Ah, England.

E' una bellissima giornata inglese. Scendi e c'e' il caratteristico odore di stantio della moquette. Si percepisce ancora, incredibilmente, il classico odore della vernice che usano qua sulle porte bianche (sara' perche' le ho recentemente pulite?). Fuori c'e' quiete assoluta, e' tutto bagnato, e nell'aria si percepisce, ma non cade torrenziale, eppure scende, la pioggia. Animali che che dormono risoluti, fanno le fusa o giocano dappertutto, di sopra ragazzi (ormai sono tutti e due ragazzi, Ghigo oggi compie 13 anni) e bambine delicate che dormono. Da qualche parte un marito silenzioso e i suoi 30 minuti di bagno per rendere le sue carni profumate al punto giusto, per me. E' un bel posto.

It is one lovely English morning. You come downstairs and there's the familiar musty smell from the carpet. You can still incredibly only faintly perceive the typical smell of the white paint you find over most English doors (that might be because I recently cleaned them). Outside there is total quiet, there's a general feeling of wetness, you know it's raining though you can't really see it. Animals downstairs either doggedly sleeping, elegantly purring or bounding about, upstairs boys (as from today, they're both teenagers, as Dylan's thirteen today) and a sweet little girl sleep. Somewhere a silent husband and his 30 minutes of bath a day to make his skin just the right intensity of scent, for me. It's a good place.

Regina Spektor, Leeds July 2010

Regina is beautiful. She has masses of curly brown hair, a wide and warm face with big eyes and a generous smile. In order to see her at the O2 Academy in Leeds I had to brave a sleepless night, a delayed airplane from Italy, a coach, a walk under driving rain with a broken heavy bag to carry, a train, a rushed lookup of the place and finally a drive. I had promised a friend I would go and see her for him, as he couldn’t make it and he adores her. I didn’t know her at all before this, I found out later I had heard Fidelity on the radio various times a few years back and wondered at her bravura. But Roberto sent me Braille, and then I heard Après Moi. From somewhere else I heard Flowers. This woman, I realized, is exceptional. Why hadn’t I heard more of her before?

I downloaded all her albums and ordered her last one, Far, on Amazon, hoping to get a hard copy I could then try and get Regina to sign: it would have made Roberto’s day.

Then one terrible day a couple of weeks ago, my friend writes (In Italian) about her cellist Dan Cho dying in a swimming accident. I was shocked: I was only just getting to feel for this woman, to appreciate her immensely, and such a tragedy for her... and yet she went back the next day and played anyway, leaving the cello on stage, illuminated.

Seeing her would be even more poignant. The fact that they swam in the Geneva Lake whilst in the middle of touring, such a simple, joyous, infantile thing to do, the sort of thing I used to do, instead of playing the “stars” and, say, clubbing. And the price paid was humongous, enormous, unconceivable. I felt for her, so much.

So, all the hassle to get there, it had to be done. A kindly bouncer showed me a closer and safer parking space, explained I’m not late at all, Regina wouldn’t start till 9, so I went and parked better. I felt strange and yet right, being there alone, after neither my husband for lack of babysitter, nor any of our friends came. Somehow, it was meant to be a private, intimate moment, and it was.

I got myself a Guinness, and listened to Regina’s friend (as she was keen to point out). People clapped loads and she was happy about it, so I am glad for her.

My feet, clad in really high white platform sandals so that I could hope to actually SEE Regina, were killing me.

She arrived a little late, but she arrived. I knew what she looked like from google, but somehow I knew she wouldn’t look like any of those google images. She was wearing a curious brown dress, very old fashioned, almost a simple Mother Russia countrywoman’s attire. It made her look alarmingly vulnerable. Her hair was uncoiffed, just masses of brown curls. She wore no discernible make-up. She smiled a big smile to the applause, big big eyes. An idiot said “Speak!”. Is she a trained monkey? She smiled a little sadly in response and started immediately singing instead. She was accompanied by a viola/violinist, a drummer and her own piano.

She started with Better. The studio version has a lot more electronica going on. This was raw, almost weeping, strong and poignant. “If I kiss you where it’s sore, will you feel better?”. I had a good view of her. Her eyes would crunch up, the muscles in her face would contract and distend with the effort. There was none of the studio playfulness in this version, just desperation and incredible beauty of delivery. Immediately afterwards she continued with One More Time With Feeling. I listen to this, as I don’t have an album to compare it to yet, and there is no comparison. It’s a different song, the one I heard last night was far more intense, perfect and crystalline and yet filled with soul. It was also much longer but this might be my impression. Towards the end of this first couple of songs I am transfixed by her beauty, a true beauty that moves all her facial muscles in delivering a song rather than the static plastic beauty we are so used to seeing elsewhere.

