Кромерские tutti quanti: P.16 “P. S. The gift from Poppyland”

 The subject:

Кромерские tutti quanti: P.15 “P. S. Misc.”

Life on Holidays:

Кромерские tutti quanti: P.14 “P. S. Cromer as Kêr-Is”

Kêr-Is (or Ys) was a mythical city swallowed up by the ocean.

King Gradlon ruled in Ys, a city built on land reclaimed from the sea, sometimes described as rich in commerce and the arts, with Gradlon's palace being made of marble, cedar and gold. In some versions, Gradlon built the city upon the request of his daughter Dahut, who loved the sea. To protect Ys from inundation, a dike was built with a gate that was opened for ships during low tide. The one key that opened the gate was held by the king.

Most versions of the legend present Gradlon as a pious man, and his daughter, Princess Dahut, as wayward. Dahut (sometimes called Ahez) is often presented as frivolous and an unrepentant sinner, or, sometimes, as a sorceress. However, in another version, that of an ancient ballad, Gradlon himself is blamed by his people for extravagances of every kind.

In most variations, Dahut acquires the key to the dikes from Gradlon, and its misuse leads to catastrophe. Commonly, Dahut steals the keys (made either of silver or gold) from her father while he sleeps, either to allow her lover inside for a banquet or after being persuaded to do so by her flattering lover. She opens the gates of the dikes, either in a wine-induced folly or by mistake, believing she is opening the city gates. ©

Кромерские tutti quanti: P.13 “P. S. Lovely pests of Cromer”

It turns out, starlings are the most adorable pests of winter Cromer: they can sit in the closest imaginable proximity to you, singing you the best song of their people and waiting (somewhat impatiently) for whatever you nibble. If you don’t eat anything, they perform for you for another minute or two and then leave with “smh” expressions plastered all over their silhouettes

(Upd. Apologies for the “toilet” part in the video: not exactly demure, but it is what it is)

Кромерские tutti quanti: P.12 “Winter Cromer as a memory”

Winter Cromer is already a memory, and looking at the photos I think it was a joyous dream.

Кромерские tutti quanti: P.11 “Time to go home”

It’s time to go home, but it was one of the most wonderful celebrations of my slowly acquired Britishness.

Also on Thursday before the opera.

We decided to eat al fresco in our favourite restaurant (it has a nice glass terrace). Since it’s still a bit chilly, the radiators are cleverly disguised in beautiful foliage, a centrepiece of the terrace, and in the lights above. And then the dialogue below happened:

Me: “Could you bring us a blankie, please?”

A lovely young waitress (somewhat perplexed): “The what a blanket, you mean?”

Me (absolutely mortified): “Yes, please!”

…The very idea that not everything in the outer world is one big cat community, struck hard.

“Turandot”: a very brief review (if I may)

Yesterday’s “Turandot,” revived after a long break on the ROH stage, was spectacular, bombastic and, oddly enough, less camp than one could expect from the post-commedia del’ arte opera buffa opulently decorated with chinoiserie. Those who still remember that notorious headline from 2013, “Turandot is a disgusting opera that is beyond redemption” by Michael Tanner, won't be disappointed: it’s a qualified guilty pleasure for the “Nessun Dorma” admirers against all odds.

To be serious, I can’t see any flaws in the modern production: the performance itself, the set design (no performative “cultural appreciation”, but love to carefully curated grandeur) and, of course, the soloists themselves—everything was solidly enjoyable and delightful. However, unlike the Spectator's music critic, I preferred SeokJong Baek (Calaf) over Sondra Radvanovsky’s Turandot: something in her soprano, certain metallic undertones that never went away throughout the second and third acts, put me off. But Baek’s tenor, magnificently strong and effortlessly smooth, was a treat for the ears.

“Turandot”: the one that came back

 It was vibrant enough.

“Horrifying children” (Bloomsbury, 2025)

The collective monograph on hauntology as a core element of British children’s television (Bloomsbury, 2025) has arrived: the authors of the essays are analysing the spectral elements of the cinematic (as well as living) experiences of children on British TV in the past and present. I am reading a novel recommended to me by a dear friend, so I’ll have a chance to read this one a bit later. At first glance, not all pieces sound equally interesting, but the vast majority of them look good; let’s see.