Random Jottings

Monday Ramblings

Have been fortunate the last few weeks with lots of books being sent to me by nice kind publishers who I think are so generous and wonderful and must be really nice people......

Souvenir Press have a wonderfully eclectic catalog with a truly amazing mixture of books and some of these make their way to my doorstep.  In the last couple of weeks I have had The Rosary by Gary Willis which will appeal to my Roman Catholic upbringing; not a book to sit and read but to keep by the bedside and dip into every now and then which is what I am going to do.  Then a book on the Basilica in Rome and the infighting and politicking following its construction.  All building projects seem to have the same result no matter what century they are erected it would seem, nothing new under the sun really.  Last year I read my first Knut Hamsun book which Souvenir Press also sent me and which I loved, so more of those to go on my reading list.  I also have two wonderful books about my favourite city on earth, Venice, on my shelves courtesy of James who seems to have an unerring eye for sending me stuff he knows I will love.  I must also mention of course that this publishing house are responsible for the Modesty Blaise books about which I have blogged earlier and which kept me riveted when I was in my teens.  As I mentioned in that post, I only recently discovered that Peter O'Donnell, the author of the Blaise books, also wrote historical novels under the name of Madeleine Brent and sent a begging letter to James asking if these could be reprinted as well.  I live in hope.  I do wish, however, that Souvenir Press would get a website......

Today, when I arrived at work there was a copy of Daphne by Justine Picardie awaiting me and I just love the cover and cannot wait to read this one.  Anything to do with the Brontes in any way is a must for me. 

I am sure that once I read this I will want to visit Haworth again and I really must try and get up there soon, have not been for ages, but best to get there out of season if at all possible. Somehow the Bronte Curry House, Keeper's Tea Rooms and Bronte ice cream doesn't seem so bad when there are no heaving crowds around.  NEVER, ever visit on a Bank Holiday or any time in the summer if you can possibly avoid it.  You will shuffle through the parsonage, unable to see anything properly or drink in the atmosphere. Do what I did, go and stay in Haworth in the winter, walk across the moors in the snow and crisp sunshine (but always let your host know where you are going), visit the Parsonage in the late afternoon when the sun has gone in, the sky is darkening and a wind is blowing.  Look at the parlour in the evening quiet where Emily, Charlotte and Anne would pace around the table talking and laughing and discussing their work and then trot across the hall and look at the Reverend Bronte's study where he sat alone each night.  if it is really quiet stand at the foot of the stairs and in the silence listen to the tick of the grandfather clock on the landing and remember how Charlotte described her first dreadful night home after her return from Scarborough where Anne had died. Remember that in nine months Branwell, Emily and Anne had all departed, and remember this night she had to get through sitting all alone in the parlour listening to the sound of the hands moving round the face of the clock, suffering so appallingly we cannot even imagine, and if you do not feel a frisson down your spine and a sense of overwhelming sadness, then there is no hope for you, none at all..........

But, I repeat, DO NOT visit in the summer.

All Things Jane

I have had a fair few books sent to me recently from Source Books relating to all things Jane and this weekend I finished another one, The Pemberley Chronicles by Rebecca Anne Collins.  The others read I have already posted about, Old Friends and New Fancies , and Mrs Darcy's Dilemma both of which I enjoyed immensely.

This book is in a different style altogether. The interest in reading the Chronicles is not so much the style or to see if it is sufficiently Janeite, but in the historical background against which it is set.  Critics of Jane Austen say that her stories are set in a vacuum, nothing intrudes, the time in which her six great novels are set could be any date and little reference is made to any outside events which might impinge on the worlds at Mansfield Park, Highbury, Bath or Pemberley. 

Rebecca Ann Collins sets the marriage of Darcy and Lizzie firmly in its historical context and we hear of local landlords enclosing their land and causing poverty and hardship, the Reform Act which changed the way Members of Parliament were elected, the accession to the throne of William IV and then Victoria and the coming of the railway.  Darcy, Bingley and the Gardiners are in business together and also become local philanthropists by setting up a local school, building a hospital and, by the end of the Chronicles, are taking an interest in the Children's Act and striving to stop underage children being exploited.

