I'll drink to that!

 

 

Today is to be a day given over to the completion of tasks.

     A fine start, and that statement would be more impressive if it was not being written at ten past four in the afternoon, but resolve is resolve, however late the commencement.

     I wrote a list of Things To Do while having my after-swim cup of tea, a well-earned cup, considering that I was loath to get up to go to the pool this morning.  But shame (or some comparable emotion) motivated me to attempt a cursory wash and more thorough brushing of my teeth, and I was (reluctantly) good to go.  And go I went.

     A moderate swim, where all my customary exercises and lengths were completed in water that was my-friend-Carles-cold, but ideal for swimming for me.  I sometimes think that it is only in the waters of the Caribbean than Carles would be satisfied – whereas I have never really got over the shock of retreating from the clammy heat of our Mexican resort and not finding the cold, invigorating shock of British waters that I was more used to, but something more bath-water-warm!

     In a temperature of only 17C I sat and wrote, wondering as I did so whether the weather was going to be sufficiently cosy for us to celebrate my birthday, later in the month, outside - as I fully intend to.

     At my last Birthday Lunch, I have to admit that not a great deal of food passed my lips, but rather a considerable quantity of home-made punch.  I had a thoroughly good time, but I do not intend to repeat the proportions of that repast.  For my birthday this year round I have determined that the drink (inter alia) will be Sangria de Cava, and that the food will be again provided by my friend who had a pollo a last in the town centre.  He did us proud last time round, so I intend to repeat the order - and this time eat some of it.

     As the centrepiece of the meal will be suckling pig (which I will have him divvy up into individual portions) I felt that the Cava ought to be of a superior quality, even if it is to be augmented with juice, fruit, pop and liqueur, and to that end I searched through the Internet hand have found a site that offers a decent Cava at a very much more than decent price. 

     Those who do not live in Catalonia (the Home of Cava) have to understand that it is more than possible to find a drinkable Cava for less than three quid, so one is able to splash out a little and get something presentable for nowhere near the exorbitant price of Champagne.  I have, therefore, taken a chance and have ordered a limited-edition Cava (in a very nice and stylish bottle, and yes, I am shallow enough to be persuaded by design) which should be delivered well in advance of the event itself.  Even the Cointreau and Spanish Brandy are not as expensive as they would be in the UK, so one is able to be a little freer with regard to the ‘body’ of the Sangria than at home!

     And that is as far as my planning has gone so far.  Although completion of this blog is another task done. 

     So, progress is being made!

 

And the rain, it raineth every day!

 

A storm complete with lashing rain, thunder and totally theatrical lightning – and today serene and sunny, a more than reasonable 23ºC.  In Catalonia there is rarely that held-over spitefulness of continuing bad weather that Britain likes just to rub it in!

     Our house is not impervious to storms and Toni is usually quick to lower the outside blinds to shield us from water ingress.  But yesterday, ingress it did, and we are still trying to work out exactly how and where.  That does not sound as stupid as it writes as there was a puddle in front of the television which was more like a self-contained lake than something fed by tributary streams.  There is also a disconcertingly elegant (if unnecessary) extended streak of a dried water track on one of the inside walls, where our wall adjoins the next house.  That is a mystery deserving of more investigation.

     The basic problem of the house is that it is, I suspect, shoddily made and our landlords have done virtually nothing to upkeep the place over the years.  The only time they have ventured to do something is when actual human life is threatened, as for example in eventually dealing with the large broken branch of one of our neighbour’s trees overshadowing our garden and swinging out over the pavement, or some of the stone cladding on the house breaking away and falling.  God alone know when the electrics of the house have last been tested and the pipes looked at.  Certainly, the front of the house has not been painted for decades and looks set to be dingy for decades more.

     We do not have double glazing, and the window frames are ageing wood, and I suspect that the glass in the window is more suitable for framing domestic art than keeping out the elements.

     Why, you may well ask, do we not move?  And the answer is the old three word response: location, location, location.  And so, we make do, and mop.

 

 

I did not trust the pool to be open this morning and so I had an extra hour or so in bed.  Our mobile phones are full of pictures of the the main road in the centre of Castelldefels looking more like a shallow canal with cars ploughing through as if they are hoping to give a good watery display for any passing Ticktocker with an active camera, ready to post.

     There are certain key spots in Castelldefels that flood even with a moderate amount of rain, so they become impassable with a decent storm.  As much of Castelldefels is built at or even below sea level, and a substantial part of it is built on a reclaimed marsh, it is hardly surprising that water tends to stay in place rather than drain away – and one of the places that it remains, is opposite the entrance to the Pool, and indeed in the car part of the Pool itself.

