2024

 "When affairs get into a real tangle, it is best to sit still and let them straighten themselves out. Or, if one does not do that, simply to think no more about them. This is Philosophy." 

- P. G. Wodehouse

It's review of the year time. I didn't do one last year because the illness that has plagued me on and off in 2024 started with unlooked for precision on 29th December 2023. That's bad news for posterity, because I had a lot to write about and would no doubt have done so most entertainingly. This year has seen a much reduced programme of activities. Apart from funerals; I don't think I've ever been to so many in such a short space of time.  I won't write about those.

Opera: I've only seen sixteen operas this year. The clear best among them was the Hallé's 1857 'Simon Boccanegra', with a nod to 'Aleko'. Of those I've not bothered to mention here before my favourites would include 'The Sign of Four', apparently the first opera ever written about Sherlock Holmes, Albert Herring, and Peter Brook's take on Carmen at the Buxton Opera Festival.

Theatre: Only twelve plays, so another drop year on year. Best was 'My Fair Lady' of all things. Even more surprising was my enjoyment of  'A Midsummer Night's Dream' at York Theatre Royal, with a genuine circus clown as Bottom. This blog normally has a strict 'clowns are not funny' policy. Perhaps as another sign of change I went to two comedy gigs for the first time in decades. 

Music: I saw eighteen gigs, so maybe that's why I couldn't find time to go to the theatre. Best were the mighty Southern River Band, but also excellent were Mississippi Macdonald, Brave Rival, the Milkmen, Errol Linton, the Zombies and others too numerous to mention; except that I am contractually obliged to mention both Martin Simpson and Fairport Convention.

Film: I only saw five films, must try harder in 2025. I think Conclave was the pick.

Talks: I attended nineteen talks this year, the shortfall being in part because I fell out with one of the groups whose talks I used to attend. I should probably do an annual award for which organisation I have had the biggest row with that year. The best talk was on the subject of J. B. Priestley, which is obviously a good thing, with a special mention for one on the somewhat more obscure subject of Washington Phillips.

Exhibitions: I've seen a few, too few to mention. I would strongly recommend both the Silk Road at the British Museum and the Van Gogh at the National Gallery.

Your bloggist buckles his swash

Books: Obviously, if one can't go out then one stays in and reads, consequently I have read 128 books this year. Too many. My favourite fiction was probably 'Scaramouche' by Rafael Sabatini; I do like a swashbuckler. The best that wasn't a century old was 'Gabriel's Moon', a spy thriller from the ever-dependable William Boyd. From the non-fiction, Bruce Springsteen's autobiography was very good. I'm not sure why I was surprised that he can write. I read lots of perfectly adequate military history, but nothing so outstanding that I'm going to highlight it here.

Boardgames: 168 plays of 91 different games. My current favourite is definitely Dune Imperium, which is one that I would have thought might to appeal to most wargamers.

Wargames: Which, after all, is what it's all about. The most memorable was Wellington vs Sault during our Peninsular campaign, for all sorts of reasons.

So, UK election result aside, it wasn't a very good year really. I think we all know that globally it is going to be even worse next year. I suggest we approach it stoically.

“The chief task in life is simply this: to identify and separate matters so that I can say clearly to myself which are externals not under my control, and which have to do with the choices I actually control. Where then do I look for good and evil? Not to uncontrollable externals, but within myself to the choices that are my own…” - Epictetus

Maria de Buenos Aries

 And so to the opera. In my recent review of 'Frida' I forgot to mention that it was the first opera I had ever seen which was originally written for an orchestra which included an accordion (*). I have now seen a second, sort of. In fact Astor Piazzolla's 'Maria de Buenos Aries' was written for the bandoneon, but I defy even the most passionate rivet-counter amongst this blog's readership to spot the difference between the noise made by those two things.

That's an accordion

Obscure instrumentation aside this piece - which I really enjoyed - goes straight to the top of the list as the most bonkers storyline for any opera I've ever seen, and that is of course a very high bar, as realism and opera librettos are often strangers to one another. I shall attempt to provide a synopsis:

Maria is born in the slums of Buenos Aries, but, lured in part by her love of tango, escapes poverty by becoming a sex worker. 

