In the second of our three nights of culture this week, Aude and I went to see Aida at the local theatre last night, performed by the same company that performed Tosca. But what a difference!

The orchestra were still as poor as ever, with their deaf conductor and their tone-deaf woodwinds and brass. Judging from their timing, everyone was playing to their own rhythm. I’m all for a sense of individuality, but it doesn’t really work in the orchestra.

Aida at the Marlowe Theatre

Aida at the Marlowe Theatre

But that aside, the performance was stunning – much, much more accomplished than the performance of Tosca the other night. The sets were beautiful and elaborate, clearly designed by the same designer who had put together the set of Tosca. The company was 200+ strong, with a huge chorus and a dozen ballet dancers. There were pyrotechnics. It was opera on a grand scale.

The singing was fantastic, on par with anything I’ve seen at Glyndebourne or the Royal Opera House.

Whether Aida was the right choice for Valentine’s Day is another matter. While the story of everlasting love is romantic, the fact that everyone dies kind of takes the magic out of the moment. (Hope I haven’t spoiled the opera for anyone – but everyone always dies at the end of a dramatic opera, don’t they?)

One of my biggest pet peeves is people who sit in first-class seats without buying a first-class ticket. On our local trains, the first-class seats are identical to the standard-class seats, so the extra money that you pay for a first-class seat is really about guaranteeing that you don’t have to stand. Understandably, those of us who pay for a first-class tickets expect a seat to be available, and we get upset when the seats are seemingly taken by those who haven’t paid for them.

When I jumped on the train yesterday evening, the first-class section was more crowded than normal. A teenager, maybe 14, complete with iPod, hoodie, and schoolbag, was sitting in a first-class seat. My first thought was “I hope a ticket inspector comes through, he can’t possibly have a first-class ticket.” Schoolkids are forever taking seats in first class, much to the annoyance of regular passengers.

My frustration obviously wasn’t unique. Another passenger pointed out to the lad that this was first class, and asked if he had a first-class ticket. He replied that he did, and the other passenger demanded that he show it. The lad basically told him to f*** off, and a scuffle ensued. Which was witnessed by an undercover officer. Who arrested the passenger in question for assaulting the teenager. (Who, it turned out, did have a first-class ticket).

Our train was met by squad cars and uniformed police.

When did life get so stressful?

When it rains, it pours. This week we’ve got three nights at the theatre. It was Tosca last night, it’s Aida tomorrow night, and it’s a jazz concert on Friday night.

Tosca at the Marlowe Theatre

Tosca at the Marlowe Theatre

For the price, I can’t complain about the performance too much — the tickets were about 20% of the price of tickets at Glyndebourne or the Royal Opera House. Tosca gave a strong performance, and the scenery was fantastic for a travelling production. But it was the first time that I had seen an orchestra conducted by a deaf conductor — that’s the only conclusion I can draw from their poor performance.

The upcoming Aida performance promises similarly grand scenery and has received very good reviews elsewhere, so my hopes are high.

We woke up to a beautiful, sunny Sunday morning, so we decided to get out of Canterbury and spend the day in London. It was a chance to catch up with Aude’s brother for some lunch, hear all about his various trips around the world, and to begin doing some wedding shopping.

Sitting on the train, Aude can barely contain her excitement about travelling to the big City

Matthew, on the other hand, rides this train to work every morning and is a little more apprehensive…

Of course, this being Britain, by the time we were up and dressed it was pouring with rain – and it remained that way for most of the day. We caught the train to London Bridge and met Jerome, then caught the underground to Oxford Circus where we walked to Soho for lunch in a Korean restaurant. I was quite excited about this, because I’ve got the sort of naïve sense of excitement that is easily satisfied by having my food cooked in front of me. I’m equally impressed in Mongolian Barbeques, Japanese Steakhouses, and any French place that flambés anything. Having ordered barbequed chicken, pork, and beef, imagine my disappointment when everything was simply served on sizzling platters. It was like Coke without the bubbles – it may taste the same, but it lacks a certain pizzazz.

Jerome and Aude, not yet fully appreciating the disappointment of not having their lunch cooked at their table.

From there, we went around the corner for a quick coffee at Liberty’s, then Aude and I set off for a series of disappointing shopping experiences across London. It reminded us of two things: first, it’s harder to spend money in London than you might imagine; and second, this is still a city where the majority of stores are closed on a Sunday. Demoralised, we grabbed some shopping and caught the train home.

Jerome looking relaxed after several weeks off lounging in the sun. Still, give him two weeks at an investment bank and he’ll be his pale, tired self! 😉

Matthew and Aude have to make due with a cup of coffee in Liberty’s for their relaxation.

Aude does some window shopping

The highlight of our journey (and maybe our day?) was an onion falling out of one of our shopping bags (stored overhead) and landing in the lap of the rather surprised, but very good-natured, Scottish woman sitting opposite us. Having just re-read the last sentence, please believe me when I tell you it was funnier if you were there.

Amazing! After only nine months, I have managed to find the desk lurking underneath the papers in my study. Having misplaced some paperwork required for our upcoming wedding, I spent most of Saturday going through all of the papers in my study methodically. In the end, I found the papers exactly where they should be (filed away in the appropriate box file), but only after I had done most of the cleaning. In addition to a desk, I’ve also discovered that I have a carpet.

The net result is a tidy study, two bags of rubbish and six bags of recycling.

For the first time since I’ve moved into the house, I can finally see the surface of my desk and the carpet underfoot!

And here’s why it has taken so long — literally bags upon bags of old files and paperwork, some dating back to when I first moved over to the UK…

I’m convinced that my cleaner is going to come in on Thursday and call the police. She’ll think that burglers have been through the study and stolen everything.

Aude and I are moving forward with the wedding preparations. This morning, we were up early for a meeting with our local priest, who will prepare us for marriage over the next couple of months. He seems like a lovely fellow, very friendly and approachable. But we’re a little bit concerned that he might be a bit like the new priest in “Four Weddings and a Funeral” – he’s new to the parish, having spent the last few years as a prison chaplain.

When we asked him about his previous posting, he confessed to us: “Admittedly, I haven’t had the chance to conduct a lot of weddings!”