Showing posts with label swan lake. Show all posts
Showing posts with label swan lake. Show all posts

20121203

Tuesday November 22, 1977

To the Grand (Theatre) with Sarah at 7:30 to see 'Swan Lake' performed by the Royal Festival Ballet. Barbara Wheeler and her dear, sweet daughter, Beverley, sat nearby but Barbara had an attack of the leaks and left in the middle of the second act. I really enjoyed it. _________. The music especially was superb. Don't ask me the name of the principal participants but one thing's for sure - they were all Europeans. Ever heard of a ballerina with a name like Ethel Jones? All in all it was a success but the closing scene was not what I was expecting. The prince and the swan are supposed to drown in the lake, aren't they? Yes, I thought so too, but in this version they were carried aloft to heaven on the back of a dirty great duck. Sarah hated it and did nothing but moan. We came home on the bus at 10:30. A cold, nasty night.

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20110817

Sunday September 5, 1976



12th after Trinity. Out of bed at midday for a cooked breakfast with the Mather family [except Donald, who is decorating]. Horror of Horrors! I smashed a rare Meissen plate when I dropped a half-ton butter dish onto it. Mrs M laughs it off but I feel terrible. I never break anything at home. I also accidentally knocked Peter's electric razor off a dresser, showering particles & bristles all over the kitchen.

Lynne and I then creep away to the Cayley Arms. Talk about things. We don't like Jane, and neither does Donald & Vera. I say how much I like her parents - which isn't crawling - but quite sincere. Only us in the pub, which isn't very nice, and so we go for a drive round for an hour or so. Bright sun. We laugh at the sight of a massive 18 stone woman astride a tiny, pathetic, crippled pony, which seems to be dying beneath the weight. Lynne wants to contact the NSPCC or something. Isn't that for cats?

Back to Ty-Onnen for hilarious lunch and then settle down to watch 'Cromwell' starring Richard Harris and with Alec Guinness as the martyred monarch. Retire to bed at midnight after cuccumber sandwiches and Tchaikovsky's 'Swan Lake' on the record player. Listening to Lynne and her father discussing work over supper I realise how terribly ambitious she is. I don't like ambition one bit. I tend to think people become eaten away by it and finish up like Hitler.

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Sunday May 6, 1984

 2nd Sunday after Easter Moorhouse Inn, Leeds 11 Dismal. The little warm spell has passed by.That's summer over and done with. Down to t...