We then continue onto Folding Chairs. A happy go lucky “summer” song, with vocal sounds that bring us back to dolphins and seals. She performs it with an almost angry determination, you know it’s a cute song and you know it’s not meant to be so intense, but it’s a relief, you can tell, for her to play with her voice and bang (beautifully) on the piano. We let her.

Two Birds is sung less sweetly and more poignantly than on the album. It is a beautiful, beautiful song, she is still intense, gorgeous, performing and the violin struggles to follow completely. I wonder whether the violinist might be so used to playing along with the cellist that he now feels lost. In any case, this amazing song was delivered with such intensity, that both she and the audience at the end were left a little speechless. Regina has a visible moment of emotion.

She then continues with EET:

This is probably too much even for me. I feel tears welling up in my eyes, and I can see that they are for her as well. Her voice becomes more powerful in response. We all travel this journey she provides for us with intensity, with beauty, with gratefulness. The piano interlude is not as soft and paced as in the studio version: passion and intensity have crystallized and added notes to it. Her voice is not as sweet as the studio’s, her voice is also at times deeper and warmer, and when it rises it becomes moist and filled with friable iced snowflakes. At the end of Eet, there is a verse, “feel the beat” and Regina makes the ensuing beat sounds for much longer than in the album version: it is unbearably like a heartbeat, that progressively diminishes and slows down, until it stops.

The emotion now is truly palpable. Regina stays silent a moment, takes a big breath, and continues.

She sings Machine and Blue Lips. (The songs are good album songs in the studio, but Regina is starting to leave us. She is a professional, she is a performer, but her thoughts are elsewhere. I feel like we’re invading her privacy, she seems to be struggling a little. You can see she really wants to perform, but I look around and see greater excitement from the people than is justified by these songs’ delivery. People sing along. “The colour of our planet from far far away” is repeated many times. She is thinking of something, someone far far away, and we are far away with her. We are still travelling with her.

There is a pause, idiot number two makes moany sounds, it’s like an assault, she smiles sweetly to brush him off, and continues. Who on earth are these people? I admire her class, her dignified response to such idiocy.

We continue with On the radio. This song is very upbeat in its message as well,

This is how it works
You're young until you're not
You love until you don't
You try until you can't
You laugh until you cry
You cry until you laugh
And everyone must breathe
Until their dying breath

and it seems to bring her up quite a lot too. We’re kind of dancing, and it reminds me lots of Fidelity. I wonder whether she will play it.

Laughing with is delivered dead-pan, almost exactly like in her video. At least at the beginning. There is some hurt creeping through, and the slightest touch of resentment. But far less than you’d expect. I’m not sure whether she meant the song to “praise God”, but it sure sounded like she had found a touch of cynicism and a touch of anger if she did.

I went to get myself a Bailey’s. A succession of songs follows: I believe she then sang Ode to Divorce but I’m not so sure, it all started to become very subtle, lower... Regina had gone.

Après moi, an incredible song that she manages to sing without much feeling, Piano is not firewood yet, Somedays (a very sad song, sung almost hushed, very very beautiful but almost indistinguishable here). She gets up and puts on an aquamarine guitar. People get excited and applaud but it looks like she’s going through the motions, not really wanting to be there, finding it very hard to move at all. She sings Bobbing for Apples, people are stirred and touched. I didn’t know the song so all I noticed was the fun line that Someone next door's fucking to one of my songs. Another lovely lovely song That time, has a strong bass sound but becomes almost monotone. And then Back to piano, Human of the year, all pretty tuneless. Man of a thousand faces, Summer in the city, Samson, Us.