[So far this is is unremarkable, indeed it could be the backstory to La traviata. This section ends with one of the highlights of the whole thing in which Maria loudly affirms who she is, an which is reminiscent in spirit of the party scene in Verdi's opera. However, things are just about to become weird.]

Maria then falls in love with an accordion and yes, I said accordion not accordionist (**). This proves a transgression too far even for those in the sleazy milieu in which she moves, and so they kill her. However you can't keep a good woman down and so she comes back to life, or possibly reappears as a ghostly spirit; it wasn't terribly clear. For reasons that were also somewhat obscure she is taken down to an underground cabal of psychoanalysts. When she escapes their questions - they don't seem to offer much in the way of therapy - she is pursued through the streets of Buenos Aries by three marionettes (***), who have been hired to impregnate her with their seed. This having occurred she gives birth to herself and yes, I said to herself not by herself.

So, what's it about? The director chose to play up the religious elements (she's called Maria, she rises from the dead) and the queer elements (let's face it, there aren't any, but what opera director has ever let something like that stand in their way?). Despite all that it worked a treat. The playing, singing and dancing were all great and, once one gave up trying to follow what was happening, it was a delightful evening.

The most lucid interpretation that I have subsequently read is that the piece is actually lamenting the decay of tango as a form of music and dance. Having been born in the slums of Buenos Aries, it moved to the mainstream where it was contaminated by the accordion (or perhaps the bandoneon) and other foreign influences; commercialised by the US mainstream (e.g. Hollywood), it was eventually influenced by the Avant-garde and was reborn as nuevo tango, whose prime exponent was none other than Piazzolla himself.

Is this a bandoneon? Actually, I don't think it is: 

* Although, for the record, not the first opera I had ever seen which actually included an accordion in the orchestra.

** Regular readers may at this point be reminded of this post from a few years ago.

*** These weren't real characters in the story played by puppets on stage, they were marionettes in the story played by real people on stage.

PotCXVIpouri

 I have been to the cinema to see 'Glass Onion', the second Benoit Blanc murder mystery. Whilst I didn't think it was as tightly plotted as 'Knives Out' it was nevertheless highly entertaining, not least for Daniel Craig's accent. It featured a few surprise cameos including Angela Lansbury. Lansbury of course died last month, and had the sort of career that means much information of interest to your bloggist was often left out of her obituaries. It was mentioned in a few places that her grandfather George Lansbury was the leader of the Labour Party in the early 1930s, but I don't recall reading anywhere that Oliver Postgate, the Noggin the Nog and Bagpuss supremo, was her first cousin. The blog pays its respect to them all.

Someone else who recently left us was Wilko Johnson, who I may or may not have seen with the original Dr Feelgood (*). 

I went to see Eliza Carthy last week and she dedicated a song to Johnson, explaining that she had played with him and that he and her father, Martin Carthy, had been close. This threw me momentarily because Martin Carthy is, well, old. But then I remembered both that Wilko Johnson himself had also been old, and that indeed so am I. Eliza Carthy and her band, the Restitution, were great. Here's one they did:

* For anyone who followed that link, new information has come to light and it would seem that the gig in question was actually at St George's Hall in Bradford rather than at Huddersfield Poly.

Muppets

 If you live in the UK then you will undoubtedly have seen this already. Still, I never like to pass up the opportunity of featuring Rowlf the Dog on the blog, or indeed of taking the piss out of the Tories.

It's a sign of the times that this video is less than 48 hours old and yet not all those featured are still in post.

Pot98bpouri

 Some questions have arrived at the Casa Epictetus, and I am inclined to answer them:

Q1: Can you tell us how you hurt your neck? No, mind your own business, although I will confirm that no horses were involved

Q2: There is previous evidence that you are a Brentford supporter. Can you explain how they went overnight from being the form team not just in the division, or even in the country, but on the planet, to coming fourth in a two horse race? I have absolutely no comment to make on this subject.

Q3: Has any light been thrown on why someone thought it would be a good idea to donate a hand grenade to charity? No.

