Traitor Trump!

   

As much as I hate (present tense, my hatred, in this instance, doesn’t die with the object of my odium) Margaret Thatcher, I never thought that she was a traitor.  I thought her policies were misguided to the point of perversity, and I believe that she changed British society for the worse in virtually everything she did, but I do not believe for a moment that she was actively and consciously working against Britain.

     Whereas with Trump . . .

     The refusal to implement the cross-party sanctions against Russia are scandalous.  What does that man have to do before most of the country recognizes that virtually everything he does and says shows a deep and unthinking rejection of what the United States of America used to stand for.

     It is obvious that Trump finds the company of autocratic, undemocratic, dictators far more congenial than any normal western political leaders.  He has shown scant regard for any of the norms that used to govern political behaviour.  He is the most openly corrupt president that the United States has ever had, and there are quite a few choice specimens of human depravity that have occupied the post before Trump.  But any person who makes Nixon, Regan and Bush (of either variety) seem like the sort of reasonable people that you would welcome to your dinner table for an enjoyable and informative evening, has got to be a bad thing.

     Trump is a pathological liar, a dyed in the wool narcissist, a convicted felon, a convicted sex pest, a bigot, a sexist, a homophobe, a bully, and someone who helped incite, though his deranged denial of the results of the election, an assault on the Capitol, the centre of democratic institution of government.  What else does he have to do to demonstrate to his deranged MAGA base his complete unsuitability for his position and, more importantly to illustrate his lack of loyalty to the country he is bleeding dry.

     I was too young, being a Baby Boomer to appreciate the irreversible change in fortune that World War Two was for Britain.  We kept trailing clouds of past colonial glory throughout my early years, we still had a seat on the Security Council of the UN, we had an independent (sic) nuclear deterrent, swathes of world maps were still coloured pink, we had a voice on the world stage, but as a world power we were hollowed out, and the Suez Crisis illustrated that clearly.   

     The ability of Britain to act in defiance of the world and especially of the USA, that illusion was gone.  In the years since Suez the British have had to come to terms with the fact that we are not a world power and the even our erstwhile ally the USA is now an unreliable partner, and, after what the rogue president Trump has shown, no president will be seen in quite the same way again.

 

A traitor, not only to his own country, but also to the Western Alliance, and to the World.

Cultural challenges?

 

 

Well, a second viewing of Aida in the Liceu last night has not changed my opinion of the production – though musically (orchestra, chorus, and soloists) it was as good as my first experience.

     As my second viewing was with friends who were seeing the production for the first time, I kept my negative views to myself until the interval when I was able to add a certain amount of my sored and repressed venom to the general rejection of what the director, Shirin Neshat, had presented.

     The irritation with the front-of-curtain processions, the appearance and inexplicable nature of the veiled characters in black, the one-note moral argument, and the static quality of much of the stage work, all came in for fully justified criticism – while the music producers were as justly lauded.

     This time around I felt much more irritation about the use of film projected onto the blank surfaces of the hollowed out rotating cube that constituted the scenery.  It seemed to me that the director was caught between metaphor and reality and did not give any sort of coherent argument for the differing portrayals of action on stage or indeed on ‘screen’.

     The March of the Zombies, that comprised the last of the front-of-curtain processions before the final scenes, did not provoke the slow handclap and boos that accompanied my first view of this charade, and the conductor was not called on to quell incipient mutiny by the audience with a hard stare.

     Musically this production is redeemed by the quality of the music produced but not justified!

 

 

-o0O0o-

 

 

Our second foray into the music scene is due to be a lunchtime performance in the Palau, but our plans may be derailed by bad weather.  If it is only a spot of rain, then I couldn’t care less, but some of the downpours that we have had recently have been tropical in their intensity, and given the lunatic level of driving normally, I do not want to be on the road in challenging conditions with The Driving Death Cult!  We will see.

 

 

-o0O0o-

 

 

In my Huxley research, the second researcher that I have contacted with a view to looking through the Chatto archives in the University of Reading, has explained that she is fully booked until some time next year; so back to the drawing board.  Though I do have a list of further names of people centred in the area who are contactable, so all is not lost.  Yet.