     One of the civic messages that I read this morning states that there are likely to be ‘problems’ with flooding during part of today.  The flood warning extended from last night up until 6 am this morning, so there will have been some adventurous driving needed to get around – at last justifying the high-rise 4 by 4s that so many of the affluent affect in this area.  Although, thinking about it for more than a moment, the state of many of our roads also calls for rugged suspension, where roots of adjacent pine trees cause roads to be switchbacks!

     

 

     And visitors are arriving this Sunday!  With one threatening retribution on whoever is around at the time unless there is a goodly amount of autumnal sun!  We will have to see what we can do.

 

 

Aida boxed?

 

 

   

 

Dozens of Ukrainians protest in front of the Liceu for the presence of Anna Netrebko at the inaugural 'Aida'. ARA

I could hear the Liceu before I saw the doors.  This was not music permeating from the inside, but a demonstration outside.  A group of protesters were (loudly) making their views know about the Liceu’s choice of Russian singer to take the lead in their production of Aida.

     Anna Netrebko is alleged to be fairly closely aligned with Putin, and although she has made various statements about the present situation, those protesters felt that neither she, nor the Liceu had taken strong enough action to show their rejection of the on-going conflict in Ukraine, and also of the accused war criminal and murderer Putin, in his continuation of the war.

     I did speak to one of the protesters and expressed my sympathy for his position but also said that I would be going inside and be a part of the audience.  I said that I would speak to a manager to make my attitude clear, but I felt that I was acting with the cost of my seat in mind, and not with the prompting of my conscience.

     I suppose the trouble is that all of we ‘right thinking’ people have made our positions clear: we do not support Putin in his invasion and his war, and we want to see the conflict resolved as soon as possible.  But, apart from expressing opinions, what have we actually done?

     I did speak to a member of the management, who said I should speak to Public Relations and that somebody would be available at the end of the show.  And that was enough to enable me to enter the theatre, having done (that word really should be in inverted commas) more than most, merely by voicing something to somebody!  Not much, but more than nothing.

     As I sit in the front row of the audience, I get an unobstructed view of the orchestra and as Aida is one of the grand Grand Operas, it was encouraging to observe a very full pit and know that there would also be on-stage and off-stage musicians swelling the sound.

     The Prelude was brilliantly played by an on-form orchestra conducted by Antonello Manacorda, and the curtain rose to reveal the set designed by Christian Schmidt: a gigantic white revolving box which slowly rotated, showing static tableaux of various figures.  The box had different sides and opened out during the performance and had projection shown on it, but the basic stage form for this ‘grand’ opera was fundamentally stripped-back tedious.

     The Egyptian and Ethiopian setting of the piece was both referenced and ignored.  We were invited to view the spectacle through a twentieth century perspective with soldiers dressed in unforms and fatigues, but were also presented with priests who wore costumes that suggested Christian Orthodox or Coptic influences, while the Priestesses suggested something Islamic.  The waving of a large black flag at one climactic point in the production and the singing of praises to the Egyptian goddess Isis also made me think that it was a reference to ISIS!

     I have no objection to updating a classic piece of operatic repertoire, but I like to have a certain coherence in the directorial viewpoint, and Shirin Neshat did not give me that in her presentation of events.

     What conflicts were we supposed to be following?  The violence on stage and on film was neither engaging in a narrative sense nor gripping in theatrical terms.  There was a confusion between the literal and the figurative and we were left wondering what was real and what was metaphorical in theatrical terms.

     This confusion was shown best in the final scene of the opera when Radames and Aida are locked in a claustrophobic tomb – which was presented in a large open space carved into the cube and Aida’s presence was ‘revealed’ by the opening of a circle of unexplained black veiled figures, who, after the reunion made their way off stage via two convenient doors.  Why didn’t Radames and Aida follow them? 

     But this was just one instance when the logic of the stage was not followed.  In the scene with Radames being revealed as a traitor there were enough characters on stage (and at hand) easily to stop the escape of Aida and Amonasro, and to capture them.

     Ritual and stagecraft, reality and convention constantly clash in this vision of Aida, but not productively.  The scene changes were done behind the curtain and the exposed apron strip was occupied by a procession of characters from soldiers, through priests to what appeared to be corpses – in the performance I saw the latter got a slow handclap form some members of the audience and scattered boos as by that point in the opera we had all become irritated by the self-indulgence of the director.  The conductor had to turn around and give a stern look into the darkness to quell the mutiny!

     But the music was excellent.  The playing of the flute solo at the beginning of Act III the prelude to the Nile scene was superb; the six on stage fanfare trumpeters was electric, and the wall of sound that came at the most triumphant moments was almost overwhelming.  Indeed, I did feel that at times the balance between an enthusiastic orchestra and gutsy singers was a little too much in favour of the instrumentalists rather than the soloists, but overall, it was an exceptional music performance, conducted with precision and a close attention to detail by Manacorda.

