I love Italian food. I love it for its simplicity, its complex nature; the speed with which a dish can be prepared or the age it takes to eat a sumptuous feast. It is the often, contradictory nature that appeals so much – for there is a meal, a dish or a taste sensation for whichever mood you are in; whichever mood you want to be in. Yet even though my shelves are littered with Italian cookbooks, or draws stuffed full or magazines claiming to offer authentic Italian recipes, I’ve started to question if what I eat is truly of an Italian origin; or simply a base note diluted by years of non-Italian “improvements.” It all started with a piece of veal, progressed on to
Culture Archive
So, do you find me a changed man? Did I have an epiphany in the Upper Circle? Am I a convert, or will I continue to struggle blindly over the opera based questions on a University Challenge? The answer to the first three questions is a resounding NO; but… The fact that I have left that sentence to hang could suggest that Opera North failed in their challenge; for a collection of bloggers not to feel indifferent about their latest production, Carmen. Though I don’t necessarily think they are to blame. It was a big, bold and brash looking production; full of positives running through the first two acts. I thought the stage design and lighting conveyed a sense of place – the hot, muggy
The image to the right of these words is of a book. The actual book is not important. The fact that it has a cover is. I don’t know if the book is any good. I can’t tell that simply from looking at the cover. To find out if I like the book I have to open it, read it; follow the dialogue and then – not always at the end – put it down and make a judgement upon it. I’m off to see “Carmen” tonight. My judgement already is that I will not enjoy it. What I know of Opera North’s “Carmen” is through the snippets I have read online – including a set of fairly prosaic reviews and claims it is “sexy”
What is the greatest film you have ever seen? What is the best album you’ve owned, so tattered or worn that you’re well past the first copy you picked up? What about food, drink, places or people? To determine the best, how did you rate them? Did you give them stars, thumbs up, a number between one and five, 10, 100? When you did so, were you aware of your mood, your surroundings – what had happened in the run up to encountering and experiencing greatness, and did you think to consider what you were about to do once greatness had passed? I have a problem with ratings. Especially those where the parameter is often as narrow as zero – five. Where is the scope
Found myself in a strange town, though I’ve only been here for six years now. I’ve got questions in my mind. Trying to find a clue on Cookridge Street. I moved to Leeds for love. It’s true. The love was already in me; it just happened that the person I loved was living in Leeds. I was living in London. The long distance relationship was a pain. At the time I had agreed to walk away from a role – and was well rewarded for doing so. With the severance package in pocket I took a punt and moved up to Leeds. We had a house; I found a temporary job and started to find the amenities – the pubs, clubs, bars, restaurants and shops