Q4: Is it the case that you set off the smoke alarm while using the laser cutter and a fire engine turned up? There may possibly be some truth in this. In my defence, setting fire to pieces of wood is an intrinsic part of the activity, and I was wearing a mask and therefore unable to smell anything.

Q5: How can you justify your assertion in the comments section a couple of days ago that there is a mathematical joke to suit all occasions? At last, a sensible question:

A mathematician is tired of maths and decides to become a fireman. At the fire station they give him a test to check his suitability. He is told to imagine a skip full of combustible material, a hose and a tap and asked what he would do if the skip were on fire. 

The mathematician replies, "Well, I put the hose on the tap, turn the water on, and put out the fire." Obviously that is the correct answer so they move on to the second question. The mathematician is asked what he would do if, on a fire inspection, he came across the same skip full of combustible material. "That's straightforward," he says " I would set fire to it."

This causes a certain amount of bewilderment so they ask him why. "Well," the mathematician replies, "that way I reduce the problem to one that I've already solved."

Ghosts, Zombies and Gypsies

“How on the other hand could I make a reference without a new plunge into the hideous obscure?”

- Henry James, The Turn of the Screw

And so to the opera. I have been to see Britten's 'The Turn of the Screw'. I'd seen Opera North's production about ten years ago, but didn't recognise any of it; old age seems to have some benefits. It was appropriately spooky, the music and singing were top rate and it also involved knitting and puppets; so no complaints from me. I should mention the remarkably precocious eleven year-old who played Miles; I should, but I can't because I have mislaid my programme.

Miles of course dies in the end (sorry for the spoiler, but it's an opera so what else did you expect), but doesn't sing afterwards unlike many others - especially sopranos - do. I have also been to see a zombie themed version of 'Don Giovanni' (if you know the plot then you'll realise that it sort of makes sense) in which Il Commendatore did not just sing after dying, but also after his entrails had been ripped from him and eaten by his murderer. So, more realistic than many operas then. 

Finally, I've seen another Mozart piece - 'The Marriage of Figaro'. I previously saw that one while on my post-divorce exile in the upper gallery so it was interesting to see it up close following my return to the expensive seats. It was well worth it, although I can only repeat my previous advice to the composer: lose the fourth act. On this occasion I not only missed my bus, but on top of that the following one was cancelled; thanks for nothing Wolfgang. 

Mr and Mrs Miller

"Windmill or no windmill, he said, life would go on as it had always gone on - that is, badly." 

- George Orwell

James' new windmill put in an appearance for this week's game, but despite what Orwell wrote in 'Animal Farm' things definitely got better. Orwell's mill represented the industrialisation of the Soviet Union, whereas James' represents Up 1 sometimes and Down 1 on other occasions, which perhaps explains the difference. Or more likely it was the tweaks made to the skirmish rules regarding how far in front of the formed body they could be. In either event it was a very enjoyable first half (or possibly third) of the game. I've got much more morale and significantly outnumber the French in the centre, but am probably going to quite quickly lose the town of San Honore. The rules are getting close to being finished I think. I am a bit confused about how skirmishers get pushed back, but perhaps that's just me.

Elsewhere, heat has returned to the Casa Epictetus after nine days. This may come as a disappointment to some of the ladies of West and North Yorkshire, but frankly I need a rest. A bit of warmth is just the right environment for some painting  so I was glad to receive my recent order from Newline Designs. If you recall I had originally bought two chariots and two packs of crew only to discover that each pack of crew contained sufficient for two chariots. Naturally I therefore bought two more chariots. To my surprise each of the new arrivals has a crew in the pack already, leaving me, as before, with two extra crews. This one could run and run.

The laser cutter is still hors de combat.

Especially for you

“I have never made but one prayer to God, a very short one: Oh Lord, make my enemies ridiculous. And God granted it." - Voltaire

This report from the Guardian demonstrates once again the reach and power of this blog. No sooner does one of our readers demand something, than it happens. It goes without saying that it will, of course, never be as good as the first time round.