I felt like going onstage, wrapping Regina up in a warm blanket, offering her a cup of tea and taking her away, to a warm, cosy place among friends. I looked forward to hearing Braille, or Flowers, to see whether even such songs could be deprived of feeling, but Regina starts on Fidelity. I recognize it, barely, and I wonder how she can sing it: it’s such an upbeat song, almost cheekily telling us she was never in love (or the person singing, as Regina says they are never autobiographical) but music breaks her heart. I don’t know whether that was the intended meaning but that’s what I got from it: a happy song. The pain that exudes from this live version is almost unbearable. Her voice can’t keep up with the vocal game in “heart”. People want to dance but Regina can barely finish the song. People clap their hands. Regina finally, and for the first time, speaks. Her voice is incredibly sweet, and very very light, like a little girl’s. She says she just wanted to say a couple of words before they left. She speaks about Dan Cho, her friend and cellist and of how he “tragically passed away”. She asks the audience to remember him, and says thank you for being there because singing songs helps. She then walks off the stage to huge applause. The violinist says goodbye and leaves as well. I don’t see the drummer exit the stage. A few people ask for an encore (are they stupid?). Lights come on, recorded music starts. Just to make a point.

I am grateful to my friend Roberto for granting me the opportunity to get to know and listen to this incredible creature, and feel very sad for this eclectic and sturdy artist who was so vulnerable and fragile tonight and gave her all, for as long as she could muster. She deserves our full attention, and I very much look forward to receiving her new album, Far.

Ah, the lovely English school system.

Dear All,
On Friday I received a letter, well, two, from the school. They were namely from Mr B. and Mrs M. but presumably they're an automatic send-out from the school, I'm not sure.
I often found myself puzzled with many of the school's policies, but considering my boys are happy there and seemed to be ok, I let it go most of the time. A couple of issues I tried to bring up in the forum, which I thought was a brilliant idea to converse with other parents as well, and keep a dialogue open between the school and ourselves. Unfortunately, it was usually met with very little discussion and, once more, a semi-automatic response system that consisted in rules being repeated, and that's all. So I haven't been using it much lately.

This time, however, I am being accused of neglecting my sons' interests and specifically not expressing interest in the school's review day. This was a little too much for me and so I must ask you to read on and bear with the expression of my frustration, please.

Very specifically about Review Day: we received a letter home with a reply slip we needed to send back to the school.
At least D. brought the slip back to school.
K. might have been confused about the fact that he'd been at home sick and so might have forgotten to give it in, but he assured me he had given it in as well.
I was therefore confident that my slip had been received.
In my response slip I had specified a preferred time, after 5, so that my husband might be able to come too, and I had also asked if at all possible to have the appointments close to each other, so we could come only once for both brothers. So, one slip would have been enough for any staff to know that:

1) we did want to come,
2) my husband was willing to take time off work in order to come and
3) we wanted to be there for both boy's review, and so some kind of personal organising from the school would be required.

The week after the slips had gone in, D. was away for the whole week on the Opal Coast Trip with the school, which I would have presumed all teachers would have known about.
K., on the other hand, was still at home lying on the sofa in pain, something I had informed the answering machine that "deals" with student absences about, EVERY DAY, since K. first started being ill.

I was assuming I would receive a letter back, stating when the appointment had been made for both boys, and giving me a number to call if I had any problems with that appointment. I got nothing and grew increasingly fretful. The boys didn't know who was supposed to tell them, so they couldn't ask. D. told me there was supposed to be a board up with the names and appointments, but he didn't see it there.
So, I called the school, spoke to reception explaining the problem and asking whether I could speak to anyone about how I could come in for the review day, even if it meant coming and waiting. Please note that the letter I received states: "As you have not informed me of the reason for not attending I will be entering D.'s absence as unauthorised". The receptionist said that the only thing she could do (and I could do nothing) was for her to send an email (an email??? what about the phone??) to the respective teachers (therefore, unless the receptionist did not pass on the message as promised, both teachers had been informed of the reason) and ask them to inform me when I could go. I made sure I had the phone on and listened out for it ALL DAY. But nothing.

I then spoke, I believe it was the next day or so, with K.'s form tutor (I now forget her name), to whom not only I once more explained what had happened, and she told me we could talk about it there and then, but I also asked about how I could get some work for K. so he wouldn't end up being behind, because I WAS concerned about his reports (which were also extremely confusing... were they good? Were they bad considering how good they had been before? I wouldn't really know!).
Speaking to her I didn't have any clearer idea about the reports, but I thought ah well, I suppose when he's better I can ask for a meeting if they believe it's necessary. She didn't tell me at the time that K.'s absence at the Review Day would be entered as unauthorised.