     The irony of a wide-ranging research project focussing down to a single footnote, which will be used as the basis for an entire research paper, is not lost on me.

     The problem of having a topic so narrow is that the information that is central to my ‘thesis’ and that will be the original element, is contained in an archive that is not readily accessible to me, though it would be just a car drive away were I still living in Cardiff.     

     Well, that is something that I should have thought about when I was doing the original research all those years ago – like half a century ago!  Dear god, it does seem extraordinary writing sentences like that, and even more so when I unearthed my original research and started reading through extensive notes made by someone I barely recognized as myself! 

     I am sure that there is a moral lurking somewhere in those last sentences, but I can’t be bothered to tease it out!

 

 

-o0O0o-

 

 

With all the apocalyptic talk of hurricane-level storms for tomorrow, outside, now, there is bright sunshine and the temperature is a more-than-acceptable 23C.  And we are preparing to go out for a menu del dia – something I feel I deserve given the demands of an evening performance of a Grand Opera last night.

     As I am now used to going to the opera for the Sunday afternoon series (and therefore getting out of the theatre at a reasonable time) it was a shock to the system to find myself hours past my bedtime before head finally hit the pillow.  And, to make matters worse, it took me some time before I finally got off to sleep, so I felt more than justified ignoring the raucous interruption of my reveries by my mobile phone urging me to gird my loins and get to the pool for an early morning swim.

 

 

-o0O0o-

 

 

     Everyone is entitled to a leisurely day from time to time, and this is one of mine.

 

 

 

Paper Rules!

 

My research into Huxley has ground to a halt.  Again.  Or at least part of it.

     We keep hearing about how much information is ‘online’ and has been digitised.  And it is amazing just how much you can find out by using the internet, as you zip around the world visiting institutions and cultural centres and drawing on resources (that are freely available and searchable) that you become complacent and begin to expect ALL information to be available at the tap of a few computer keys.

     But this is an illusion.  In one aspect of my research for example, I can go online and see where in a collection information that I need might be, but the details of that information are only available if I turn up at the library and physically search the archives.

     In some ways of course, this is part of what research is all about, going to a library and actually touching the books, letters and accounts that exist in a mass of documentation, and emerging with the salient information necessary to make your point.

     My problem is the information I require is in a special collection in the University of Reading and not in a library in Barcelona a few km down the road.  Pity.

     There is another solution, and that is to get a researcher who is already in Britain to do some research on your behalf.  I am investigating this option, but there are, as you can imagine, a certain number of practical problems about that.  Still, letters have been sent off and I await developments with interest.

     Nearer to home, tomorrow will take us to Barcelona for to me see (and more importantly listen to) a second performance of Aida.  It will be interesting to see if the two people who will be accompanying me tomorrow share my evaluation of the production.

 

Meanwhile the correct ingredients for a Sangria de Cava continue to be the subject of some considerable discussion, but I think that I have now settled on a recipe that will satisfy.  It remains to be seen if my guests agree with me!

 

Post Haste Indeed!

 

 

 

Half a dozen bottles of more than decent Cava seemed the best way to start the preparations for my forthcoming birthday. 

     No matter that the Cava was going to be used in a Cava Sangria, I was determined to have something palatable to celebrate.  I therefore hunted around and found a website that offered half a dozen well-designed, ‘limited-edition’ bottles at a bargain price. 

     I still have the financial scars from other past ‘bargains’ online, so I took the lazy man’s safety precautions of asking Chat to evaluate not only the quality of the offer, but also the quality of the online website offering it.  Both were deemed ‘good’ and so I took the plunge and ordered it on the 8^th of October, and the supplier, OUTLET PC got to work immediately.

     I got a swift emailed receipt from the supplier and was pleasantly surprised to get an email from the delivery organization telling me that my packet would arrive the next day, on the 9^th of October between the hours of 16:00 to 18:00!  I did not, at the time that delight was warming the cockles of my heart, notice the emboldened “approximately” before the times stated.