     Netrebko commanded the role of Aida, though I thought her quasi-balletic movements were more stylized than they needed to be, given the apparent realism of the depictions of conflict, but she was confident in all registers, and her extended high notes were breathtaking.

     Ivan Gyngazov as Radames was a more than equal partner to Netrebko, as was Artur Rucinski as her father Amonasro.

     Ekaterina Semenchuk as Amneris was excellent, though her voice is not entirely one I feel comfortable with as it has a harsher element in it to my ear.

     Moises Marin as the Messenger made the most of his set piece with a voice that had power, lyricism and depth.

     I felt that George Andguladze as the King was slightly under-sung, but he had some stiff competition on stage!

     The Chorus was excellent, but they were not asked to do very much in theatrical terms, and were more static than necessary, unless that was part of the ‘idea’ in some way.

     This was an excellent musical performance inside an indifferent production, where the inherent difficulties and contradictions in an ill thought-out or perhaps over-thought producer’s vision detracted from making this a truly satisfying evening.

 

Play Real, or Live Real?

 

Yet another heart stopping mobile phone warning about adverse weather conditions, especially shocking when it comes out of the blue – literally, clear skies and sunshine, that make a raucous alarm even more surprising.

     We have had a number of these alarms recently and it really does sound (literally) as if the political powers that be are collectively covering their respective asses.  To be fair we are also treated to pictures of horrendous flooding or giant-sized hailstones or equivalent, but elsewhere.  Not in our immediate area.

      I would always agree that it is better to err on the side of caution and to give general warnings where necessary, even if the bad weather conditions could be localized a little more precisely – but, there again, we do have transport options that make our locality wider than our houses.

     I have now been informed that the ‘alarm’ was to tell us that the period covered by the previous ‘alarm’ was now over and we could relax.  That it going to make my fraught drive into the centre of Barcelona, just a little bit more restful.  As if!

     I will have to wait for tomorrow to find out why swimming was cancelled this morning.  And I asked Chat, and it appears that the closure was a Generalitat instruction that all sporting activity was to be closed until 3pm today.  Everything explained.  But a day’s swim missed.

 

As a general point, it is significant that I am turning more and more to Chat for information more than Google or the other search engines, in spite of the fact that Google has made the search more like Chat, and it is possible to have the ‘conversations’ as you search that make the job of research so much more interesting.

     The problem as I see it is one of trust.  For example, when I asked about the pool closure this morning, I got an answer with enough subsidiary information and illustration to allow me to believe that it is genuine and accurate.  As indeed it was.  But my checking for sources was cursory and my faith in the accuracy – and the willingness of ‘my’ version of Chat to tell me if something is not fully checked out – is becoming increasingly fixed rather than tested.

     Google, for example, gave me a totally convincing summation of information about one topic that I was researching which convinced right up until I began testing the sources on which it was basing its descriptions.  It eventually turned out that it did have certain items of authentic information, but it extrapolated from those bases and produced something that was superficially convincing, but basically fiction rather than fact.  But it looked so good and it did list references, that again looked academic until you started testing them.

     Chat does have a qualifier that states that “Chat can be wrong” and that everything needs to be checked, but that has the same strength and reality as the tick that you put at the end of terms and conditions so show that you have read them.  Truth and reality are tricky prospects and AI is making them more and more fluid.

    

Which means that my entry into the blatantly make-believe world of Grand Opera in this afternoon’s performance of Aida in the Liceu, can be seen as somehow more real than the AI world which now surrounds us because, in Opera the artifice is up-front rather than lurking in the background!

 

 

 

Culture Calls!

 

 

 

A laconic message on my phone saying that 8.00 am swimming tomorrow is cancelled.  No explanation.

     Is later swimming OK?  If people have booked later sessions, are they still available?  I could of course phone up and ask, but that seems far too simple a process, while there is fruitless speculation to tempt!

     And lie-ins are not an enjoyable prospect for me.  As I get up at 5.45 am each day for my 6.30 am swim, the fact that I have to stay in bed until 7.15 am on the weekends because of the later starts, is something of a trial, as my body clock is set to get me to rise earlier.  The extra time ‘gained’ in bed is lost to me as I struggle to stay rested and prone.

     And we have just had yet another mobile phone warning about inclement weather for tonight until the early hours – though I do not think that is a factor in the cancellation of the swim tomorrow.  Possibly.

 

Instead, I will concentrate on the performance that I am going to see tomorrow in the Liceu, the first production of the season, and starting with a Grand Opera Blockbuster – Aida!  And this will be the first of the productions that will have a specially produced individual programme just for me – a touch of tautology there, but worth it to emphasise the special nature of the publication.