This slant to the story of Lizzie and Darcy and their friends and family makes for a more serious work, less lightness and charm and I have to confess that while I found this take on the events after Pride and Prejudice intriguing, for me it lacked a certain lightness.  This is, however, another worthy addition to the canon of all things Jane and next time I read Pride and Prejudice or, indeed, any of the novels I will be more aware of their historical background.

Only problem with reading three sequels on the trot is that I am now getting mixed up with how many children Darcy, Bingley, Lydia or the Gardiners have had and who marries who and it all gets a little confusing.  I have another two to hand, The Darcys Give a Ball by Elizabeth Newark (I have already checked the blurb and in this one it would appear that the Darcys have at least two sons and two daughters with different names from those in other books so I am sure to be even more confused that I am now), and The Watsons finished by Joan Aiken (another copy of which I have finished by somebody else...more confusion), so I certainly have enough Austen linked stories to keep me going for a while.

I will report on these in due course and am amazed, as ever, at the continuing fascination authors have with Jane Austen and the number of books such as these named above that are published year after year.    I blame it all on Colin Firth and that shirt.

Scanning for Dummies

A few months ago I purchased a brand new new dancing and singing printer, photocopier and scanner all in one.  I have used it for the first two tasks with no problems and when, over the Easter weekend, I started a job I had been promising to do for months, ie sort out my photos and start scanning and saving onto my computer, I decided to try the scanning part of this wonderful machine.

Well, could I get it to scan? No I couldn't.  Lots of clicking and whirring and nothing happening so I hied me off to the branch of PC World from whence it came and sought help from an IT expert.  In other words, I spoke to a youth aged about 12 liberally endowed with studs and ear-rings. 

I explained my dilemma and he looked at me and said 'Have you loaded the software on your PC?'  I replied in the negative. 'Ah well if you don't load the software on the printer just thinks it is still a printer and copier and won't scan'.  I looked at him 'How do I get the software then?'  He gave me that pitying, tolerant look that all the young give to middle aged ladies going soft in the head 'You should have had a disk with the printer when you bought it'.  I was silent.  'You haven't thrown it out have you?'  'DON'T be silly' I replied with all the indignation I could muster and swept out the store and headed for my car.

Drove home thinking please don't let me have thrown it out, I can't go back there if I I have lost it, I will have to go somewhere else, oh the shame...  Got home and rummaged in my basket full of spare scart leads, telephone leads, other leads which I have no idea where they came from or where they are going and there, with a triumphant shout, I spotted the disk I was looking for.

To cut a long story short I popped it in the disk drive, followed the instructions, which fortunately were couched in terms that could be understood by a ten year old, ie me, and I had the scanner up and running. I will now be able to scan those prints that I really wish to keep and chuck the rest (have already filled up a bin bag with hundreds of photos that are really useless), but it is a task that will take a while.

One of the first pics I scanned was this one.  I took this at Abu Simbel a few years ago when waiting for the sun to rise.  This was one of the most amazing and beautiful experiences of my life.  The stillness and quiet while everyone just sat and watched the sun come up, one moment all was dark and then gradually the sky turned pink and as the sun caught the facade of the temple, the stone turned the most staggeringly glorious rose colour and then in the full sunlight, a molten gold.  I found my throat closed up and my eyes filled with tears.  I had wanted to visit Abu Simbel ever since I read a book in my teens all about the moving of the temple and how it was saved from the Nile and I had finally fulfilled my ambition.  Took me forty years but I got there.

There will be lots more to come - be warned...

Just a reminder..

.....that spring and summer will be with us soon, fingers crossed, and this dreadfully rainy horrid bitter weather will soon end.  It will, won't it?   A photo taken of the Blue Lagoon at Comino island near Malta, translucent and beautiful and like swimming in silk.