     On the 9^th of October 4pm came and went, with no delivery.  6pm came and went, with no delivery.  And I waited.

     Eventually I consulted the delivery details and checked where my goods were.  Their website informed me that they had tried to deliver the package at 20:09.  We were in the house and we heard nothing.  The doorbell was working perfectly.  I wrote to the deliverers at 20:24 informing them that I had waited for the package and that I was in the house expecting it to arrive.  And nothing.

     The next day I checked the website again and found that they had tried to make a second delivery at 21:02.  Again, there was no evidence in the form of a receipt left in the post box, nor a ring at the doorbell.

     At this point I should add some extra information.  I know that the parcel was in Barcelona (19 km down the road) at about 8 in the morning of the 9^th.  The 9^th of October was a Friday, and the following Monday was The Day of Spanish-ness and therefore a bank holiday, thus creating a little Puente or mini holiday over the weekend.

     Now, I am not suggesting that the delivery people deliberately made no attempt to deliver the package and that the attempts to do so were listed with precision, but total unreality and that they had every intention of sloping off early to enjoy the mini break, leaving my parcel to be delivered on the Tuesday.  No, indeed I am not suggesting that.  I merely put it forward as a plausible scenario that fits the facts.

     I have now been given a new delivery date for today.  No times, but the package is on its way.  Allegedly.

     You may ask if I made any attempt to contact the delivery people to ask for an explanation, or to rearrange a delivery time.  Yes, I did.  But the communication I sent would have arrived on a Sunday and been ignored on Monday.  Also, the advice just to click the “rearrange the delivery” button on screen, did not actually exist.

    It was a case of computer-generated delivery information, neatly tabulated and timed, but existing independently from the human agents who have to make the numbers work.

     I might also add that the delivery company is Correos Express, a branch of the post office.  And Correos has form as far as fantastic deliveries are concerned.  We once found a receipt in the letter box informing us that a delivery had been attempted and failed with a time written in which was AFTER the time that we picked up the receipt.  Time travel is not a difficulty for these characters.  That was years ago, and it is depressing to see the same sort of service levels years later.

     It is now 11:10 and Correos Express (sic!) has had my parcel since the 9^th of October.

     The graphic which shows the locality of the package on their web page, the black dot of my Cava is next to, nay, touching, the clear dot of my house.

    

     So near, and yet so very far.

 

 

Other eyes

  

When friends come to visit, their comments about what they experience encourages you to look again at what you thought was normal and every day and look at it with a slightly (or even a radically) different perspective.

     What I have discovered this time around, is that friends do not actually have to be present in the flesh, their mere imminence is sufficient to cause a rethink.

     For example, we have mysterious rain damage, or water damage.  One corner of the living room ceiling shows signs of something watery going on.  We are puzzled because this corner is part of the wall separating us from the neighbours and the room above is a repository (I daren’t grace it with the term library as the chaos of volumes precludes that designation) for some of my books.  There is no water source, and no signs of broken pipes or similar.  And it does look unsightly.  During the furious storms of last week the water (from whatever source) was sufficient to form long drips down towards the floor.  Something will have to be done.  And the impetus is made more urgent by the fact that visitors will be coming to the house for some time in the very near future.

     But recognition of something needing to be done does not necessarily link towards doing something.  It is far easier to rationalize indolence and think those comforting thoughts that caution too hasty repainting because the damage will merely be repeated and one may as well wait to see just how extensive the damage is before tackling its amelioration.

     And anyway, the smell of fresh paint will be all too telling for the discerning visitor,

and will only cause them to wonder just what has been done to cover up something that did not look right.  Not the most convincing reason to do nothing, but its one that is working for me at the moment!

      I much prefer to wonder what visitors will note this time around.  Things change.  The beach is not the same now that the chiringuitos have gone; storms reform the profile of the sands; the vegetation barrier (which is protected) between the end of the beach and the paseo is growing and dying and blooming, so each visit is different.

