I Close Glyndebourniana Amidst a Celebrity Onslaught

Wednesday 2nd September 2015

My Glyndebourniana season ended on 22nd August. This year I had intended to cut back and only take the one about the escape from the Seraglio. Apart from the expense how much longer can I go on trailing 80 miles there and back with a vast caravan of silverware, china and glass as well as linens? ‘You’ve got Herend,’ a woman at the next door picnic exclaimed on 22nd August. ‘You know it!’ I said. It’s the Hungarian Meissen, you know, picked up cheap by me after the Wall came down and Anthony Mottram moved into the former Bloc along with other leading Gays who saved the bloc and made it entrepreneurial. But somehow I ended up going three times to Glyndebourniana. Rape of Lucrece I couldn’t resist because it was cheaper. Joshua Baring did the food aspect of the picnic – salamis, parma ham, artichoke hearts, prawn salad, Salade Nicoise and a Pav. Sebastian Archer said that everybody was gawping at us in the loggia as well they might. Not just for the array of sensational food: I had on the red summer scarf from Bamberg, bought for Bayreuth, whose dye comes off and can’t be got out of whatever it’s got on. I’m in correspondence with the shop from whence it came. Also, I’m sure word went round that we were in the know. I’m sure we were seen in superb chance confab on the main lawn with Fiona Shaw, the director of The Rape, and Phyllida Lloyd, the director The Iron Lady and Mamma Mia. Oh yes, we were burningly central. As it happened I enjoyed The Rape the most as an opera (I forgot to say: Dame Judi Dench was robed and in the audience!). Robert Nevil and Joshua Baring were sure I wouldn’t like it, as was I. I even liked the libretto although it was fearfully purple and nonsensical once too often. Robert Nevil had done a pre-talk at Glyndebourniana on this very topic just the week before, for once not mentioning the Pony Club of Great Britain. But it was psychological and the scenario intriguing. The mu I thought remarkable – many arresting effects. The one about the Seraglio was criticised by the critics for being too much talking and not enough music. But I rather thought too much music and not enough talking. The mu was a bit highly wrought and artificial although the scenery and general effect of a rich orange glow (exotic) was lovely. We were a family group for the Seraglio with Aunt Lavinia and the Gay Mother in Alice Temperley. We had Laura Malcolm’s spinach and sultana tart (the one that in Normandy got re-directed, with apricots substituted for sultanas), then cold fillet beef with Ottolenghi burnt tomato sauce. The pudding wasn’t by me. Aunt Lavinia got it from this new grand takeaway place she’s found. It was a cream and sponge confection: very good. Otherwise nobody was at Glyndebourniana that time. I suppose the greatest Glyndebourniana this year was Saul, which I seized last minute at reckless expense because the reviews drove one to desperation. It wasn’t so much the opera which I can’t say I found musically interesting although the visual effects were stunning. It was more the glorious day and being at last on the lawn, among other things. Owing to a drama with Connor Cadeaux, I co-oped the hot boy Doc, Finn Magnus, last minute and he emerged in a fantastic outfit. I think on the lawn people were looking at the pairing and experiencing outfit envy. My picnic and table picture gave me satisfaction. I did a simple trout fillet with Sauce Vert, a new chicken salad from Jamie Oliver with cucumber and almonds – not sure about the cumin. But I never am sure about cumin. Finally Finn suggested we linger in the coffee bar before setting off for London and that was a triumph. We knew everybody. I’d been telling Finn about my cousin the famous endocronologist . Right up his street being a doctor – would you believe it, he was there! We didn’t see him. He was parking the car  but I spoke to his wife. No sooner was that over, than enthroned on a bench was Pearl Barley, the novelist and critic! Absolute raptures. He said, ‘It’s just an old oratario really,’ before setting out with private driver for London. With him was a lady who admired my outfit – my summer scarf, biscuit slacks and mega white jacket with satin cowl collar. The other lady was the publicity director who directed Mrs Thatcher on her publicity tour for her memoir. I was fizzy with happiness and belonging. So Glyndebourniana closed for me this year.

The Rape Prawns, pre-Cooking by Joshua Baring

My Bamberg-Bought Summer Scarf for Rape: It Bleeds but the Stains won’t Come Out

Dame Dench Robed and in the Audience for Rape

My Table Picture for Saul

Posted Wednesday, September 2, 2015 under Adrian Edge day by day.

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