     Aida is one of those operas that I have seen umpteen times, but I still consider it one that I do not know in the way that I would like to.  Obviously, I can hum along with the famous bits, but the totality of the experience has always eluded me.

     Sometimes it takes a particular performance or perhaps a truly inventive staging of the production to bring an opera firmly into my personal repertoire.   

     Seeing the dress rehearsal of Eugene Onegin in an 1980 WNO production conducted by Mark Ermler with Josephine Barstow and Tom Allen, with sets by Michael Yeargan and directed Andrei Serban, took an opera I had never heard before and made it an immediate part of my world.  I still remember the real corn stalks in the opening scenes, the floating window for Tatyana’s dream, and the gleaming white carpet for the final duel in the snow!

     Or an equally arresting production, which I again first saw in a dress rehearsal, of WNO’s 1978 production The Makropulos Case, with astonishing sets designed by Maria Björnson, the production directed by David Poutney and conducted by Richard Armstrong, with Elizabeth Söderström as Makropulos.  Once seen, so known; and what some might regard as a difficult opera to take to on a first hearing, rapidly became the opera that I have probably heard and seen the most!

     It is when I remember productions like these that I think of what might be my Perfect Opera Season of a dozen or so productions. 

     Here are the first six that came to mind, in no particular order:

 

The Rise and Fall of the City of Mahagonny – Brecht/Weill

Four Saints in Three Acts – Virgil Thomson

Akhnaten – Philip Glass

A Midsummer Night’s Dream – Benjamin Britten

La Boheme – Giacomo Puccini

 

When I feel strong enough, I might attempt to draw up the other six candidates for inclusion!

 

 

Three Local Mysteries — Castelldefels, Gavà and Les Botigues

Three Local Mysteries — Castelldefels, Gavà and Les Botigues

 

 This was largely written with the active help of AI Chat.

1. The stopped redevelopment of the Passeig Marítim, Les Botigues

What is being done: The stretch from the Castelldefels boundary towards Port Ginesta is undergoing a complete reconstruction by Spain's Ministry for Ecological Transition. Work began in November 2025, budgeted at about €4.15 million, with completion originally scheduled for September 2026. There are separate Sitges council works around the Port Ginesta entrance. VisitSitges

Why has it stopped? The Ministry's project was being financed through EU Next Generation funds. The project missed the funding timetable and the available European allocation was exhausted. Continuation therefore requires a new Spanish government budgetary procedure/credit modification. Sitges council has been told that work should resume, but we have found no firm restart date.

The important distinction: this appears to be a financial/administrative interruption, not abandonment of the project. The half-finished state of the paseo is therefore, rather wonderfully, a physical manifestation of European and Spanish public-finance bureaucracy.

Still to discover: when the new funding is formally authorised and when contractors actually return.

---

 

2. The enormous Castelldefels flood-water project

What it is: A new storm-water pumping station for the Interceptor Nord, being constructed in Carrer Aragó, near the Canal Olímpic/UPC area. Cost: approximately €14.8 million, principally funded by the Catalan Water Agency (ACA), with FEDER European co-financing. Ajuntament de Castelldefels

Why it is necessary: much of coastal Castelldefels occupies former marshland and is extremely low-lying. During intense rain, gravity alone cannot get the water to the Mediterranean quickly enough. The existing Interceptor Nord is capable of carrying much more water than the present system can effectively evacuate.

The new station is intended to allow the Interceptor to operate at up to 31 m³/second. Interestingly, council publications are inconsistent about the present capacity: earlier material says about 5 m³/s, whereas an August 2026 council report says 13 m³/s. The safe statement is therefore that the new installation is intended to raise effective evacuation capacity substantially, ultimately to 31 m³/s. Ajuntament de Castelldefels

Where the water goes: the Interceptor system ultimately reaches the sea at Plaça de les Palmeres, around Carrers 16–17. During exceptional events the sand barrier across the beach is opened/breached so the accumulated water can reach the Mediterranean.

That produces the environmental question: this is urban storm runoff, not treated sewage, but it isn't clean water either. It can contain road oils, tyre/brake residues, litter, sediment, animal waste and other pollutants. Increasing the hydraulic capacity also raises the question of what a very large discharge does to the sand and sediment dynamics of the beach.

Still to discover: the actual engineering drawings showing precisely where the concrete/engineered outlet ends, where the anti-return gates are, how water crosses the beach, and what protection against scour and beach erosion has been designed. That remains the most interesting unanswered question.