Resistance - Owen Sheers

As I have mentioned before, probably to the point of tedium, there are the odd magical occasions in a concert hall or opera house where a performance, for no reason whatsoever, suddenly takes wing and what would normally be a good evening turns into an exceptional one.  The same happens with reading.  Most of the time you will read a selection of books that appeal and which you will enjoy and then, out of the blue, along will come a story that grabs you hard and won't let you go until the final page is read and the book shut up. 

This Easter weekend I had promised myself four days of rest and idleness, with the exception of reading, naturallement and after hearing good things about Resistance over on Cornflower, had this to hand for my holiday treat.  As soon as I started it, I put it down which sounds totally contradictory, but I just knew that if I did not, the rest of the day would go to pot and as I had certain things to do, put away temptation. 

So next day which was clear, I sat down and was up late at night finishing this simply stunning book. Imagine the D-Day landings had failed, the Germans had invaded England and were in occupation.  Imagine a small Welsh valley, remote and desolate and cut off from the outside world.  Imagine one morning waking up and finding your husband has vanished, the indent of his body is still in the bed, but his work boots have gone, his coat and no sign of him anywhere.  Imagine finding that all the men in this valley have also gone and left their women behind to manage without them.  They have all been recruited prior to the invasion to join the local resistance where there are no rewards and death is certain.

Imagine after finding you are all alone, a German patrol arrives, a small, especially selected band of men, no more than five in number who have been sent to the valley for a special reason (which I will not give away) and you have to learn to live with their presence.

Heading up the patrol is Albrecht, he and his men are weary and battle hardened and, as the winter closes in and the valley is cut off by heavy snow, he takes the decision that they will remain there, not disobeying orders for none have been received, but not making any effort to make contact either. As the weeks pass by they slowly regain normalcy, a respite from the horrors they have seen and begin to help the women on the farms. Gradually a wary truce and, even friendship, emerges as both the invader and invaded realise they can help each other.  They begin to imagine what life would be like when the war is over, Albrecht begins to think they can stay in the valley, be happy.  As the reader is privy to Albrecht's thoughts we warm to him and begin to feel empathy with his sadness and fragile optimism, but we know, deep down that he is living in a fool's paradise and that sooner or later he will have to face reality with the coming of the spring and the thaw.

We are also privy to the thoughts of the women who have been left to cope on their own, their anger and frustration as well as their fear that they will never see their husbands again. Both sides of the story are there for us to see and understand and it makes for compelling reading and totally captured my attention.

By the time I reached the last few chapters of Resistance I so wanted a happy ending and all to be well, but knew that it was never going to happen.  However, I was not prepared for the denouement and the sadness of the last few pages and I ended up with a lump in my throat and a feeling of sorrow that I had come to the end of this wonderful story.

I gather that Owen Sheers is a poet and this is his first work of fiction.  Seamless writing, flows beautifully, easy to read and with great depth and understanding, I simply loved this book.  I cannot wait for his next.

One of my books of 2008 - definitely.

Back to work

I knew it would happen.  After all we had snow over the weekend and, as I travel on a railway line which panics at the 'wrong kind of sun' (I kid you not) and the 'wrong kind of leaves', I had a sneaky feeling that Tuesday travel might be problematical and I was right.

No surprise to arrive at station to be met with a seething mass of discontented travellers.  Over running engineering works (shades of 2 January 2008 when no trains ran at all) and no trains to Liverpool Street. When asking for information I was told that the engineers had promised that they would be finished by 8 am but as they had said they would be finished at midnight last night, not much weight was attached to this promise.  Wondered if it was worth waiting for a train and the man I was chatting to fixed me with a look and asked 'Is your Journey Really Necessary?'.  Shades of World War II, almost expected him to tell me to go home and Dig for Victory....