I was quite unnerved about the school's complete lack of internal communication. Why do I receive a letter home about review day, but not about the appointment booked? Surely it would be  important enough not to rely on the school's ability to get hold of K. and D. and use them as messengers, especially when the school KNOWS that the boys wouldn't be in in those days?

This is all as far as the Review Day letter of reprimand I received. I would like to receive another letter saying that of course, the day of absence WILL NOT BE MARKED AS UNAUTHORISED and there has been a mistake in handling these automatic and therefore fairly useless and potentially, as in this case, very insulting letters.


Please bear with me a little longer, so I can speak about the school's absence policy.

For some reason, even though K. and D. have always been incredibly healthy, this past year has been a nightmare as far as hospitals, medical conditions and the like are concerned. Had I been working out of the house, like most people, I probably would have lost my job, because of the amount of time off I would have needed to take.
Thankfully, I work from home.
Mr B. you will remember how many days D. missed. He had stomach cramps and despite me insisting with the countless GPs we visited that D. was missing school and how much we needed to solve this problem, it took me months to get him seen by a specialist and months and two or three runs to the A&E department to finally get him a scan, which resulted in a diagnosis of massive constipation, intestinal inflammation, horseshoe kidney and possible kidney stones.

Now, with K., I have been calling in every single day, updating an answering machine with K.'s conditions. I have asked for work, been neglected by the school who gave the impression they were completely  unconcerned with K.'s work, and YET I received a visit from the (albeit sympathetic and understanding) Social Services???

I understand the school has many students, I understand the need to automate as many procedures a possible. I even understand your concerns for privacy, and the fact that many families around here are truly irresponsible and uncaring about their children's welfare.
But when it comes to accusing parents of not taking care of their children's education, I believe a more personal and careful approach is in order.

Thank you hearing me out.

Yours sincerely,
Valentina Sarno Puggioni,
mother of K and D

Memories: Blizzards in the Lake District. Writing by travel and documentary photographer, Toby Deveson

A beautiful telling of the story behind his best picture yet, so proud to be part of it somehow:

Memories: Blizzards in the Lake District. Writing by travel and documentary photographer, Toby Deveson

Wordfast Pro and other vague new plans

Trying it now, so far so... hmmm. Will let you know when I finish this one job. So far, when I've had the choice, I would try Wordfast 2 and then go back to Classic, every time. This time, I have bno choice, so will have to come to grips with it.

Renewed my licence, the Wordfast license is totally worth it, especially now that Transperfect finally saw the light and dumped silly Trados for Wordfast. But still find Pro it a little clumsy, yet I'm sure it's just a matter of getting used to it.

Any plans to carry on writing are set aside, I just don't have the time.

Currently however translating, as well as some Pharmaceutical stuff, the wonderful Sara Lando's new website. This is where it stands now: www.mooserental.com.

As for the travels part... I can't believe I actually got to a point in my life where every cell refuses to travel, move, again. All that's out there in possibility is good and exciting, but I have grown attached in a weird way to Yorkshire, the pub on fridays, our new friends. We'll see, I'll keep you posted.

THE EVIL GOAT OF DEATH

THE EVIL GOAT OF DEATH (From Paolo Puggioni's blog)

As I said, I couldn’t help doing it.

Also, I can’t help writing its name all in caps.

THE EVIL GOAT OF DEATH scares me a little.

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My pal Vashti Bunyan- La mia amica Vashti

Interview with her (not by me)

My husband surprised me by buying tickets to see Vashti Bunyan (keep this hum in the background as you read) in Leeds last night. She is an extremely talented lady we found out about through our friend and Black and White Photographer Toby Deveson. The act before we missed the name of, but they were quite good. I'll find out who they were asap. But when the Lady came to sing, we started a dream into her consciousness and her memories, and it hasn't left me still. At first I was struck by a certain amount of sadness. I saw all the beauty and the impetus of her youth, all her dreams, and saw that many of them hadn't come true. It was already too late I had related too much to her by then, so tears started welling up in my eyes to accompany the beautiful music. I couldn't help noticing the awe of her accompanying guitarist (a Glasgow boy), the respect of her accompanying violinist, from London, and the youthful enthusiasm of her other Glaswegian, who played a different instrument at every song. And yet. I felt with complete surety we could have been friends. Had I had my Place, I would have invited her and she would have come and she'd had stayed for a week or two, having tea and getting up to see the dawn in a poncho and we would have chats and interact with people and finally we would have a small musical session, with just a few of us from the house, and then perhaps a larger one. At the end we realised that yes, many of her dreams didn't come true, and as she said, "I used to think things could be so simple... now I know it's not quite like that", BUT now she was on the road again, and happy for this. I realised how lucky I was to be nearing my forties and happily married, and at the same time I haven't given up any dreams, in fact they simply evolved, matured, became more tangible, and now they can be called Plans. It doesn't matter that I would have had more energy to do what I wanted when I was 26. What matters is that now I have the wisdom and the determination I was nowhere near having back then. It will happen, it has already begun, and when it evolves further, you will all be invited.