And the brick pumping building near the Canal Olímpic road is a different system altogether: Estació elevadora d'aigua residual Costa Castelldefels I—a sewage pumping station. The fact that both sewage and storm water require pumping is itself a nice illustration of Castelldefels's peculiar geography.

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3. The sudden death of La Pava

What happened: La Pava, a landmark beside the C-31 for roughly 65 years, closed abruptly at the beginning of September 2026. The complex had included the pizzeria, braseria, bakery, pollastres a l'ast/rostisseria and takeaway operations. The closure surprised customers, neighbours and apparently Gavà council itself. La Vanguardia

Employees reportedly finished a Monday shift and were told they needn't return the following day. The owners have made no public statement explaining the closure. Bruguers Digital

What the press says: recent C-31 roadworks and altered access have been mentioned as a possible factor, but no published source has established that as the cause. Indeed, the major works had been completed before La Pava closed. The press continues to report the reason as unknown. RAC1

What our digging uncovered: there is evidence of a much earlier corporate transition. The two companies associated with Grupo La Pava—Pizzeria La Pava SL and Madefin SL—underwent coordinated changes of administrator. Juan Marine Bellido relinquished them in 2023; Antonio Sánchez Valero succeeded him; and in February 2025 Eduardo Salvador Juan became administrator of both simultaneously. Customers were already referring to a “nuevo dueño” or saying “han cambiado de dueño” during 2024. That is circumstantial evidence of a change in control, not proof of precisely what was bought or sold.

The intriguing possibility: the restaurant business and the underlying real estate may be separate assets. Given the site's size and position—C-31 frontage, opposite the campsite and surrounded by the residential areas of Gavà Mar/Castelldefels—the land and buildings could represent a very substantial asset independently of the restaurant goodwill.

There is currently no evidence that we have found of an announced redevelopment, so we mustn't leap from “valuable land” to “they closed it to build flats.”

Still to discover: who owns the actual cadastral parcel and buildings; whether ownership changed when management of the restaurant companies changed; its planning classification; and whether any planning application, sale or development proposal subsequently appears.

 

Cullture, Politics, Money - and other concerns!

 

 

I am not watching or reading anything of real value at the moment.

     I am partially binge watching Ghosts (Netflix) and not (NOT, emphatically not Ibsen) but rather a jolly, undemanding Sunday-afternoon-TV sort of series.  This about a young couple who inherit an old house from a distant aunt and discover that it is full of ghosts.  Which the female part of the couple can actually see because of a near-death experience.

     The ghost characters span the years stretching from a Viking, via a representative of the indigenous peoples of the area, to a trouser-less almost up to date idiot, taking in a flower-power hippie, a black jazz singer, and an American Revolutionary Officer on the way.

     The variety allows for a somewhat picaresque approach as the back stories of the ghostly individual characters interact with the living or other ghosts.  It is effortless watching and there are some moments of wry humour.  But it remains a guilty pleasure that consumes time that I feel I should be spending on other more worthy matters.

     My reading is equally easy, with my just having finished reading Nine Minutes of Sun by F G Harrow.  This Sci-Fi novel is set on a distant ice bound planet where the inhabitants of the underground shelters are threatened by a heat devouring ‘other’ that threatens the existence of the human population.  It is a well worked narrative and the description of politics and the mechanics of living in challenging situations is carefully crafted and has a gritty realism within the fantasy that is compelling.

     As this was one of my ‘free’ books courtesy of the internet, I was not really surprised to find out when I got to the end that this book is one of a series, the rest of which needs payment!  Not unreasonable.  But my enjoyment of the book was not sufficient to encourage me to pay for the next instalment.

 

I am something of a fan of the Father Brown short stories of by G K Chesterton, though it is many years since I have read them.  Therefore, a casual glimpse of the television series based on the character was enough for me to give the tele my attention and follow the episode. 

     I was also drawn to the fact that the character of Father Brown, the unlikely Roman Catholic parish priest detective, played in the television series by Mark Williams, which has been running since 2023 and has over 140 episodes to its credit.

     Williams is perhaps better known as Arthur Weasley in the Harry Potter films and for his excellent comic work in The Fast Show.

     The episode that I saw was called The Viper’s Tongue and it originally aired in January 2022.  It concerns a woman who returns to Father Brown’s village to avenge the death by suicide of her sister on those who she considers drove her sister to it.

     And Williams as Father Brown was awful.  His acting was wooden, his charisma nil, and his ability to mouth religious platitudes embarrassingly unconvincing. 

     Just as with The Dresser you have to believe that the wreck of an old style actor in that play could have played Lear in his past, so with Father Brown the actor must have the ability to make you believe that he could be a Parish Priest with an extraordinary ability to solve seemingly intractable problems in crime.  It is the clash of incisive minded analyst and kindly, umbrella wielding priest that makes for the drama, and is the USP of the stories.

