Tanglewood Tales.

I'm glad I don't eat beef any more. I could look this fellow in the eyes.

The Cornish wreckers!

Let's hear it for the official Cornish Pasty!

Now its recipe and the right to its name are both recognised by the EU.

Next it wll be knighted by the Queen.

I'm a great fan.

To drag myself back to the present (in which not a lot seems to be happening) I have happily discovered Tana French whose crime novels are a really enjoyable read. I’ve bought three so I can lay Reginald aside for a bit.

The film this week was a musical - I usually veto anything musical. The Ex likes opera but I prefer something with a story that moves rather than getting stuck on one line and one note for what always seems to me far too long. I suppose that makes me a Philistine, but it can’t be helped.

Anyway, for once I was given no option and, as is often the way, was amazed at the beauty and intricacy of it. Called “Sunday in the Park with George” the inspiration for it was the life of George Seurat the pointillist. With music and lyrics by Stephen Sondheim and book by James Lapine (whatever 'book' means here?), it was a Broadway production first. It was filmed as a theatre performance (although I’ll bet the audience had to put up with lot of re-takes.)

Very very pleasing to the eye, the set is actually a huge representation of his painting, "A Sunday Afternoon on the Island of La Grande Jatte" in the soft subtle colours of Seurat’s work and the story board is his short life-time, during which he was absorbed by his art to the exclusion of all else. He took more interest in the characters he was painting than in the people he met in real life. The people strolling in the park therefore come alive and get mixed up with the ‘real’ ones. The singing was not what I associate with fancy operatics but raw modern sore-throat emotional stuff, (often funny too). Never was a line repeated endlessly for the sake of the musical score.

The second half was an imagined homage paid by his great-grandson, also called George, also an artist with light and colour, but with all the 20th century technology available he has created what he calls "Chromolume 7," which emits light and colour waves. The homage is attended by the young Gerorge’s grandmother Maria, who is the child that George the elder’s mistress bore him (but he never took the time look at).

I was startled to see Data from Star Trek appear in it (Brent Spiner).

I didn't think Costa had had sufficient exposure so far in the nostalgia trail so this post is to show all the things he was doing in those days.
*Swimming in the River Findhorn.
*Sailing in Findhorn Bay.
*Counting his Christmas booty.
*Skiing. That photo was either taken by him or by his dad, not sure which. They went skiing in France a couple of times.
*Making a snappy waistcoat. (Really! He always was better with a needle than me. It must be the sailor in him.)
*Chilling with a coffee, looking remarkable like Sandy does just now.
*Going up in a glider. That has to count as one of the worst moments of my life watching him being towed up into the sky by a hawser.
*Learning to light fires and open wine bottles.
*And finally.... a few years on, now with the sort of dreadlocks you get from sun, sand and salt air and not combing your hair - ever. He's the cool one on the right with red trousers.

After ten years with the same printer I have just learned how to scan in photos. Good for me!

It seems I took far more photos in the past than I do now. This record of some of the houses we have lived in is just the tiniest tip of the iceberg. There are four large biscuit tins and a box full of them. I never was any good at getting them into albums.