Wise Children

And so to the theatre. I have been rather remiss so far this year in posting theatre reviews. Amongst those I have overlooked was what was the best thing I have seen for years. Emma Wilson, following her abrupt departure from The Globe (she directed amongst others 'A Midsummer Night's Dream' and 'Twelfth Night') set up her own company. Their first production was an adaptation of Angela Carter's last novel 'Wise Children' and she also chose that name for the company. 'Wise Children', the play, was a simply wonderful mixture of music, dance and drama, spanning several decades in the life of twin chorus girls with they and other characters being played by multiple artists (of both genders) - and indeed puppets - as they aged.

I therefore jumped at the chance to see the next production of Wise Children,the company, despite it being an otherwise unattractive sounding adaptation of 'Malory Towers', a series of Enid Blyton books for children about a girl's boarding school.

And I'm glad that I did, because it once again turned out to be an absolute treat, this time with cartoon-like animations adding an extra dimension to the singing and energetic movement of the cast. I've never read the books, so can't comment on fidelity to the original. Here it was done as a sort of fluffier version of 'Lord of the Flies', with a group of children (all the actors obviously being adults) left alone but in this case choosing kindness and harmony rather than the opposite.

It was a summer of adaptations of children's books from the mid twentieth century, because I had a couple of months ago seen 'Swallows and Amazons', also recreated by adult actors. Arthur Ransome is more to my taste as an author than Blyton and not just because he married Trotsky's secretary. In fact I have quite recently read 'Great Northern?', the last of the books in the Swallows and Amazons series, which I had unaccountably never managed to read as a child. This play was also very well done, with the representation on stage of the sailing of small dinghies across a large lake being simple but very effective. As with the novels the best part went to Nancy Blackett; one can see why Ransome named his own boat after her.

Go Now

Featured posts

Nobody has ever said to me "Your featured post of the day is always so apposite, please tell me how they are chosen.", and yet I still feel the urge to reveal all. Well today's - and clearly this will be of no value unless you are reading it today - was chosen thus:

• There will shortly be some Fireball XL5 news on here
• Steve Zodiac's voice was that of Canadian actor Paul Maxwell
• Paul Maxwell also played Major General Maxwell Taylor, commander of the 101st Airborne Division in 'A Bridge Too Far'
• There is a brief mention of another, more notorious, Maxwell in today's featured post. 

"Don't jump."

Of course I could have chosen this one or, more obscurely, this one, but a double Maxwell was hard to resist. And do remind me to tell you my Robert Maxwell stories sometime.

The second time as farce

The world today contains a number of things that I never expected to see - a Russian stooge as US president probably tops the list - but I pleased to say that there is still room for some old favourites; the latest political scandal here in the UK concerns a Tory MP and a barmaid. Baxter Basics lives.

Which reminds me, I have been to see "Yes, Prime Minister" at the theatre. Unlike the recent stage version of Blackadder that I saw, this wasn't based on scripts of broadcast episodes, but rather a full length play written especially for the stage and which had starred the original TV cast in its first production.

Bernard and Sir Humphrey

I thought the performances very good - they were much less of an impersonation than seemed to be the case with Blackadder - and I confess I laughed out loud more than a sufficient number of times for it all to be considered a success. However, I didn't care for the play itself. as I found many aspects of the narrative distasteful to the point of being offensive. Jim Hacker seemed to have morphed from a naive, if unscrupulous, bungler, to a racist, misogynist, conscience-free incompetent; in other words a realistic enough description of a politician - see my previous reference to Putin's puppet - just not the one we were expecting to see.

Still, it is worth remembering one of Hacker's best lines at this particular point in British history:

"It's the people's will. I'm their leader. I must follow them."

You know what they say

"A large nose is the mark of a witty, courteous, affable, generous and liberal man."

 And so to the theatre. I have been to see Northern Broadsides take on Rostand's 'Cyrano de Bergerac'. You possibly know the plot from the rather good film starring Gérard Depardieu or from Steve Martin's modern day update. If you are from the UK and of a certain age however your first exposure to it may have been the Morecambe and Wise Christmas Special in 1977; it was the one where Angela Ripon danced in the chorus line. Anyway, the play what Ernie wrote was 'Cyrano de Bergerac' and featured Penelope Keith and Francis Matthews (a) although the title role was naturally taken by Eric.