     Perhaps I just saw a dud episode, it is the only one I have seen, but all the rest of the cast were the usual professional jobbing actors and character part players that the British acting community do so well, giving the perfect acting setting for Williams to do his starring bit.  Which he didn’t. 

     What is especially galling is I know that I have seen him act better than this.  I felt cheated.

 

And it’s raining.  At least we have no had another of those intrusive mobile phone bad weather warnings, but we have an a period of extended heavy rain, so that we can be absolutely sure that all the usual places on our roads will be flooded.

     Next to a Catalan School and the site of The British School of Barcelona there is a building site which is supposed to be constructing something to deal with the flooding by capturing (in some way or other) the excess water that our inadequate drainage system is incapable of dealing with.

     As is often the way, what at first appeared just to be a big hole in the ground has developed into something much more sophisticated and much more expensive.

     I have been having extensive conversations with Chat and have discovered more information about this structure.  It is, in effect, a giant pumping station that can force excess rainwater through a system of pipes and out into the sea.  Since this new collection of pumps can pump up to six times the present volume of water, it would be good to know just what quality of water will be being added to our local patch of the Med every time we have a downpour.

     It turns out that there will be no treatment of the water and that the excess will be pumped out into a channel on the beach to make its way to the sea.  At present, although I have turned up an amount of technical information the precise details of where and when are not yet settled.  Chat has asked me to do some photographing of likely areas where the outfall is supposed to occur and we will take it from there.

 

Another question has been bothering us as well.  At the end of the sweep of our beach towards Port Ginester, there have been extensive works on the coastal road and the paseo, which have now ground to a halt.  The works here were supposed to have been completed last month, but the stretch is still a building site, and one half of the road has had to be closed with wire netting restricting access to the beach. 

     It turns out that money has run out, and so all work is on stop until funding is made available for it to continue.  The powers that be have said that work will resume “soon” – but no firm date has been given, and we all know what that means!

 

It does say something that AI does give access to what could only be discovered with hours of research and frustration.  Now the frustration is almost immediate when you find out just what has been going on in your name with your money.

     And that is progress of a sort!

    

 

They are here somewhere!

  

The innocuous request by Suzanne to borrow a few of my books has thrown me into a controlled panic.

     The last time that my books were even in a system that offered some sort of coherent order (at least according to MY rules) was when I was in Cardiff.  The move from Cardiff to Catalonia necessitated the packing up of all my books for transportation.     

     And then, at the other end, it was impossible to unpack them all because of restraints of space.  It was equally impossible not to have the maximum number of books available for me to see so, as soon as I could, I brought boxes of books, piecemeal, from the storage facility where the bulk of them were imprisoned.  This approach meant that my books appeared in irregular consignments which also meant a fairly chaotic arrangement on the shelves as they became available.

     I am ashamed to admit that the ‘fluid’ arrangement of my books has never really been taken in hand, with the end result that volumes from different genres and Literary periods rest cheek by jowl on shelves that laugh at any attempt at justification for their co-habitation.

     I keep telling myself that this un-systematic-system makes for interesting juxtapositions, and I have rediscovered various volumes in searching for something else that have easily deflected me from my main purpose, while at the same time reacquainting me with texts that I last read half a century ago.  Or even longer.

     And the fact I can say that gives one pause for thought!

     But to the present.  I know that I own the books that Suzanne has asked me for, but I’m buggered if I can find them.  As is usual in these expeditions (or excavations as they should be more properly known) I have come across things that I had forgotten about, yes, ‘things’ because my shelves are not just repositories for books but also accommodate framed pictures, tools, a soft toy, clothes and – you get the point, a well-run and organized library is not what I have, or would enjoy if I actually did have it.  I take the injunction “Know Thyself” not quite with the seriousness of the ancient Greeks, but as a gentle reminded to be aware of at least some of my limitations, and the ability to be ‘tidy’ is the antithesis of my affinity with clutter. 

     So, I should accept who things are and make the best of things and hope that in some other rummaging, order (of some sort) will emerge.   

Possibly.

    

 

Here comes the rain!

 

 

There are few things as comforting as being inside, safe and dry, while rain hammers down outside.

     The first few drops of what has become a fully-fledged (with mobile phone alerts!) storm, complete with long rumbles of thunder and distant flashes of lightning has now arrived in full force.

     In the extended prelude to this storm, I sat outside the café of our local pool sipping my English Breakfast & Earl Gray Melange in a camply OTT faux (moulded) cut glass outsized cup when the first erratic drops fell.   