I decided to go home and headed for the car park. Forty five minutes later as I sat in a total gridlock of cars and traffic and unable to move I pondered on the advisability of just having a cup of coffee on the station and waiting and began to feel I had made the wrong decision.  Then I heard an announcement wafting over the air from the station on the PA system that there were trains now going to London.  What to do and how to get out of the jam I was sitting in?  Next to where I was waiting was the space given over to cycles and motorbikes and in between the railings to which they were all chained, there was a narrow way through.  I looked at it, pondered, bit my lip and then thinking O what the hell embarked on what turned out to be a 20 point turn, thanking heavens all the time that I drive a nippy Nissan Micra, and managed to get through the gap out of the jam and parked my car once more and legged it to the station.  I should tell you now that this entire maneouvre was watched with total horror by the drivers around me, several of whom called out very mocking and totally unnecessary comments about women drivers which, of course, spurred me on to even greater endeavour.  I gave them a smirk when I had parked safely.

Arrived breathless on the platform once more just as a train arrived which was immediately packed out with waiting commuters, I decided to let it go and await the next one.  Five minutes later a train silently slunk into the platform where I was waiting and an announcement was made that this was an 'extra unit' slotted into the schedule and was only making one stop before London.  I therefore found myself sailing into work in a train that was practically empty, so shoes off, feet up, read paper and sip cappo which I had had the foresight to grab before starting the journey.  What with that, my banana, two books and an iPod, I felt fortified and ready for any travails that might come my way.

So though I arrived at my office an hour late, I arrived feeling fairly fresh.  Good thing about this particular train was that they had switched off the dreadful announcements tape that is played between each station telling us what train we were travelling on, where it was going, we should not smoke, we should not drink, we should be careful getting off the train, we shouldn't chuck our newspapers on the floor, we shouldn't breathe....

I made the entire journey in blissful silence and my iPod was not needed.   

I wonder what the journey home tonight will be like...

Opera Goodies

My credit card is cowering in a corner and whimpering with fear and I have been working out my opera budget for next year which I think is going to be stretched to its limit in the coming season at Covent Garden as I have just received an email from ROH with the full details of the coming season and boy there are some goodies in sight.

First up, Les Contes D'Hoffman by Offenbach.  This is regarded as Offenbach's 'grand' opera as opposed to all the lighter things he is usually known for, this one is full of the most sumptuous tunes, grand arias and trios unfurling one after the other and I have loved it for years.  This is the Schelesinger 1980 production still going strong, in which I was lucky enough to see Placido in the title role.  Now it is to be sung by Rolando Villazon, just hope that after his rest and absence from the opera stage, he will be in good form as he also is singing in Don Carlos in June, for which I have tickets.

Korngold's Die Tote Stadt, a new production to the ROH, is in January and February 2009 which sounds intriguing.  Korngold has become more appreciated as a composer over the last twenty years or so, before that snooty noses were turned up at him as he was mainly known for his film scores (Robin Hood, Captain Blood, Sea Hawk to name a few) and, therefore, beyond the classical pale.  His violin concerto is wonderful and this will be well worth seeing, particularly as one of the cast is Gerald Finley who I saw sing Onegin last year, great performance.

Of course what has delighted me more than anything, is that the Mighty Bryn is back.  After his cancellation of his Ring appearance last year which upset critics and the House, there were rumours that he would never be asked back again blah blah bla.  Well, the House is nothing if not pragmatic, there have been other great names in the past who have canceled on more than one occasion, and listed among this role of honour is Pavarotti, Callas, Domingo, Gheorgiou, Alagna and more recently than Bryn, Anna Netrebko, and they always come back.  With artists of such stature (perhaps stature is the wrong word in the case of Mr and Mrs Alagna, notoriety would perhaps be better as far as they are concerned) no opera house is going to go for the Never darken my doors Again bit and Bryn is such a popular artiste that it was a shoe-in that it would not be long before he was back in Floral Street.

