The Pleasure and Pain of Festivity

Existential crises do not come more profound that losing your phone.  Mine is, at the moment, officially lost.  I do not have it.  It is not with me.  I am bereft.

But I take comfort from the flapping around of PP in Catalonia.  After their disastrous showing in the forced elections in the country, forced by, wait for it, PP!  PP is desperately trying to find a way to deal with the fact that they had 11 seats and now they have four.  They no longer even have the representation to be regarded as a ‘Group’ in the Catalan parliament.  So they have sacked someone, I suppose that it must be someone in the National Parliament as they do not have much choice in the people in the Catalan version!  The person they ought to sack, or who ought to tender his resignation, is the lanky lying leader of the Catalan PP.  The last leader resigned for getting only 11 seats, so he should, really, fall on his sword – literally.  But that would leave them with only three.  So, problems.

It is something of the same problem that the Conservatives have in trying to find a native to be the Welsh Secretary out of their pathetic showings in Wales.  I fondly remember one election when we didn’t return one Conservative.  Not one.  We have even ended up with freaks like Redwood when they were really scraping the barrel, though Redwood did produce one memorable moment in his role when he attempted to sing the Welsh National Anthem.  His humiliation has been replayed more times than was strictly necessary, but anything to put down repulsive Conservatives such as he has got my vote.  And this piece of YouTube film gives you an idea of the horror: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=GzBq0n8dxFQ

However, the confusion and chaos of both the Conservative (“lower than vermin”) parties in Spain and the UK doesn’t really give very much pleasure because we are living in their created universe: Brexit, Article 155, Social Injustice and Corruption, not forgetting the trans-Atlantic 45!

So, anyway, I phoned my phone (as one does) and nothing.  I phoned the last place that I was in and asked Toni's sister to look around.  And nothing.

At this point, most people I know would be panicking and fretting about their very identity because so much of their lives centre on the mobile phone, but I use mine mostly for reading the The Guardian.  And I can read that on my computer, so perhaps I wasn't as phased as others might have been.

And, as phones do, it turned up, found on its side at the foot of my bed resting against the skirting board.

Which meant that I was able to enjoy my meal without the pitying looks of those phone fanatics who eat a meal with the phone placed as if it were part of the cutlery!

And we did have an excellent meal to accompany my Saint's Day presents - all of which were acceptable.  I now have two illustrated copies of Harry Potter, lavishly illustrated I should say in a large format book - in Spanish.  So I have an incentive to struggle my way through the stories like the English speaking muggle that I am!

And so back home to a very cold house, but my own bed too!

MY Saint's Day!

SAINT STEPHEN’S DAY, 2017.

Not the first up today, as Carmen is already in her natural home: the kitchen.  But yesterday she was in a restaurant and so she had at least one day off!  At the moment she is cleaning the prawns and as well as trimming the legs and whiskers, she also takes out the eyes as she says she doesn’t like them looking at her.  I do not share her squeamishness, but I am going to say nothing to such a competent cook!

In Spain, one’s name day is almost as important as a birthday and presents are to be expected – one of which I already know, as I am the one who bought it.  

This is a boxed set of Solti’s complete oeuvre with the Chicago Symphony Orchestra on CDs.  I know, I know, I have heard all the arguments for ditching my allegiance to such an outmoded form and turning to the dark side of Spottify (or possibly with one ‘t’?) for all my musical needs, but memory stops me. 

I can still remember the cost of the LPs and the first CDs of people like Solti at prices that I could never afford.  It was only with the advent of the bargain LPs that my classical music library grew. 

I am eternally grateful to Music for Pleasure, Heliodor, Marble Arch, Classics for Pleasure and one or two other more obscure labels that allowed me to spend 9/11 (nine shillings and eleven pence, under 50p!) to start off my collection.  Admittedly the prices soon rose to 10/- (ten shillings) then up to 12/6 and so on following inflation, but even I could afford one or two a month.

These labels gave me introductions to Nielsen, Mahler, Sibelius other than the Karelia Suite, Hindemith, 

music from the Middle Ages and other odds and sods that have become part of my musical vocabulary.  I found that the great thing about being interested in Classical Music as opposed to Pop was that every shop record sale, no matter how meagre, would yield something of interest.  Let’s face it, if you like The Greats in Classical Music then there is a substantial back-catalogue to get to know, and therefore always a justification to buy.  Which I did!

So, the opportunity to buy quality music for just over a euro a disc is not something that I can resist and anyway I tend to listen to the music in the car where the CDs are more convenient than anything else.  For Christmas I had two CD cases to contain the discs so that they can be kept in the dashboard compartment and then I go through the music fairly religiously disc by disc – though full operas I tend to listen to at home.  Though I do make an exception with car/opera if I am trying to get to know one of the operas in the Liceu season.  The amount that I pay for my seat gives me the incentive to do a little preparatory work for the ones that I do not know so maximize my investment, so to speak!

Nowadays with the ‘bargain’ CD boxes, the individual discs sometimes have the artwork of the original LPs, so, for someone like myself there is an added pleasure is actually recognizing some of the covers that were well out of financial reach when I was first flicking through the music years ago!

