Two men, one bitch

John Crace would be hard put to find a "Digested read, digested" phrase for the Marriage of Figaro, the opera: my title to this post, for instance, only partially unlocks the plot. And in Richard Eyre's production at the Met, relayed last night to our Cineworld, Marlis Petersen's Susanna is anything but bitchy. In fact I thought all the women excellent, and the set and costume designs (stand up Rob Howell) were a dream. What a unique masterpiece Mozart gave us!

Seven and a half candles

My brother-in-law celebrated his 75th birthday today, with a lunch and tea party, and sundry friends and relations - children, cousins etc. - in attendance. (I wonder when he last had a birthday party.)

Seven wheels

William, Edmund and I have been biking in London - from Paddington to the Tower, and here we are posing under the Eye. As on last year's car-free Saturday, when I went with a University friend, it was a glorious day for cycling. Even more than before turned out, though today I didn't spot so many (other) eccentrics.

At times William wiggled almost as much as his uncle Leo did at his age, but whenever I thought I'd lost him, I heard him whistling peacefully not far away in the throng.

The pocket chess set I had brought with me came in useful on the return train journey: my mother gave it me as a child, and I in turn passed it on to Edmund aged seven, but it remained in a drawer at home. Now it has a third name inside it: William's. He shows promise.

Edmund meanwhile wrestled with emails - giant haystacks of them: how lucky was I, he exclaimed, to have grown up in an era of less than instant comms.

Seven plus

No grandchildren, but all four children were with us for lunch today - plus Mini; and it's always difficult to prevent Caroline's dog from muscling in on the act. ("No balls inside, Floss!")

Dame of the rose

Roses used to peak at the end of June, or am I imagining that? Anyway here we are a week away from the end of May, and with 19 different roses in flower. With my mac on over my dressing-gown, I went out into the rain and picked one of each this morning for Caroline's birthday. This afternoon and evening, it was celebrated with Leo and Mini, scones, cakes, a Jakobsweg slideshow and a pulsating Champions League final.

Mother's Eve

Leo and Mini gave us a delicious dinner this evening, beef, six vegetables, and then this splendid pudding dish. And Mini presented me with a shell made of recycled bits, which I've pinned on to my rucksack ahead of Monday...

Mini hearts carrots

Leo's Godmother is staying with us, and the six of us sat down to supper this evening with a special Valentine's vegetable.

St Gregory's carols

Leo and Mini accompanied us to church this evening for our annual candlelit carol service, and very good it was. Proceedings opened with a magical Rorate Caeli. And the Presbytery window captures the coming season well too, don't you agree?

Seven up

William likes his new bike, I'm pleased to say. He and Edmund collected it this afternoon, arriving just after Leo and Mini left: I guess they are still somewhat jet-lagged after their flight from Osaka last night. (Quick check on the world map: Japan is nearly 2,000 miles North of the poor Philippines, suffering so terribly from Super Typhoon Haiyan.)

Here this morning, it was sunny and still enough - St Martin's Little Summer - for me to be in shirt sleeves, planting my Aquadulce beans, accompanied by our faithful robin. (Boo! to the neighbour's cat.)

Dining out again

We were asked by friends in Chedworth to dine with them last evening, and - arriving at the cottage - to take note of a new acquisition: a grandfather clock. In itself, this might not seem to be so very remarkable, "But look at the face!" we were urged. And there was the inscription, "Giles Coates, Chedworth." Wonderful, isn't it, that in the 18th Century a village as seemingly small and insignificant as Chedworth should be the home to a still-celebrated watch and clockmaker!

Not that this Giles should be confused with his son of the same name, who met a watery end off the coast of Tasmania where he was sentenced to be deported for shooting the Stowell Park gamekeeper.

Altogether, I had a feast of a day, with an invitation to lunch from Leo: we ate Smörgåsbord at the Swedish restaurant just opposite my former office. And at the Emirates Aston Villa beat Arsenal 3-1!

Noye's Fludde

The Cheltenham Music Festival has come round once again. We took Mini and Leo to Tewkesbury this evening to see Britten's Noye's Fludde performed in a thronged Abbey. I haven't heard it before (and am not sure I shall rush to hear it again). 200 local children were involved: I hope they enjoyed it more than we did, standing against the wall of the North nave aisle. You couldn't see the action much - it took place mostly either behind a pillar or on the top deck of "the Ark" - built with high sides, for safety reasons obviously. The orchestra, together with the Carducci Quartet, were penned in behind a mesh curtain underneath.

But a lot of thought and work had clearly gone in to it: the result was all very colourful, the lighting changes were well managed, and it wasn't too long an evening - or wouldn't have been, but for the insertion at the beginning of five unexpected (by me) songs by contemporary Gloucestershire composers: unnecessary - and you couldn't hear the words.

"No Impact Man"

I don't photograph rubbish much, but this is a detail of a scene I took in April, when making a detour off my Camino to visit the Abbey of Oseira. The human-induced chaos of this far-away farmyard seemed strikingly at odds with the unspoilt beauty of the Galician countryside surrounding it.

"No Impact Man" is the title of a documentary made four years ago about a family who determined to see by how much they could reduce the impact they made on their New York environment over a period of 12 months. I asked Leo if he could get it for us to watch through "Love Film", and he came up with it on DVD this evening.

I can see that many would find the journey it describes tiresome, and perhaps trite, but it's lightly done, and raises some good questions en route to its conclusion - that whatever you do is best done as part of the community, rather than in an isolated fashion.

