On opera despoiled by nudity (Take 2 - less of a rant!)

Twice in the last three years or so, I have been to see performances of 'Rigoletto' which were desecrated by, for me, totally unnecessary nudity.

The first was the film of a live performance by the Royal Opera company. I had taken a friend who had never been to an opera before. I only wish we had left early because no amount of brilliant singing could take away the taste in our mouths. It had bare-breasted singers in the chorus, showed simulated sexual acts, including rape, and full-frontal male nudity. Had this been in the advertising material, we would have made the choice not to go, hence a sense of betrayal.

How can these brilliant singers prostitute their art, as it seems to me, by agreeing to perform in that way? Do highly reputable companies such as this not realise that they may seriously upset the senses and sensibilities of some (hopefully it's not just a few) of us by showing such explicit scenes. We don't need to see debauchery on stage to know it happened and happens, we have imagination for that. It ruined a night of glorious music and singing. Depicting it, in my view, is cheapened art.

The second performance was by the Ellen Kent company, whose productions I've seen many times before and found excellent. I thought I could trust them; not so, sadly. Life models (rather than singers) were used in the opening act but far more discreetly than in the Covent Garden production. The effect was disappointing rather than distressing. Could it be that when one company removes a barrier, it paves the way for others who may feel they have to follow suit in order to compete?

I truly believe that 'Nakedness', in a physical and spiritual sense, should be a gift bestowed by one person upon another, in a totally private situation, both of whom are inextricably joined to each other by intimate love.

Here, I would recommend one of Robert Graves brilliant poems, "The Naked and the Nude". He says what I feel - but with humour! I know it's lacking in my 'rant' but this issue is something which really upsets me, feeling as I do that it undermines what should be both the beauty of art and the beauty of physical love, the latter, requiring the privacy which taste and decency and etiquette used to deem appropriate. It debases the currency of what should be the highest expression of love between two people. (I'll shut up now I've had my say.)

PS The poem begins:

"For me, the naked and the nude
 (By lexicographers construed .." (Don't you just love that rhyme!)

and ends:

"By Gorgons with long whips pursued,
 How naked go the sometimes nude!"             (")

On sorting things out

I wrote this some time ago and am now trying to figure out what I meant.

Your House  (your life?)

You have to sweep it clean 
               and keep it clean!

I think I meant that we can never assume that our houses/lives are definitively sorted even when we've had a classic clean up and think,"That's it now, that's the definitive version. I'll never need to sort that again; I'll be able to keep it just so!!"
I usually find I manage that for a while and then, oh so gradually, it slides back into the mire.
Once the slide has started, it's downhill all the way because it needs such a massive effort to turn the tide. (A few mixed metaphors there; sorry!)
Having written about messiness quite a few times, I think it's probably pretty obvious that this is the story of my life and I hope I'm not too alone in this because it would be a lonely situation!

On putting away the Christmas crib

This morning, it finally came down! Usually, this is done in our house on the 6th, the feast of the Epiphany, but Father happened to remind us that the Christmas season goes on until the feast of the Baptism of the Lord, which was yesterday.

When I explained to Sue, who HELPS us with the cleaning (I stress 'helps' as I wouldn't want anyone to think that we sit here doing nothing and it IS a very big house), that the poor old kings had only arrived IN the crib itself last Wednesday so I had decided to give them a longer stint in the stable, she laughed at the idea of the 'poor old kings'. (Until the Wednesday, they'd been gradually approaching along the shelf as the days went by.)

So the annual effort began. The crib itself was purchased by my mother from our church when son no1 was born, so quite some time ago!! It was hand-made in Austria and has to be fitted together each year and IT'S a NIGHTMARE! Each year I have to work out again which of the eight wooden pieces goes where, as I erect it on the base, put the straw (courtesy of our green-grocer) in the stable, place the (very unstable) figures inside and gingerly transport it to the shelf where it resides throughout the Christmas period. It falls down repeatedly and requires me to start all over again, generally driving me mad.

So guess what, after all these years, I finally decided to number each piece as I dismantled it and mark left and right fences etc. Why on earth did it take me so long to come up with such a simple and OBVIOUS device!? It either shows I'm completely daft or a slow learner - or- it gives hope that it's never too late to come up with a good idea.