Not only is he singing Scarpia in Tosca again (Deborah Voigt will be his Tosca - as she sings Wagner on a regular basis, this will mean that we have a Tosca worth of the title role to sing against Bryn.  The second act will be something else.  Angela G sang it when I saw this production when it was premiered and I was very disappointed in her), but, he is singing in the Flying Dutchman for the first time at ROH.  He has done it with Welsh National Opera, which I saw, and while the sight of Bryn in full length black leather coat and hair tied back in a ponytail and singing gloriously was truly mesmerising, the production was so totally and utterly dire that I spent most of the evening with my eyes closed just listening to the music.  This has happened to me often in the opera house, sadly to say more with Wagner than any other composer, and as opera is meant to be a visual as well as an aural art,  sitting in an extremely expensive seat and not watching the stage, rather diminishes the experience.  So, fingers crossed, this production will be worth seeing.

Loads more tempting goodies over the next year:  Renee Fleming in Traviata, Hrovostovsky as Count Luna in Trovatore,  my favourite Verdi opera, Un Ballo in Maschera with Vargas and Alvarez, Barber of Seville with Simon Keenlyside as Figaro and Juan Diego Flores as Almaviva (what a stunning combo that will be).  Lots of other goodies as well, Lohengrin, L'Elisir D'Amore, La Fanculla del West  and more, but I think this is enough to be going on with.

As I said my credit card is bracing itself...

What a difference a day makes

On the left - Friday.  On the right - Sunday.  Sunny one day, snowbound the next, totally amazing Easter weather.  Went out this morning muffled up to the eyes with heavy snow fall, came back from my lunch out and the sun was shining, the snow had disappeared and it was as if it had never happened. 

Easter and Precious

This has to be one of the coldest Easters I can remember, windy and chill and snow flurries this morning, though short lived.  With half the train network closed down for 'essential engineering works' and roads and airports crammed with travellers just wanting to get away, it seems to me the perfect time to draw the curtains, put the heating on nice and high and hunker down in old dressing gown and fluffy socks and stay indoors and read.  So that it what I am doing.  Classic FM is on the radio as each Easter they have their Hall of Fame, all 300 favourite classics chosen by listeners and this is broadcast all over the holiday weekend.  The ads are irritating so I flick those off, but this station is the perfect backdrop for my planned weekend, all the popular classics are there, loads of Beethoven and Mozart, Tchaikovsky, Brahms et al and it is very restful and enjoyable.

To continue this relaxed mood and to forget the wuthering wind outside my window (forgive the alliteration), and to make me feel warmer, I turned to the latest in the No 1 Ladies Dectective Agency which I read through in one session this afternoon.  The Miracle at Speedy Motors features once more the wonderful Precious Ramotswe of 'traditional build', her spunky assistant Grace Makutsi and her quiet, sweet husband, Mr J L B Matekoni.  Every time I open the pages of one of these wonderful books, I feel a relaxation and restfulness of spirit settle upon me and the world recedes and once more I am in Botswana and the slower pace of life so far removed from my weekly dash and commute.

As I have said before on this blog, these are gentle books, no murder, no guns, no nastiness, just small matters of a fraudulent tenancy, a lady with no family looking for lost relatives as she is lonely, the purchase of a new bed for the future marriage of Grace and her fiance Phuti, even the receipt of anonymous letters to the 'Fat Lady' is dealt with in the end by kindness and a philosophical acceptance of human nature.

I read most of Alastair McCall Smith's output, though I have decided the Scotland Street stories are perhaps a little too rambling for my taste, I found the last one rather tedious, sadly, and I love the Sunday Philosopher's Club series, bu the No 1 Detective Agency books remain my favourite.  My 95 year old mother adores these, I once loaned her five and she sat and read the lot in a week, and I have promised to lend her this one when I see her this weekend.

Of course, we have the pleasure on Sunday night of watching the television premiere of the film, which event has had a shadow cast over it by the untimely death of its director, Anthony Minghella.  He was to have been in charge of the 13 part series which was to follow later in the year, but the BBC have reassured us that they will still be made in his memory, so I hope they keep to their word.

I have just started reading another book, in complete contrast to the gentleness that is Botswana, and which has already got me totally gripped, but more about that another day.

I wish everyone a Happy Easter whether they are in sunshine or in snow.

Easter Treats