Much of the music will be familiar to me, some of it very familiar, but when was the last time that I actually heard it?  I am sometimes shocked by my reactions on hearing some insanely popular piece of music and realizing that I haven’t actually heard a performance of it in years.  For me the real pleasure is relaxing (if that is the word) into the detail of remembered orchestration and also sensing some of the associations of time and place of hearings. 

For example, my first hearing of The Manfred Symphony by Tchaikovsky was in the Swansea Music Festival in the Brangwyn Hall and being almost startled out of my seat by the entry of the organ that for me (in those days when I had the raw material for it) was literally hair raising.  Every consequent performance and recording has been compared with that first experience and found to be lacking!

Sometimes the experience can be less than ideal.  For example I got to know the Concierto de Aranjuez from a cfp LP where the soloist sounded as though he was actually inside the microphone, one soft pluck of a single string on the guitar was able to drown out the orchestra.  Imagine my disappointment on a student trip to Paris and a live performance where, from the lowly seat (i.e. very high and at the back) that I could afford, I could see the guitarist strumming away but all I could hear was the orchestra!

I am reminded of an amateur performance of The Country Wife by Wycherley, a text I was teaching to an A Level group in Cardiff, where the performance was so dire that, in spite of knowing the text pretty well, I couldn’t follow what was happening on stage.  Restoration ‘comedy’ is arguably something that amateurs should not attempt, but even so they managed to make my own language unintelligible and strange!  In the same way I have heard professional orchestras mangle music where sometimes it is physically painful to listen.  With the ease of access to the best in the world not only in terms of performance, but also in terms of editing, it is hardly surprising that some local orchestras suffer by comparison!

But Solti is a safe pair of hands, and I can be persuaded by a different interpretation of some music I know well, if it is sincerely compelling.  Tempi are the clearest point of divergence for listeners, and departures from what individual feel is the ‘norm’ for pieces of their favourite music can be unbearable.  For me there is one Sibelius symphony conducted by Karajan that makes my skin crawl because of its all-encompassing wrongness.  Even then my inability or disinclination to throw things away meant that I merely added a “DO NOT LISTEN!” sticker to the front of the LP and put it back in its place!

I will have to wait until after lunch to get my hands of what arrived in my house a week ago and, just like the books, I am still amazed at my restraint and ripping off the packaging and getting into them.

But resist I did, and I am sure that I will enjoy my present more as it comes with added deferred gratification!

Each Christmas has its own edge!

Well, the traffic was much lighter than I expected and we had a pleasingly uneventful journey to Terrassa.  And we, eventually, remembered the One Thing that, traditionally, we forget to bring.

We had remembered and wrapped all the presents.  We had the cards that we needed.  We had the leads and the electronic bits and pieces that modern life now demands.  We had packed the clothes that we needed for the three days, and enough Cava to see us through.  We thought, ah vain human vaunting, that we had remembered it all.

What we had forgotten was an element in the ‘something different this Christmas Eve’ sort of thing.  The ‘something different’ is a competition.  Three people, including my partner, are going to cook and I am going to judge the final offerings – thereby creating two enemies for life.

 

One of the few Classical myths and stories that does find purchase in modern life is the story of the Fall of Troy.  And while the concept of the Trojan Horse has become something which can be used without showing off, the Judgement of Paris is slightly less well known – but the Trojan Horse stratagem was necessary because of the judgement of that random Greek.

Paris was chosen to make an invidious choice: he had to give a golden apple to one of three goddesses who paraded in front of him.  He chose the goddess of love and was duly rewarded by her life long amity and the tangible benefit of getting Helen of Troy as his sexual partner.  Paris was not of Troy and Helen was already taken, but it is amazing what a goddess can accomplish when she has just humiliated two of her fellow deities.  Paris, of course, was instantly hated by the other two to whom he had not given the apple and I only hope that he was satisfied with his fleshly bargain.

In my Judgement of Stephen I do not stand to gain anything and stand to be reviled fluently in a language I imperfectly understand and to be reminded of my crime to the end of my days.

As my partner is also entering this competition there is an added complication.  His attempt to win has been adversely affected by the fact that the one thing that we forget was an essential ingredient in his dish.  It is sitting in the fridge at home in its expensive tin.  And is not here.  At all.

My partner’s mother seems to have taken the opportunity of the competition to cook for the 5,000 producing not merely a sample dish, but rather a whole menu of variations for general consumption!

This competition is to be just one part of the evening’s festivities.  It is traditional to get your presents at Christmas Eve by hitting the log (see previous Christmas blog entries for explanation) and taking your goodies as the log shits them (really, you should look at previous Christmas entries, it will all make sense then).

This year I am guaranteed delight because I know what at least two of my presents are!  One of them is a pair of books that I ordered from Amazon (one of the penalties of having Amazon Prime is that you are the go-to guy for deliveries for everyone you know) and, with an effort of will that is entirely foreign to me, I kept myself from looking at them so they can be fully enjoyed when I get them from the log.

Now off to Toni’s sister’s house for the meal and the goodies!

CHRISTMAS DAY, 2017.

