Th Naked Night, The Vest, and Forget the Scrupples.

Glimpses of a naked Knight of The Realm, other wise known as the Sainted One, are rare rather like sightings of a very endangered species of wader bird. However a state of semi undress is sometimes visible , and brings with it a frisson of .. well I don’t know … but you all know what I mean, from this and the laundry routine, I can now officially announce that the S O has been unsown from his vest. He follows the behaviour pattern of the great My Pepys who was unsown in late summer and resown into it in late September. Not that this has anything to do with the latter but it is also official that Moi has decided to forget principles and scruples. For years I have adhered to the decisions of others to brand certain people and their behaviour as unacceptable and that they must be demonized, and when out of unflinching loyalty this path is adhered to only to find that they are as it were sleeping with the enemy, and all the best of friends drinking gin together, while you have become the villain. Well not anymore folks, it is now official that I am un unprincipled slut in these matters and will do whatever is most convenient, in fact do what politicians do …. Take a look at the city and the Russians, it’s all bollocks nothing will happen you mark my words . They will all be smarming away after a few meaningless expostulations.

We are in our holiday home where I have come to edit the first half of my book Summers Grace, only to find the houses either side are to be demolished and replaced by gorgeous villas. I am afraid I “lost it”, not a pretty sight the result is a brief postponement in order that Moi can recover from the dreadful removal of the serpent from my innards and work on my fabulous literary masterpiece. Actually people can be very nice, sometimes hard to keep that in mind. I have noticed that the S O has begun to close his eyes when I speak to him, it is very unnerving it is as if he wishes to block a distressing image, this is a pity because my whole countenance has become serene and delightful since I became so unprincipled.

The S O loves sorting dustbins, which is just as well since the many weeks of tenants here have left a trail of shocking insights into their domestic routines. The most awful stinkers are lobster shells, OMG the man has a strong stomach. We should put the rents up if people can eat so much lobster which must be an aphrodisiac. I will mention this to the SO over the chicken salad, that and the condoms I bet the eyes open then .

Opera Bores, Fasbender the Greatest Living Mezzo, and Maybe Ballet is Best

OMG opera bores are the pits, they start in the Summer because they go to country house operas with picnics and things. Mostly they know nothing about the human voice, I am a failed singer and studied with Walter Gruner, one of the greatest voice teachers of all time. He told me to sing with my private parts other wise known as the pelvis etc, because with women that is where the voice starts. Of course for me the timing was wrong and anyway I knew how stressful a singers life can be. I was not good enough either !! But boy do I know a lot about singing, there is nothing like failing to get you in the loop.

Brigitte Fasbender is the greatest living Mezzo, I heard her on the radio recently. She reiterated the feelings I have about the way singers are taught now days. Opera bores talk bollocks, they do it all the time it is a long string of names and places. Usually they wouldn’t even spot two or three bars missed out by a singer and the orchestra just going on playing against them as they try to recover. This happened the other night and the OBs claimed it was the best rendition they had heard. I would like to shut them all in a room with Fasbender and listen to her master class.

A student called Georgina featured in one of these I heard during the programme I mentioned, the girl had a fabulous voice and is destined to be a Diva, but God help her if she stays in England for her future training. Fasbender spent a lot of time on the argh sound, vowels are largely ignored by singers today, as the great lady said they are all there to be sung! Curiously I went to a birthday gathering yesterday and talked to Linda Hurst who is a professor of singing at Trinity Laban. I have always admired her, especially, as she was so complimentary about my son Andy Anson, a product of Trinity, once described as the finest young player of his generation. Anyway I diverse, because in moment of psychic inspiration I talked about Fasbender’s master class and bet it was her pupil ….. it was!!! OMG I am totally in touch. It is sad actually, opera bores have cleared rooms with their “cant” they have driven me to the ballet It’s hard to talk bollocks about ballet, and for some reason people don’t do it why is that ?

Sweaty Betty, Proud To Be Brittish and Turning off the Fountain.

The last week has been a round of occasions which make me very proud to live in England where the arts flourish as they do. I am at a severe disadvantage at these events in high summer if it is very hot, because I live up to my name of “Sweaty Betty” so called by me family who tease me unmercifully about this and many other things. The trouble is it is my head that suffers most, this is an area impossible to hide. If it were arm pits or other bits, concealment would be possible, but with this, the Aswan dam just streams down. Today I was working at my desk with someone who looked up and asked if the roof was leaking because drops kept falling on the key board and some smudged the ink on a document we were looking at. She looked at me nervously, and politely suggested I had just washed my hair. She had great presence of mind. On Saturday my son and moi went to the Royal Ballet School graduation performance at Covent Garden. My daughter and her husband sponsor one of the dancers Eldivaldo Souza Da Silva who graduated. This is a dancer to watch, the whole affair made me weep buckets especially when two hundred and fifty young dancers took to the stage. And people listen to me ,La Traviata at Glyndebourne is sublime, more weeping though!!!

