Bredonborough At I dreamt that
10.37
Bredonborough.
At 07.24 I dreamt that it was 08.00 and the alarm was ringing. No sensible slumber returned, so rising at 07.55.
The Minx was hiding in plain sight in the Cellar and made me jump. Thus, the beginning to my day.
Morning reading I…
II...
III...
… and the computer is now open.
11.12 Oh no! A cruelty of inbox.
15.56 A day mostly on The Non-Industry Dispute. And a little practising. Off to Birmingham.
23.45 Meeting pal
Andrew Leask for supper of the Japanese variety I…
II...
III...
… and a short walk to the Hippodrome for the
Royal Birmingham Ballet’s The Prince Of The Pagodas (
BRB).
Britten’s music, played by an orchestra of perhaps 45-50 players: breathtaking. Without electricity, in a sizeable auditorium…
… with every note audible. The dancing: exceptional. Without dancing, the evening would have been worthwhile for the music. If without music, the dancing itself possessed a sufficiency.
David Bintley and his charming wife Jenny, herself a ballerina, showed us around the BRB’s facilities afterwards. David mentioned that, thirty years ago,
Ninette de Valois (
The Guardian obituary) had suggested to him that POTP was a ballet for David to take on.
An evening.