Mio marito ha voluto sorprendermi prendendo i biglietti per Vashti Bunyan (tenete questa musica in sottofondo mentre leggete) a Leeds ieri sera, una Signora di enorme talento che abbiamo conosciuto grazie al nostro amico e Fotografo in Bianco e Nero Toby Deveson. Non abbiamo colto bene il nome del gruppo che la precedeva, ma non erano affatto male. Cerchero’ di scoprire chi fossero appena possibile. Ma quando la Signora e’ venuta a cantare, abbiamo iniziato un sogno all’interno della sua coscienza e dei suoi ricordi, e non mi ha ancora lasciata. All’inizio sono stata colpita da una certa quantità di tristezza. Ho visto tutta la bellezza e l’impeto della sua giovinezza, tutti i suoi sogni, e ho visto che molti di loro non si erano realizzati. Ormai era troppo tardi, mi ero già identificata molto con lei, quindi i miei occhi hanno cominciato a riempirsi di lacrime ad accompagnare la bellissima musica. Non ho potuto fare a meno di notare la soggezione del suo chitarrista (un ragazzo di Glasgow), il rispetto della violinista che l’accompagnava, di Londra, e l’entusiasmo giovanile dell’altra ragazza di Glasgow, che suonava uno strumento diverso ad ogni canzone. Eppure. Ho sentito con totale sicurezza che avremmo potuto essere amiche. Se avessi avuto il mio Posto, l’avrei invitata e lei sarebbe venuta e sarebbe stata per una settimana o due, bevendo te’ e alzandosi per vedere l’alba in un poncho e avremmo chiacchierato e avremmo interagito con gente e alla fine avremmo avito una piccola sessione musicale, con solo pochi componenti della Casa, e poi magari una più estesa. Alla fine ci siamo resi conto che si, molti dei suoi sogni non si erano avverati e come ha detto lei stessa, "Un tempo pensavo che le cose potrebbero essere cosi semplici... ora so che non e’ esattamente cosi ", MA adesso era di nuovo on the road, e felice di esserlo. Mi sono resa conto del fatto di quanto sono fortunata di starmi avvicinando ai quaranta ed essere felicemente sposata, senza per questo aver rinunciato a nessuno dei miei sogni, anzi, si sono solo evoluti, sono maturati, diventati più tangibili, ed ora si possono chiamare Progetti. Non ha importanza che avrei avuto più energia per fare quello che volevo quando avevo 26 anni. Quel che conta e’ che ora ho la saggezza e la determinazione che, allora, non mi sognavo nemmeno. Succederà, è già iniziato, e quando si evolverà ulteriormente, sarete tutti invitati.

A rational conversation with friends.

My husband and I finally went out to the pub with his workmates, and had a lovely night out. Twice so far! As a dear friend remarked, “one would almost think you had a life!”

Well, yes, it would almost appear so.

Few things are more stimulating to me than a good talk with someone. I am thoroughly “blonde” (in the best possible acceptation, blondies out there) most of the time, but also have a pretty serious outlook on life at the same time. Well it isn’t serious as such, but I’m serious about it. Anyway.

One of P.’s colleagues, K. is one I was warned about how great he was except if you spoke about such irrational things as religion, tarot reading, homeopathy and so on. He is highly intelligent, and a programmer. They warned me, don’t talk to him about tarot. To me, that’s a challenge.

The first night however, we merely talked about language, sense of nationality, all sorts of really interesting stuff, accompanied by great beer and the occasional talk with others at the table. I was completely charmed. And, among other things, he called me a “geek”. I said no no believe me I’m no geek, I am pretty ignorant in most things, all I ever studied in depth was literature, I only know what people have told me and make my conclusions (pretty much always temporary) about life and other things based on what I hear here and there. He then insisted and told me it’s not how much or what you know, it’s your attitude towards knowledge. He asserted: “You are indeed a geek”. Well I felt flattered, and told him I would treasure that and tell the world and all my friends about it. Most of whom will laugh about it I know, but there you go. I was called a geek and I told him I would hold onto that until he got to know me better and changed his mind.