The Spotlight of Condemnation in the judging of the meats was diffused a little because instead of being the sole adjudicator I was joined by the two kids for the final deliberation and decision.  The guilt, as it were, was shared!

We ate our way through five different preparations of pork ranging from the pure meat in a pate sauce to an elaborate construction with goat’s cheese.  The simplest form won, it being decided that the melt in the mouth quality of the meat with just the right coating of other flavours made it a worthy champion.  I will not say who made the final dish, but I think that my personal domestic situation will not be made more tense by the award!

It is now 11 0’clock and I am the only one up and doing.  Carmen has prepared well this year and I have a choice of two teas to choose for my morning (just) drink.  One is a Moroccan infusion with mint, while the other is a variety of Earl Grey that I am presently drinking.  I was also gifted a little ‘present from London’ box of ten authentic Earl Grey tea bags in it.  The pictorial design includes a black cab and The Big Ben (as Catalans stubbornly refer to the tower) and, as they are vacuum-sealed, they can safely be left to lubricate my next visit.

The books that were a present from Toni are from a Thames & Hudson series that give short illustrated lives of significant characters from the Renaissance and The Middle Ages. 

The format of the books appeals to my informed dilettante approach to knowledge.  Each entry is no more than a few pages long and each has extensive illustration.  They are informative and accessible without being condescending and they have references, acknowledgements and an index.  They are both hardbound and feel substantial.

The characters chosen vary from the world famous to the delightfully obscure – or it could be that the ‘obscure’ ones merely point to gaps in my knowledge, after all they have been deemed significant to make the cut as individuals out of the millions who were alive in the chunks of time covered.  I will do a little test and look at the lists of names and see how far through them I can get before I have notched up 10 people of whom I have not heard.  I will post the results (as long as they are not too humiliating) in a future blog!

[I've actually done this now, and I got to personality 37 in both volumes, before my 10 unknowns had been used up.  I'm not sure how my IQ (Ignorance Quotient) rates based on these figures!]

My perfume stocks have been augmented by bottles of Kouros and 1881 – both favourites of mine.

Over the last decade of so I have altered my approach to New Things.  I am still as acquisitive as ever, but I have altered my way of acceptance.  When I was given something in the past, I used to keep it in its packaging for as long as possible – who does not respond to the concept of pristine?  But it also meant that things were not used. 

There is always the nagging approach to ‘make things last’ and therefore only use them on significant occasions.  Sometimes the ‘significant occasions’ were so infrequent that things became out of date or simply forgotten before they were used up.  So now whenever I get something I open it up and try it at once.  I suppose it is a variation on the ‘live and make merry, for tomorrow you die!’ approach to life.

So what this means in effect is that with perfume, for example, I open it at once and use it, throwing away the sometimes elaborate and expensive packaging that it came with.  This is especially true with packaging that has fitted spaces for the elements in the gift, for example with the Kouros 

where the classically elegant box had a space for the white marble-look bottle and a tube of shower gel.  I was, however determined to cast the packaging into the vast and growing sack of rubbish from the presents as soon as possible.  In this case the perfume and gel were stubbornly set in their respective niches and were disinclined to budge.  So I resorted to destructive force and that is the reason that I am now the walking wounded!

Paper cuts are bad, but cardboard cuts are worse.  I managed to slice my little finger just on the crease of the first joint, where the constant flexing of the affected line of pain will ensure its longevity!  But a small price to pay for a fragrance that, like Proust’s madeleine takes me back in a single whiff to another time in my life!  However long you go on using a particular perfume, its emotional appeal is rooted in the time when you first used it!

Still no movement from the other bedrooms, and it may well be time for me to have another cup of tea!

CHRISTMAS DAY, EVENING, 2017.

An excellent meal in a restaurant in Terrassa.  I had homemade canellones, followed by a fish and sea food platter and finished off with pineapple with crema catalana garnish.  With red wine, gaseosa and a decent cup of tea, oh yes, and with catalan bread.  And water.  And all for 30 euros per person.  On Christmas Day!  We gave the chef a round of applause when she came out to see us after the meal - and she well deserved it.

Then came the pongos.

Now the point of these 'presents' is to provoke appalled amazement in the faces of the recipients when they are finally unwrapped.  This year the wrapped presents were distributed by the kids and then two minutes were allowed for the mystery gifts to be exchanged.  There was also the option of forcing a change by throwing a couple of dice and then exchanging the gift you had with the person how ever many places away from you the total number showed.

Then the reveal of what you had got.  The three worst pongos were, in reverse order:

3rd - A metal tea light holder with garishly coloured jewels held at artful angles by a fretwork of irregular length wires to catch the flickering light.  Grotesque.

2nd - A plaster construction of a semi circular arc on which three owls perched.  The owls were depicted in an humorous manner which merely added to the general sense of horror that the 'object' produced.

1st - A vase.  Its colours were late seventies or early eighties browns and its construction was like a three dimensional projection of a talentless imagining of what an abstract painting might be if it offended nobody.  A vile piece of pottery!

My own pongo turned out to be a be-jewelled and silvered tortoise.  Which, I have to say I rather like and immediately thought would do very well in the garden as an unexpected piece of sculpture!

Tomorrow, my Name Day!