"What would it take for you to kiss me?" "Chloroform."

Of course, none of that has any relevance to the current version, which I liked very much. I am pleased to report that it was played straight and set in the seventeenth century as intended. It mixed both humour and deep sadness with the music and dancing for which the company are known and threw in some sword fighting for good measure. The prosthetic nose was most impressive. In an amusing twist Cyrano makes his first appearance at the back of the auditorium and his first few speeches are made from behind the audience. I'm pretty sure that everyone else also wanted to turn round to see the nose, but, like me, didn't want to be the first to do so.

(a) Surely best known as the voice of Captain Scarlet.

Exit, pursued by a bear

And so to the theatre. Northern Broadsides have gone for a two Shakespeare in a row strategy, which probably makes sense commercially. No sooner has Bazza given us his Lear than Conrad Nelson (is there a diminutive of Conrad?) gives us his Leontes, narrowly getting the jump on Sir Kenneth Branagh who is just about to do it, alongside Dame Judi Dench no less, in the West End. Now I am loathe to criticise the very talented Nelson, who also directs and writes the music in this production. His Iago to Lenny Henry's Othello was excellent and I fondly remember his Henry V. However, I found him - and only him among the cast - difficult to hear. It is understandably tempting to play Leontes with his head in his hands. He spends the first half of the play in torment because of what he falsely imagines is happening between his wife and his best friend and then he spends the second half of the play in torment because of the consequences of his behaviour in the first half. But, if I may be permitted to offer a word of advice to the Conman, metaphorically; his head should be in his hands metaphorically.

"Ay, but why?"

The production was otherwise noteworthy for the reintroduction of clog dancing. Since 'An August Bank Holiday Lark' - a play actually about clog dancing - the company have eschewed their traditional mid-show knees-up, but now it's back. To be specific the fourth act sees a hoe down followed by an Irish step dance, but given that the geography of "The Winter's Tale" is sufficiently all over the place to accommodate a Sicilian foundling in Bohemia, it can also allow the Munster diaspora to be there as well. As for the bear, it appears projected onto the backdrop.

Superthunderstingcar

Yesterday's post inevitably reminded me of this:

The late Peter Cook and Dudley Moore, also known for their work with the very much alive Alan Bennett, in fine form.

I used to have one of the ping pong ball firing guns featured in the clip. Happy days.

On our way home

I went to the pub quiz for the first time in yonks last week. One question asked which spacecraft was piloted by Steve Zodiac; a straightforward enough question you might think, and yet it was met with blank looks all around the table. All together now: "My heart would be a fireball, a fireball..."

The series had many memorable characters such as Dr Venus (specially selected by the colonel to be part of his crew - and I think we know why Steve), Zoonie (did anyone else worry, even as a child, that keeping something that could talk as a pet was somehow wrong?) and many others. But surely the best had to be Robert the Robot, Earth's most advanced mechanical man.

If Google, Apple and the others want us to accept driverless cars, all they need to do is put one of these behind the wheel; it doesn't have to do anything, but its presence will reassure the passengers.

Who's gonna furrow your field?

This blog has once again been blessed with a non-wargaming female reader. Regulars may remember Elkie Brooks' biggest fan who took me to task for the perceived lack of respect that I showed to that lady, although from memory all I did was acknowledge that she preferred to take to the stage refreshed. I believe I was very complimentary about her singing.

Anyway, the new visitor has observed that readers only leave comments when I am complaining about something, whereupon there is a wave of people piling in to also moan and grumble. She has deduced ["Hmm," says the Rhetorical Pedant "I'm pretty sure that you mean abduced."] that I and all my readers are grumpy old men. How rude and how inaccurate.

Blog readers are as puzzled as I am

In the aforementioned blog comments there was a request for me to identify myself among the walkers pictured on Hare Head. Now the requester is not the sort of man to mess about with; by his own admission he regularly dines on raw alpaca. However I'm afraid that for reasons of security I prefer not to be recognisable. Apart from the obvious and ever present danger from enraged husbands I have an additional concern: I have already bought a ticket to an Elkie Brooks concert this autumn. And we all know how fierce her fans can be.