The next time we managed to go to the pub, last Friday, K. had had a pretty bad week. He still managed to be his usual brilliant self, but when we went outside to have a fag (I don’t smoke, but on these occasions, it kind of fits), he updated me a little on his condition and his worries about it. For some twist of discourse however, as we walked back in I had come to mention the forbidden “tarot”.
I am currently writing a book about them, because a book is what it takes (at least) to say all I think about the cards, but I managed to spend a few minutes (more than half an hour!) actually talking with him about the “unmentionables”.

One of the biggest problems when attempting to talk about tarot I believe is the enormous amount of tarot readers who ascribe "magic" to them. By doing so, anybody wishing to use tarot (because one might study them for entirely different reasons, as part of an art course, for example, or a sociological study about how they are used within this or that society) whether to have them read or to read them is assumed to have to believe in magic.
It is hardly surprising therefore that you have two main fronts: those who believe in magic, and the people who think people who believe in magic are loonies.
So of course, by mentioning tarot to K., he immediately took me out of my cherished "Geek" group and placed me in the "Loonie" group. But, credit to him, he heard me out, and I hope his opinion has reverted to, if not Geek, at the very least "I don't know how to categorise her yet".
I don't believe in magic.

Merriam-Webster's online definition:

Main Entry: ¹mag·ic

Pronunciation: \ˈma-jik\

Function: noun

Etymology: Middle English magique, from Middle French, from Latin magice, from Greek magikē, feminine of magikos Magian, magical, from magos magus, sorcerer, of Iranian origin; akin to Old Persian maguš sorcerer

Date: 14th century

1 a : the use of means (as charms or spells) believed to have supernatural power over natural forces b : magic rites or incantations
2 a : an extraordinary power or influence seemingly from a supernatural source b :: enchantment
3 : the art of producing illusions by sleight of hand something that seems to cast a spell

Ok maybe I believe in the third option: I believe there are people called magicians who produce an illusion. Unfortunately, in our society and for an enormously long time, there should be a 4th definition:

4 : the art of creating the illusion that a perfectly natural (often as yet unstudied by science) process is caused not by a natural interaction of human beings but by some supernatural source.

Does it perchance remind you of anything else? Perhaps religion? Or drugs? More on that later. The point was: do not rule it out. Allow me to read your cards, sooner or later, without bias from your part. Yes it may well be that I am instinctively an excellent psychologist who can analyse people to such an extent that I say what I see and then convince them that the cards are saying that, not me. Psychologists wouldn't be very happy about that considering the time and money they have spent to distinguish themselves from plain old me. But how do you explain the fact that that particular card, which you can see, has an image on it which quite specifically relates to the condition I am talking to you about? Do you think I am also a magician who can ensure the right cards come out that will back up my psychological analysis?
Add to that the problem that I may on occasion be wrong, or read the cards wrong. I believe the times we are wrong are caused by interactions with the person the cards are read to, and other factors. All perfectly explainable and avoidable with experience.
So, right now, before we enter into more talks and hopefully sooner or later I will succeed in my aim to make cleverer and more relevant people than me study these matters and change the society we live in through those studies, all I ask is that you allow yourself to be curious. That you allow me to talk about it without you defining me a loonie who believes in "magic". Believing that there might be a rational approach to magic that does not necessarily imply saying it is all pointless and plain wrong babble, is already a start.


(Thanks to Kev for some very delightful chats)

Charles Fleischer insists: All things are Moleeds | Video on TED.com

Just translated the subtitles for this (it is now currently waiting for someone to review it.
A completely brilliant speech.

Charles Fleischer insists: All things are Moleeds | Video on TED.com

Wholesome food!

A wonderful time at Sheffield last night

We went to see this the other night. By chance, we had selected first row seats and didn't even know it!
It was marvellous, the violinist very good but a tad too "enthusiastic and passionate" though I suppose considering the opera is a gypsy piece absolutely perfect and in character.
We were right in front of the cello players and the bassists. It was wonderful, we fell in love with the three cellists in front of us and the two supercool bassists we could see, as well as with the first violin, so laid back and smooth.