     But you could tell that rain was immanent because of the swarms of flies and mosquitos that flocked to my unprotected skin – in spite of the fact that I am Group A+ - and not their favourite tipple of Group O.  And these flies did not take an angry sweep for an answer, relying on their insect speed to avoid any exasperated hand movements, and resettle on the tastier parts of my epidermis with smug pity for my leaden reactions!

     It was when the spots of rain developed a more insistent rhythm that I decided to call it a day and pay up and go.  It turned out that I was ahead of the storm and reached the house before the weather truly broke.

     As is usual here in Castelldefels, even in the middle of a downpour, you can still see patches of blue in the sky as a visible sign of the unspoken promise of the weather in this area that, “this too will pass,” but with the added adjective proviso of, “soon”.  That, anyway, is what I believe.  It may sometimes be delusion, but like all firm delusions, it keeps me happy and hopeful!

 

I have spent some time re-editing a poem I wrote recently called, “On Looking Into the Eyes of a Hoverfly” the newest version of which can be found at

https://smrnewpoems.blogspot.com/

 

I have almost reached the stage where I could compile a slim volume of poetry based solely on the number of poems I have written on insect life and my interactions with it.  Though I won’t.   

Though I will try and add new work to that blog on a more regular basis than I have in the immediate past. 

     I do urge readers to click the “follow” button in my blogs so that you can get the most recent additions.

 

PS We have just had another mobile phone alert telling us that "the rain is going to stop soon" and with that message the rain instantly increased in intensity with a gratuitous roll of thunder complete with lightning!  Nature will not be digitally contained! 

 

To float at last!

 

Loath though I am to admit it, three weeks exile from the pool and ‘forced labour’ in the gym has had some sort of effect.

     Today was Liberation Day when the pool was finally reopened after the (extended) period of Maintenance work.  This grim period usually extends over a fortnight, and I can just about tolerate the regime of light-use machine work that I devise to fill up an hour of exercise.  But this year the work was over three weeks, and that extra week was almost unsupportable.

     With the liberal use of Kindle on my mobile phone for the bike and the walk, I am usually able to get through to the end of my stipulated period of torture and feel justified in my monthly payment which is specifically for Gym & Pool, so I am entitled to be there, in spite of my pointedly ignoring the gym for eleven-and-three-quarters months of the year.

     Yesterday I ritually knocked the dust from my shoes and vowed that my return to that particular circle of Hell would be no sooner than one long calendar year’s time, when the Maintenance work must begin again.

     Meanwhile, at 6.30 am this morning I was first into the water of the newly maintained pool and relaxed into the comfort of an adequately heated environment and started my swim/exercise that starts my usual day.

     And this is where what I have been doing for the past three weeks (apart from a few carless days) comes into its own.

     I start my ‘swim’ with physio approved exercises that when I first did them just after my knee operations made me yelp with pain.  Pain that was stonily ignored by the physio themselves (they were a moveable feast of considerate torturers) as they urged me to further exertions.  Now, using the cushion of the water’s hold, I can do the exercises with some ease, even the knee bends that at one time I thought would be impossible short of general anaesthetic!

     After about 30 minutes of stretches and bends and a couple of leg paddle lengths using floats, I start my swim proper with a push off from the end and crawl with my face submerged.  At one time I could do a length and a half with no real problem, but I have struggled to complete 20m of the pool in recent times.  So, it was with considerable surprise that I effort-fully managed to do a full length of the pool, which surely indicates that I have not been wasting my time during the pool closure.

     My swim was engagingly interrupted by other ‘regulars’ indicating by voice and air pumps their appreciation of the re-opened pool.  And, I should add, I do not mean to give a one-sided picture of the facilities of our city.  There are other pools that we could have used, quite apart from a chunk of the Med that runs along the southern edge of Castelldefels and an outdoor community pool for our houses.  But Our Pool is different, and to use other (lesser) pools (or seas) would be, somehow, verging on the treacherous.

     There are five lanes in our 25m pool, and, in theory, they can accommodate three people in each lane.  In practice, this is not true as the side lanes have steps leading into the water restricting the width, and more than two swimmers in those is uncomfortable.  Therefore, in total, the pool will work best with (at maximum) about 13 swimmers – if those swimmers are doing lengths and not socializing.

     It was, therefore, with some degree of horror that a mother and two young children arrived and entered MY lane.  If anyone needed a definition of sacrilegious, then there it was, in every splash.  I will reserve my wrath, unless this becomes an habitual invasion!

    

     Luckily by the time this invasion occurred I had reached the end of the swim part of my time and I was doing the final set of exercises, so I was able to complete my time at the opposite end of the pool, and propriety was observed.

     I am relying on the fact that this was the first day of the reopening of the pool and that the numbers generally tail off as we regulars soldier on.