     We (the City Hall) is attempting to make Castelldefels a city of sculpture as well as a city of gastronomy, and so we have a few more installations by Lorenzo Quinn to go with the bits and pieces that we had previously.  The sculpture nearest to us is not to everyone’s taste and it will be interesting to hear our visitors’ reactions.

     And we are going to the opera to see Aida.  For me this will be a second viewing.  I frankly do not expect my view of the production to change, but any chance to hear the music is to be welcomed!

     I look around at our roads and the normal structures of living by which we are surrounded and I am made more sensitive by the fact that they will be observed by fresh eyes, and that rubs off on me too as I look at wonder at what they will notice.

 

I have just reread this piece of writing and wonder if it actually says anything.  But, as perhaps another example of the lassitude that grips me from time to time, I do not intend to edit it.  I rely on the fact that at some point in the future I will come across it and wonder, momentarily, what the hell I was thinking about and then move on!

 

Fire!

 

 

The greatest threat to democracy is raised eyebrows and exhaustion.

     When you are presented with an unending succession of immoral acts presented as truth and decency by a President (I almost hesitated to give even the word the dignity of a capital letter) and a government who act with bewildering shamelessness, then each new grotesquerie is met with less and less visceral horror and with more of a resigned shrug.

     The levers of power are in the hands of the criminals, and they are busily trying to ensure that any guardrails on their nefarious activities are removed so that they can act with even greater impunity than they did before.

     And what can we do about it?  Writing diatribes against the most obvious corruption seen in any (I think that is fair) President in American history can certainly give some sort of literary solace to the writer, but it has little effect on the wider population, unless that writer has access to mass media – and even then it has proved to be futile, as witness the re-election of the monster of depravity that occupies (what an appropriate word!) the White House.  There was more than sufficient evidence from his first vile presidency to alert all but the more fanatical of his followers that he was not in any sense an even quarter-way adequate person to occupy such a position of responsibility.  And yet he was re-elected by over 70 million voters.

     So, despair is the only resort left to us?  I think not.

     America is still a democracy (in theory) and votes count – why else would the President and his lickspittle lackeys try and gerrymander and cheat their way to legitimacy through the ballot boxes?  So, if votes count, then it must be a priority for the right-thinking left to get the vote out.

     Bad mouthing the creatures that form the present government of the United States is necessary, but abuse does not work against someone who apparently is impervious to any truth that might be used against him.  His popularity has reached a record low, but are those who have voted for him twice before now prepared to vote for an alternative?

     I sometimes think that the Johnsonian theory about the then head of the FBI, “Better to have him inside the tent pissing out, then outside the tent pissing in!”  Or words to that effect.  Better to have someone you dislike on your side that working against you.  Is there something of that attitude of Trump voters keeping that mobster in power?  Better to have him on ‘our side’ than against us.  It doesn’t make any sort of sense, and he most graphically does not care about ‘them’, but then how, in a sensible world, would Trump ever have been elected – or even manage to get to the point where he could be seriously considered.

     The real danger is apathy, or a feeling of impotence on the part of voters.  Their thinking that individually what difference is my vote going to make and even if we get a change of person in power what real difference will it make.  Uninformed cynicism could be one of the deciding factors in the midterm elections.

     Have the Democrats done enough to offer a positive choice of measures and policies to put against the cavalier opportunism of Trump and his hangers-on?

     If the Democrats are relying on distaste for a corrupt criminal in power to bring said criminal down, then that sort of lazy thinking will ensure his continuation.

     It is only through a clear and unequivocal statement of belief in the institutions that govern the country and a determination to make them work that will gain political success.

     Get the vote out.  Restate basic beliefs.  Get things done.

 

And as an afterthought to the downright sick decision/proposal of the ever-vile Hegseth with the approval of Trump, to have the execution of the mass murderer Nidal Malik Hassan, filmed, I am reminded of another power-hungry would-be world dictator who had opponents hanged and had the executions filmed by a camera crew under the direction of the Reich Ministry of Public Enlightenment and Propaganda.  In 1944.

 

 

 

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.

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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.