A couple of criticisms: the issue of needing to live without loo paper seemed to loom as large if not larger than restricting (or not) the size of the human family; and having a largish dog in the flat seemed to be a given, with never a mention of the ecological issues to which family pets should surely give rise.

Packed up

Another child is on the move tomorrow: having helped Edmund pack up his cottage, we visited Leo and Mini's new flat on Sunday; and here he is in the old one, with most things packed ready for the removal van tomorrow.

Today has been warm - warm enough for me to think in terms of planting a few potatoes very soon. I've been turning a bit of soil this morning in preparation. A robin has been my companion, and the fountain has been playing to indicate sunshine - and that its mini solar panel has survived the Winter. Gloom descended this evening though, with Manchester United's exit from the Champions League. ("Always keep a-hold of Nani for fear of..." ending up with 10 men.)

Shrove Tuesday

This is a segue from yesterday's blogpost about papal shriving.

This evening, before going to the Film Society (unusually, a British film Treacle Jr. - gritty and compassionate), Leo tossed me an excellent pancake. I resolved to photograph him tossing the next one, but Splat! It landed on the floor.

We have an addition to our household for a three-week stay, Mesa, a 19-year-old Japanese student. Interesting, trying to explain to her the origins of Shrove Tuesday...

Twelfth Night

We visited Mini and Leo today, for coffee, and took their Christmas tree back to its resting place in our garden. They bought a living tree 13 months ago, when it was even smaller than it is now: it survived the heat of their flat last Christmas, and looks as if it is still alive after this one. So long as we remember to water it, there's no reason why it should not be good for quite a few more years, until it's too big to move around.

The Elvetham

The Elvetham, now a hotel hard by the A30 in Hampshire, was a private house till the early '50s when it was sold to ICI. Its then owner was the grandson of the man for whom my great-grandfather (Arthur Henry Davis) was the Agent, the 6th Lord Calthorpe. Pre-Calthorpe, it belonged to the Seymours, and now of course I recall its mention in Wolf Hall, or perhaps its sequel.

Anyway, we arrived there at Midday today for my nephew's wedding, a sumptuous affair. It was good to catch up with members of the family I'd not met before, such as this rather jolly great-nephew. Both being in the oil industry, the couple's friends had flown in from all quarters of the globe.

One civil ceremony is not necessarily like another: this for instance was more "This is your wife" than was Leo's and Mini's in Cheltenham Register Office. It was at length followed by a wedding breakfast (starting at 3 p.m.). We left, somewhat exhausted, after the cake cutting, but even now they will all be tripping the light fantastic and indulging in a hog roast.

"Animal Kingdom"

When Leo and I were in Melbourne in January 1998, he went to watch tennis, whilst I explored the botanic gardens (my photograph), and also the surprisingly excellent National Gallery of Victoria. The visit to the latter came back to me this evening, watching "Animal Kingdom", our Film Society's latest offering: the Gallery was the setting for a couple of the scenes in this violent film.

I went along by myself as the Society's leaflet showed the film as an 18, and that rules it out for Caroline: in fact, it's only a 15, there's no sex and the violence is dealt with pretty discreetly. There's worse in BBC4's "The Killing III" (I'm hooked!).

"Animal Kingdom" has some excellent performances, in particular from Jacki Weaver. Moreover, it remains tense mostly throughout. (In other words, I only looked at my watch once.) You fear it's all going to end badly for our young "hero", who has a charming exchange about cricket with the main villain at one stage. In fact the ending is the best bit. And what a nice change to have all that Australian sunshine when you've grown accustomed to Nordic Noir!

RIP once more - for John Davidson OBE

Our good friend John Davidson died on Saturday last. His death, long-expected, was announced in today's papers. I must have a better photograph than this, but try as I might, I've been unable to find it: not for the first time I've missed my crashed Expression Media catalogue, with all its keywording.

This snap dates from May 2006, taken at Whittington Village Hall. It was typical of John to come and support Leo's Vietnam fundraising efforts: he did so much for so many good causes, not just Groundwork, which he helped set up, guiding it for more than a decade. Judith, and John's family, have had a harrowing time seeing his strength decline inexorably over the past many months, but what a blessing that he could remain living at his beloved home for most of that time! Typically, instead of flowers, we are bidden to support Interclimate Network, which the great man founded - a splendid way of doing him honour.

Ten days in May

Arden Grant, our New Zealander handyman, has been here of late, most recently fixing kerb stones against the front lawn, and - as in my photograph - repinning the Rambling Rector to the side wall: it collapsed a while ago, and has grown too top heavy just to tie back to the original wires. (That's the trouble with Rambling Rector: I must be less kind when pruning this Autumn.) To illustrate the breadth of Arden's talents, he's also - last week - made over Leo's old room, replacing the basin in a new position, fitting a shelf alongside it and blanking off one of the lights above, taken away the built-in cupboard, inserted a new skirting board, repapered the wall behind where the cupboard was and painted the room's walls and ceilings - oh, and fitted a new piece of carpet to match the existing. A man for all seasons. And it's been hot, working inside: this last part of May has seen us basking in something of a heatwave, but it is all about to change - just in time for the Jubilee weekend of course.

I can't remember what the weather was like at this time 50 years ago, but I do recall the première of Britten's War Requiem taking place on my birthday in the new Coventry Cathedral. I was working as a guide at Charlecote Park: the Curator, Dick Routh, had a ticket. And last night it was performed there again, by the same orchestra, the CBSO, under its brilliant conductor Andris Nelsons. I Listened Again, and was bowled over.

The birthday season

Yesterday was Leo's birthday, which - being Leo - he marked by giving his wife a present. Mini was of course both surprised and delighted to have her own sewing machine at last!