But someone's got to do it.
How else do you keep cinemas, theatres, restaurants
and music theatres going, if it weren't for selfless
creatures like me forcing themselves to frequent them?
I've hardly had a minute for blogging.
It all started with a visit to the Art Cinema to see the 1951
Ealing Comedy "Lavender Hill Mob" with such greats as
Alec Guinness, Stanley Holloway and Sid James.
There was even a cameo role for a very youthful
Beloved giggled, snorted and belly-laughed throughout,
as did most of the audience. The general consensus was
"they don't make 'em like that anymore".
I sat there wondering what all the fuss was about.
Being the only person in the whole of the cinema who
saw this film for the first time I thought it mildly funny,
but wholly predictable.
How tastes change! Or perhaps the Brits have a point when they say that nobody else in the world has their wonderful sense of humour. Or maybe they don't. Yes, well . . . .
A day out in wonderful ancient Shrewsbury for some retail therapy and lunch. Shrewsbury is the Shropshire county town. The centre is well restored and preserved, with some
excellent and smart shops.
This is a postcard of Fish Street, formerly called
'Chepynstrete' (a market street) until the late
14th century, when the name was changed and
fishmongers and butchers traded here.
Neither fish, flesh nor fowl are to be had here now.
More culture to follow, a theatre play this time,
a comedy with serious undercurrents.
Four names famous in the UK: Michael Jayston, GwenTaylor, Timothy West and Susannah Yorke played retired opera singers living out their lives in a retirement home for ex-musicians.
All four actors are 'off the telly' which made the elderly audience titter even before the characters spoke their first lines. Coach party audiences are so determined to enjoy themselves, they laugh and
cheer their favourites for no reason that I can see.
Luckily the audience calmed down after a bit.
I do so hate sitting in the midst of what could well be a canned laughter soundtrack for some brainless
TV half-hour sitcom.
Yes, I do know that I am a cranky old spoilsport and a mean cow. And yes, in spite of the titters and
thoughtless laughter I enjoyed the show.
Not done yet, not by a long chalk.
The annual visit to Mid-Wales Opera was also due
Verdi's Falstaff may not be everybody's singalonga
favourite, but there is some great music and the
company consisted of several excellent singers, some quite outstanding, who deserved a full house rather than
the half empty house they had.
The recession bites deeply.
I am always amazed that such a small company, working
without massive subsidies and certainly without the
patronage the famous opera houses receive, can keep going at such a high standard.
At least the audience was very appreciative.
If you like opera (and if not, I'd like to know why not)
and the National Tour comes anywhere near where
you live in England, GO SEE THEM.
As if all that in less than two weeks hadn't been enough excitement for my fragile state of mental
stability, I invited a few friends to what was billed as a supper party, but turned into a full-blown dinner which lasted well into the small hours of this morning. I kid you not.
We had much fun talking about all the subjects not meant for a polite dinner table, like religion and the churches' hierarchy, politics and politicians, feminism and its decline, social workers' struggle to keep their sanity in a world horribly disposed to blame society's ills on them, books and music; when we had finally had our fill of such intellectual topics and permitted ourselves to get down to local gossip, the people round the table got their second wind; the party finally broke up around 2am, when I loaded the dishwasher and collapsed into bed. A stimulating evening like this keeps my brain in overdrive for hours, which means I have had little sleep.
I promise to get back to blog reading from tomorrow, in the meantime I need to recover.
It's been a hard slog, but it is all over now.