, just gorgeous! Guess how Saturday was? Yep, rainy and 50 miles/h wind. The kind of wind that almost pushed me off the sidewalk several times and I am no feather! But at least I got to said depots in time before they closed at noon, due again to the generous help of my builders: 7,45 am Saturday morning they decided to pay me a visit : Surpriiiiseee!!!! we are the builders, we came to work! And yes, I am a mean witch and I did not let them in!
Finally week 1 of the adventure ended with some fish and chips and a big glass of cider in a pub, a premium to myself for yet more ingenious solutions of how to bring the xmas presents back unharmed by the bucketing outside.
Sunday, with the relaxing weekend rest almost over, I decide to pack for una settimana in Italia nr2. Only to find out that my mobile charger had committed suicide! Ok, you darn thing, you will just get replaced! … if only…. 5 am on Monday morning and 2 airport shops later and two “Sony Ericsson???? Nooo, we don’t have thoooose!”the answer is NO, ain’t gonna happen. And... it turns out mobile crazed Italy does not have shops with gadgets like that in either airport or train stations. But they have … sandwich-dispensers!
But wait, that’s not all… just when I thought we were done with the “surprises” Monday morning 4am while trying to lift a clean suitcase down the stairs I suddenly find myself holding ..just it’s handle. Now it not only can’t be pulled ( that bit got stuck the week before), but it will only be lifted sideways. Blasted thing couldn’t spare me 30 more minutes and hang itself by the hand of a Lufthansa baggage handler! With no time to spare I shove the darn case into the taxi realising that through the seam of the zipper I have just touched the clothes inside! Uh-oh… I still thought this had a fix, and promptly marched with it into the airport luggage shop. They offered “cheap” 180 bucks Samsonite thingys but I fell in love with a black slidy piece which goes by the name of TUMI. Unfortunately, my pocket developed an instant dislike for its 5-0-0 GBP pricetag! I do get brownie points though for now dropping my jaw open and my eyes on the floor at the price and instead sweetly saying: Ok, I’ll take it when I’m back and elastically making an elegant retreat out of the devil’s trap.
And more brownie points for bravely putting a distracted look on my face while all the time trying to avoid weird side glances from all too fashion conscious Italians, who’s sense of style seems to be somewhat offended by the state of my limp travel accessory. Given recent events, what do you think my chances are of it making it back to the Uk in one piece?( to search for a replacement at a price for putting clothes in it, not wanting to live in it!)
But until it ends, rewind to the musical beginning of this story… The Turn of the screw, my first live Britten opera and the first one where the original language is English. Not a favourite party piece, that’s for sure! Fascinating music nevertheless, so much so that I could not help but strangely empathise with the story of the lonely governess and her malicious ghostly encounters :) Britten definitely proved to be my “thing” and although the darkness of the story is not my choice of moods, I couldn’t help but listen with a combination of attraction and revulsion to the ever increasing spiral of tension that builds when the story gradually unfolds.
Once again I was fascinated by David McVicar’s ability to bring images alive, to build the atmosphere for the story with few but very detailed items. It seems realistic and sometimes it may come over as traditional, but it definitely is not. On stage bound by physical limits he and his set designer seem to be able to create the fluidity typical for movies. And he can induce natural acting in even the most inhibited singer. Not that this was the case here :-) I loved the transparent moving panels, which effectively transported us from rooms, to gardens to the lake and back, loved, as always the detailed and realistic period costumes, loved the black shiny surface of the lake, the muddy gap covered by dead leaves from which the ghosts seems to emerge. Loved the rocking horse, which moved with eerie elastic but totally silent swings.
And what to say about the singers, the orchestra and the conductor, our very own Sir Charles Mackerras. Bravo indeed! It is not the typical big score piece, it feels more like a chamber opera, where you have to listen to every note and concentrate on every next note. If you loose concentration you will have lost an important step in the spiral and it can indeed be difficult to catch up. It builds very slowly during the first part, only to speed full power towards the climax in the second. Beautiful piano scores and some totally unforgettable ghostly musical lines. I could have hardly imagined a more chilling and seductive “Miiiiiiiiiiiles! Miiiiiiiiiiiiiiles!” Like a silk cord that twists and twist and twists around you until it has you trapped.
Rebecca Evans governess had some wonderfully secure and still warm high notes, as well as perfect diction. I couldn’t see the subtitles from where I sat, but I almost never needed them anyway. Ann Murray’s Mrs Grose was totally in character, and some slight wobbles were in tune with the character and did not distract from the music. Charlie Manton as Mils proved to be a brave and very talented young man. Cristal voice with that slight edge of coldness and secrecy to make you wonder and wonder about the character. Amazing this performance and the guts to slips into this character. Michael Colvin was the one who delivered those “Miiiiiiiiiiiles” that have branded themselves forever in my musical memory. Good performances from Nazan Fikret as Flora and Cheryl Barker as Miss Jessel. This is vocally a difficult score for everyone and it was more than well delivered, it was exciting and colourful and properly frightening.
Well done indeed in captivating my attention for a subject and a story from which I would naturally run as fast as I can!
ENO Benjamin Britten: The Turn of the Screw
Governess: Rebecca Evans;
Mrs Grose: Ann Murray;
Peter Quint/Narrator: Michael Colvin;
Miss Jessel: Cheryl Barker;
Flora: Nazan Fikret;
Miles: Charlie Manton.
Director: David McVicar.
Conductor: Sir Charles Mackerras.
English National Opera, London Coliseum.
6th November 2009.
And to keep with the “cheery” theme I hope to conclude the celebrations with chants for the dead, well a requiem in effect. Hopefully these sombre musical brackets will properly encapsulate these mad days and lead the way into luckier hours ;-)
But if you do have spare good luck charms, feel free to send them this way ….. because this morning we started the day with the funerals of the newly deceased laptop of my colleague ..and now we are sharing mine… which by the way has a broken screen and a power-cable bravely hanging on by the shreds of scotch tape I have bandaged it with….
I fear… this is to be continued…
