Tuesday, July 12, 2005
Matinee at the Opera House
Soundtrack: “HMS Pinafore” and “Trial By Jury” by WS Gilbert and Arthur Sullivan
Saturday 9th July. I went back to the Opera House to watch “HMS Pinafore” and “Trial By Jury,” performed by the Sydney Opera Company. The lead tenor really was fine: excellent cheekbones, tight arse… You didn’t think I was talking about his voice, did you? Hooray for having another ridiculously good-looking person to feast my eyes upon. But anyway, both productions were very good fun, and that’s what Miranda’s Notts G&S company have to compare themselves to next year when they do “Pirates.” As I was strolling out of the building, I overheard two old ladies raving about how David Hobson (the hot lead tenor) was always that great. Regulars, lucky things.
I spent the late afternoon searching for a second-hand bookshop that would buy “The Crash Of Hennington” by Patrick Ness from me to no avail. I traipsed the whole length of George Street only to be denied by evil Iranian and Cantonese book dealers, and the best that I could do was exchange if for a credit note from some bookshop halfway to Bondi, which I spent on “Mrs Dalloway” by Virginia Woolf because it was the thinnest and lightest book that I could find in the shop. Life’s so difficult when you’re me.
Saturday 9th July. I went back to the Opera House to watch “HMS Pinafore” and “Trial By Jury,” performed by the Sydney Opera Company. The lead tenor really was fine: excellent cheekbones, tight arse… You didn’t think I was talking about his voice, did you? Hooray for having another ridiculously good-looking person to feast my eyes upon. But anyway, both productions were very good fun, and that’s what Miranda’s Notts G&S company have to compare themselves to next year when they do “Pirates.” As I was strolling out of the building, I overheard two old ladies raving about how David Hobson (the hot lead tenor) was always that great. Regulars, lucky things.
I spent the late afternoon searching for a second-hand bookshop that would buy “The Crash Of Hennington” by Patrick Ness from me to no avail. I traipsed the whole length of George Street only to be denied by evil Iranian and Cantonese book dealers, and the best that I could do was exchange if for a credit note from some bookshop halfway to Bondi, which I spent on “Mrs Dalloway” by Virginia Woolf because it was the thinnest and lightest book that I could find in the shop. Life’s so difficult when you’re me.