May was full of promises

And so to the theatre. Or possibly to the opera. Or possibly both. Opera North regularly include musicals in their repertoire, partly I think because they exist on a continuum with opera proper rather than being subject to a binary divide, and partly to make money. Their production of Kurt Weil's 'One Touch of Venus' from a few years ago remains a highlight for me of all the many times I have seen their work. This season they have revived 'Carousel', which I missed last time they did it for some reason; possibly because I was in Belgium, a country that I have once again failed to go to this week.

We want Willum, Willum the cat

Anyway, it was highly enjoyable, up to a point. It is very operatic in theme - for which read it is full of horrible people and it doesn't end well - and perhaps that is what attracted the company to it. I saw fit in my review of 'The Marriage of Figaro' to advise Mozart that he should have lost the fourth act. Similarly Rodgers and Hammerstein should have drawn a line after the first rendition of 'You'll Never Walk Alone'. The audience would stumbled out into the street emotionally wracked and blinking back tears. As it is they all leave shaking their heads at the baffling last half hour of mawkish sentimentality, wondering if even Americans could really stomach such banal, quasi-religious drivel.

The quack who's gone to the dogs

 "Everyone knows rock attained perfection in 1974, it's a scientific fact." - Homer Simpson

I went to see Dr Bob and the Bluesmakers last night, a band who I hope so very much took their name from the character played by Rowlf on the Muppets that I am going to make no attempt to find out the truth.

"You're right, Fred is a terrible name for a hospital."

Unsurprisingly they played the blues, and played them very well. A fairly classic lineup of two guitars, bass, drums and harmonica were fronted by a female vocalist noticeably younger than the rest of them. Their repertoire leaned heavily on Peter Green era Fleetwood Mac type stuff plus more soul/jazz standards such "I'd Rather Go Blind" and "Stormy Monday" which suited the lead singer's voice very well. They also performed their own compositions which sounded good, especially to those of us who believe that Homer had it right (1).

Among their encores was "Shake Your Hips", nominally a Slim Harpo cover, but actually heavily reliant on the Rolling Stones version of the song on Exile on Main Street; and none the worse for that.

Didn't move her head,
Didn't move her hands,
Didn't move her lips,
Just shook her hips.
Do the hip shake, babe,
Do the hip shake, babe,
Shake your hip, babe,
Shake your hip, babe,
Well ain't that easy. 

(1) astonishingly it is now virtually as long since the first broadcast of the episode of the Simpsons from which that quote was taken, as it was between then and 1974.

Pass it on

And so to the theatre. I have been to a very fine performance of 'The History Boys', written of course by the thankfully-still-with-us Alan Bennett. I've seen the play in the theatre before, as well as having watched the film, and admire it for many reasons. Its ability to transcend being set in the 1980s without any references to that decade - indeed with all the detail about Oxbridge entrance being well out of date even at that time - and still not annoy even the most pedantic members of the audience (i.e. me) shows how dramatically strong it is. Plus it addresses the value or otherwise of the various ways of engaging with culture. Does one allow it inside oneself, to change one as an individual slowly over time, or does one simply acquire 'gobbets' to be regurgitated to impress?

Not dead yet

Salvador Dali disparaged the performing arts because of their ephemeral nature. It has been suggested that Bennett was in this play drawing a parallel between history and theatre; both existing only for a moment and then living on solely in the memories of those who witnessed it and what they pass on to others. I think that, in its own small way, wargaming is also like that. I shall in future classify my opponents into the Lintott-like sticklers for fact, the Irwin-like cynical win-at-all-cost types and, my own clear preference, the poetic Hectors (minus the ball-cradling obviously).

A dog in a hat

There has been some comment on your bloggist's tendency to include passages and quotations in foreign languages, and his possible motivations for so doing (*). The History Boys contains a longish scene early in the first act which is entirely in French. Bennett clearly sees no need to translate or explain and it didn't seem to affect the enjoyment of the audience last night. Discuss.

(*) For once Monsieur Fwa is incorrect; I don't do it to annoy. I do it because I am a superficial pseudo-intellectual regurgitating my gobbets.