 

Lunch today in the Pool’s restaurant, was preceded by a glass of Cava, a tradition that could (I mused) be extended to cover a glass before my swim each day. 

     A passing thought.  Though a tempting one!

 

 

Palau de la Música - Bacewicz, Schumann, Brahms, Liszt

 

After three days without a car, I was informed by the garage that they had, after extensive testing, hit a maker specific point of repair, which needed the car to go back to the dealer for the air con to be fixed.  It was impossible for them to complete the repair without the authorization of the dealer.

     This is woefully bad news as any recourse to the Dealership means big bucks at the end of the repair, and a long wait for an opportunity to spend your money as appointments are as difficult to get as if the dealership was a British doctor’s surgery!  But there appears to be little choice, and I know that the mechanic that I gave my car to will have used everything he knows to get the job done, so if he confesses to failure, then you really do have to bite the bullet and traipse all the way to the next town to get the job done.

     Meanwhile I comfort myself with the idea of a concert in the Palau tomorrow . . . which was now yesterday, if you see what I mean, a day having elapsed when blog intent did not make it to blog actual.

 

Given the tea in the café next to the parking garage that I use (if possible) which is the nearest to the Palau, is of truly awful vapidity, I resolved to take a couple of tea bags with me to augment and turn the thin earl grey into something drinkable.  I, of course, forgot the tea bags and debated whether to go to the mini market on the Via Laietana, buy some tea bags, go back to the car to store the excess, take two to the café and have a decent cuppa.  In the event I had forgotten about the mini market next to the parking so a box of PG Tips later I was able to have my tea and a more than decent brie, salmon and egg wrap, before the concert.

     A little housekeeping was necessary to change my ticket for United Nations Day into credit in the Palau as I will not be going to the opera that evening as I have other entertainment in mind!   

     That was no problem and I now have an inducement to look further afield in the range of concerts than the ones that I have purchased for some of my Saturdays with my season ticket.  Unfortunately, all the concerts in which I am interested work out to be much more expensive than the sum I have available but, that’s life – at least they gave me credit!

 

The concert opened with Bacewicz’s 1943, Overture – a short piece with some very expressive brass passages and some oddly lyrical softer passages.  I suppose it is somewhat crass to expect all music written at a time of crisis to reflect that tension in sonic terms, but even with some disconcertingly percussive moments there are also passages which are Gothically playful, but underlying all is an uneasy and sometimes frantic beat that leaves the listener edgily engaged.

     The opening of this piece sounded somewhat unsteady with the major culprits being the horn section.  The sound felt a little muffled, I am sure that the acoustic of the Palau does not favour this type of music.

     A composer worth pursuing.

 

The concerto was the 1850 Cello Concerto by Schumann adapted for viola and played by Sara Ferrández.   This was an odd experience in that the concerto is not overly assertive on the part of the solo instrument – even though it needs real virtuosity (which Ferrández certianly had) to make it work.

At the back of my mind was the fact that this was originally written for the cello, and at times it seemed to me that the viola was aping that instrument in its lower register.

     The soloist's line grew from the orchestra, and then blended with it.  Yes, there were moments when the viola soared over the orchestra, but this was a concerto where the solo instrument felt fully engaged in the totality of the music, and the depth of that engagement felt more profound than the showiness of its smaller cousin!

 

The concert really came alive in the second half.

     The first notes of the first Hungarian Dance by Brahms (orginally published over the years 1869 to 1880 and originally for piano four hands) graphically illustrated an orchestra comfortable with the lushness of sound and an ensemble playing that radiated enjoyment.

     God knows when I last listened to this music, but it all came flooding back (with the exception of Dance number 10 which was new to me) and I was able to join with the audience in giving the conclusion of the dances a tumultuous reception!

 

Symphonic Poem Number 3 from Les Préludes by Liszt (1854) was the concluding piece in the programme, a musical journey through life, death and transfiguration.

     The muted opening of the piece does not give you adequate preparation for the triumphant entry of the brass – and my recognition of the music!

     This was orchestral playing at its superlative best, and the final moments reduced me to tears.  What more can you ask from a musical experience!

 

Throughout the concert I ostentatiously consulted my Personal Listener’s Programme, produced under my direction by Chat.  I have decided to prepare for all the rest of my Operas and Orchestral Concerts by having Chat produce similar programmes which give introductions and crucially, ways of listening and further listening. 

     They also give me some space to jot down thoughts that I may have about the opening of the concert during the interval when I must move about a bit to make sure that my knees don’t set in place.

 

The next concert is a celebration of the music of John Williams, and that I expect to be a somewhat different experience.  Though I am interested to see what Chat can come up with to aid my listening pleasure!