The Sainted One is being rather nice and helpful at the moment, perhaps because he thinks I might expire at any minute and he is thinking a Mobile Human Chernobyl is better than nothing. But OMG the pain fresh hold from the serpent removal , sure gets lower in the heat. Perhaps he is panicking or something because the OCD thing is getting worse, he gets exhausted turning the fountain on and off all the time, the theory is that one must only have it on when you have company or perhaps for a brief moment over lunch time, then there is the reloading of the dishwasher. He has taken now to reloading his own reloading, this is very depressing because I cannot help thinking all this time could be better spent on other things, like offering to clear up the Goddam dinner in the first place. He needs to understand that this water feature is very soothing for moi also not to panic about wasted electricity when I put my head inside the deep freeze, today it smelt faintly of haddock, and so now do I. This does not bode well.

Cancer is My Teacher (an iconic book) Big Hair and The Definition of Taciturn.

My daughter Lucy O Donnell has written a book on Cancer; having just been very ill myself, I see it, as more relevant than ever, people are quite odd about illness ( with notable exceptions) OMG you soon sort out the real friends the ones who don’t think that you have had your moment and now it is not mentioned, when you are picking yourself off the floor they say , because it is nicer for them, “ you look marvellous, so glad you are better.” You may look OK, but you are anything but. Pain is a lonely thing.

However I have been very lucky to be entertained by the caring ones and this weekend we saw the men’s finals at Wimbledon, if I eventually expire prematurely, the Sainted One will get a lot of casseroles on the door step just for the Wimbledon tickets.

My adorable Son Andy was my guide for this day and we did a lot of Royal watching with the binoculars, I conclude that tensions are evident in the highest circles, so we are all the same in the end. However I did unwisely hold the exclusive Ladies Loo door open ( I am very well mannered you see ) this was a mistake since several BIG HAIR LADIES took it as their right to sweep through , ALL of them had the big hair thing. Eventually at a loss as to how to relieve myself of this unwanted servitude, without letting it bang in what was a “ royal connection face“,I held my hand out and asked for a gratuity. This put an end to it, but the very polite one had hair like mine, as someone once described it a Brillo Pad, (a wire wool saucepan cleaner).

I have always known that My life would have been quite different if I had been the owner of fabulous thick straight hair, just look at them all, they have it, you only get ahead with big hair!

My delightful grandson and moi have just had a gin in the garden, we rushed in when smoke billowed out of the French windows and the smoke alarm rang loudly enough to alert the neighbours. I had burned the plumbs, it is the pain killers you see, they make you mad. The Sainted One was oblivious to this, but eventually alerted to the commotion asked me what was the matter, I could barely see him through the smoke but he should have taciturned the darn thing off .

A Farting Marathon, The Office, and The Curse of The Phone.

Note I said office and not orifice, I met a very high powered man called Mr Orifice once, I was carefully requested to pronounce it with an Italian accent, thus it became “orrafiche” .Me, I would have changed the Goddam name to Bottom which is quite respected, like the man who announced in the Times that he was changing his name from Roger Penis to Brian Penis. Accents are weird actually, the Sainted One changes his according to the company he is keeping. With Italians he becomes, well, Italian although he does not speak the language, with Americans he speaks transatlantic, and last night, in a rather continental gathering, he became like a mad German from an old war film. With me he doesn’t really talk, more like the odd grunt. However an ear for languages is very useful, yesterday a member of our party spent a lot of time on a mobile phone excusing this by telling moi that she was engaged in urgent business which was matter of life or death to the global economy. Rather surprisingly she spoke in French assuming that moi did not understand what she was saying. But oh yes I did, !!!!! I was semi raised by a Frenchman you see; it was all about parties and shopping and something she sure as hell would not like to have shared with genius blabber mouth here.

I think the woman, who incidentally, held her knife the wrong way and ate her pudding with a spoon clasped like one of those things in a relay race, thought I was common and ill educated but then in a her defence snotty Brits are hard to read. Well now, here is the thing, when your credentials are as wonderful as mine are you don’t give a rats arse. Lucky actually! The other night, having suffered medieval pain for two days, which I am used to now as part of the recovery from having a serpent removed from my innards, I lay on a sofa in the S.O’s study watching an Old Film about a woman saving one hundred children from the Japanese. Then began the two hour fart, I swear it was still going on at the end of the film. During this time the S.O did not refer to this, and when it became rather loud I blamed my dogs Beatrice and Mollie, but after a bit they slunk out of the room and I could not blame the cushions or the weather. Eventually the S.O left as well, silently with a sinister forward gait, and suddenly like a miracle I was pain free. I understand it is trapped wind, because they blow you up with gas the better to see what they are doing when they remove things from your insides.

Since this event I have noticed the S.O has started referring to his study (where he watches TV a lot and hastily flicks the programme when he hears me approaching), as his OFFICE I ask myself if this is because he does not want this area to be used for flatulence relief……? Well actually I think a lot of that does go on in there and elsewhere as well mostly to be fair of a verbal kind. The S.O upset a charming woman at dinner recently, when he expounded his theory on what he called “Hydrogen Fusion”, me , I do not know much, or anything about this. If he had only asked, he would have found out, before advancing his unrehearsed thesis, that the beautiful lady was a physicist who had been short listed for the Nobel Prize for her work in this field . Gas bags unite I say.