Hopera

One of the more useless subjects I studied for 'A' level all those eons ago was Music. Useless as a credible career choice, that is, seeing as I was not destined for a Nigel Kennedy-esque life as a musician, far from it! Still I did get to have a season ticket to the English National Opera with my fellow students, and we would go up to town with Miss Hayward and soak up the culture.

It was not all Verdi and Mozart, however. There were some utter dirges; the sort of operas that if you happened to wander into the auditorium on wet evening to get out of the rain, and take whatever is on as 'typical' opera, you would never set ear to iPod ever again. We actually had to leave one early before it sent us throwing ourselves off the top of the building in despair.

In total diametrical opposition to this type of opera, I went to see King Arthur last Thursday at the Opera Berlioz in Montpellier. Not the five hours of John Dryden's play, but 2 hours of music that Purcell set to some of the scenes. They are not in anyway connected, so joining them together was quite a feat that Hervé Niquet managed with panache and hilarity. He called upon Dino and Shirley to direct events, which they did with Pythonesque expertise.

I have never enjoyed myself so much during an opera. The soldiers had metal salad bowls on their heads and had to clear the water they'd been splashing around, putting the bucket on their heads to create an echo effect. Dino was part of the show as a stage hand and could be seen moving scenery around, silently auditioning to join the choir and participating in the story as a scythe-sweeping Death.

Hervé Niquet provided dynamic and hilarious orchestral direction, even entertaining the crowds with a between-scene rendition of 'L'Auberge du Cheval blanc'. The orchestra donned woolly ski hats for the cold scene, and the audience were invoked to provide noises for the night forest scene - wind, wolves, toads, crows, owls. The atmosphere was bawdy and burlesque.

A far cry indeed from those dire wailings from a grey set with sad grey figures and a tale of tragic woe from the ENO. The audience left the packed theatre going off home with a happy smile and lightened tread.

Certainly, that production will go down as one of the more original offerings from Le Festival de Radio France et Montpellier Languedoc-Roussillon!

Tele On

The tele works, but has to be kept on stand-by, or switched off at the mains. The repair guy huffed and grunted his way around the Christmas tree, presents, wires and other sundry objects preventing him from perfect access to the box. In the end, he found he didn't have the right bit, or not enough bits, gave us a bag of bits he'd removed telling us not to lose it under any circumstances (which I fear we've done as I have not seen it in 24hrs) and is coming back next week to finish the job.

At least we are able to watch 'House' again. It's my favourite programme at the moment. Hugh Laurie behaves so badly in it, reminding me a little of the sarcasm and ridicule Baldrick suffered at the hands of Blackadder. It's a very clever series, uses big words (oooer) and, especially for an American series, is totally gripping. Actually, that's not really fair, is it? There are many good American series around at the moment, such as 'CSI', 'Numb3rs', 'Special Victims' Unit', 'Medium' and so on. Still, 'House' is the best, with Hugh Laurie's amazing American accent, and excellent straight acting. It's not a comedy, but he manages to make the odd brutally witty remark even so.

Talking of entertainment, this evening we tried to get to the opera to see the Mercredis d'Opera Junior. I was sure it was at 20H, today, the 20th. I had a desire to get back to being the little culture vulture that I had been before I encountered the world's least culturally interested man and entered a period of cultural life akin to a desert. My parents had taken me to various concerts, ballet and theatre shows when I was younger, and it seems natural to me to expose my little darlings to such events.

They were less enthusiastic. My eldest told me the only music he likes to listen to is rock and could he take his Gameboy? Answer: no. I had to drag them out, a bit on the late side, and make a mad dash into the centre of Montpellier. We parked and then literally ran to the Opera Berlioz.

It was looking remarkably empty and unwelcoming. How odd. Maybe the concert was in the Salle Berlioz of the concert hall on the Esplanade. Another mad dash, madder, in fact because we were really getting to the limit of the hour of 7, and arrived, puffed out, to find it shrouded in gloom with a definite air of shut-ness. Even odder.

There seemed nothing for it but to go home. Hanging around the Place de la Comedie with a sagging credit card and no cash was not inviting. However, the prospect of mulled wine and a good dose of 'House' on the tele at home was, so we made our more leisurely way back to the car, and arrived home. The whole shebang took us 40minutes.

Had we been members of 'Spooks' we could have called up HQ and put in a request to find out what had happened by whatever means they had at their disposal. As it was, I had to wait until we arrived home, then drum my fingers while the Firefox update did its thing, after which I could access the Opera site to find out where we had gone wrong.

The wretched concert had finished. It had started at 19H, not 20H. Oops. It had cost, prepaid, 21€ too. Plus 2€ parking. Oh bugger!

I'll have to get more organised if the boys are to experience a little culture other than admiring flashing glimpses of the city centre at night and standing before the closed doors of the Montpellier Opera House.

Ah me, I should have checked. Obviously 20/12 became 20H 20/12. Doh.