Jonathan Dodd returns. Guest opinion articles do not necessarily reflect the views of the publication. Ed
I was persuaded this week by my lovely wife to go up to London to look at the swans.
I’m not a born-and-bred WightIsler. Indeed, I lived in London (at least on the edge) for ten years during the 70s, I taught in schools there for four years, so I’m not scared by the big city. I even did a spell of minicab driving near the Fulham Road.
Other than that I hardly ever ventured into the centre of town, probably because I lived too near. I’ve been to see far more exhibitions and plays and events since I left London than I ever did while I lived there.
Nothing but the best
One thing I never did until fairly recently though was the Ballet. My wife loves the Ballet, and nothing but the best will do. So we occasionally make the trip up there to Covent Garden and creep into the Royal Opera House, up the stairs where the air is thinner and the clientèle less refined, and we peer over the balustrade at the spectacle below.
The Royal Opera House has a very long and thin stage with a big proscenium arch, and a horseshoe auditorium which guarantees that you only see half the action if you get to sit in the affordable seats at the side near the stage.
The third group of ballet-lovers
I don’t mind this at all though, because I’m in the third group of Ballet lovers. The first group- loves the dance itself. They know all the technical terms and the big names and can even compare the latest up-and-coming star with those favourites who have since retired. The second group love the romance and the costumes, which are astonishing in their richness and intricacy. The third group loves the music. That’s me.
This time it was Tchaikovsky’s lush tunes with the sweeping strings and a truly beautiful harp solo that managed also to play on my heartstrings. The orchestra there is excellent, and you get a great bird’s-eye view of all of them while the rest of the audience’s attention is riveted on the pas-de-deuxing going on centre-stage. It was good. Very very good.
No plot to speak of
Swan Lake is a completely nonsensical series of dances with no plot to speak of but the most heartbreakingly beautiful scenes of what seems like hundreds of skinny women dressed in feathery costumes parading around the stage with perfectly lovely precision, and then standing completely still in rows for ages, before breaking into ecstatic movement again, all in unison. It was gorgeous.
The roads are just like home
London hasn’t changed, except in odd ways. The roads and pavements are terrible. Walking along and looking down I felt quite at home. There’s hardly any traffic any more. And it’s so very noisy. All the time. The hotel room was hot so we opened the window, then had to close it again. There are so many people on the pavement and in the shops, and it never stops, the bustle and scramble and rush.
But the shops round Covent Garden are amazing. You can goggle at the prices and then cross Long Acre to a maze of small streets where they have specialist shops of all kinds. I found a little bit of Heaven there, a shop called Fopp, which has wall-to-wall foreign DVDs, all at really cheap prices. I could have spent the whole day there and all my money, but then I would have missed the swans.
The cure for the universal teenage depression thing
The last time I went to the Ballet was with my wife and her ex-mother-in-law and now best friend (don’t ask!). It was Romeo and Juliet, and I was in Seventh Heaven, because I’ve always loved Prokofiev’s wonderful music. It’s so tragic and foreboding and dark. No wonder Alan Sugar has it as his theme music for the Apprentice on TV.
When I was a teenager I found the cure for the universal teenage depression thing, which was to place the stereo speakers on the floor with a cushion between them and play Prokofiev’s Romeo and Juliet quite loud. With the curtains closed. In the dark. It used to take me down and down, deeper and deeper, until I couldn’t stand it any more, leapt up, opened the curtains, and went for a refreshing walk by the sea front.
Not the third group of ballet-lovers
The orchestra at the Royal Opera House played it all live and magnificent, and I was spellbound. Afterwards the two women were very excited about this costume and that dance, and asked me what I thought.
‘I have no idea,’ I said. ‘I was only watching the orchestra.’
I’m surprised they considered ever taking me again. But I’m glad they did.
If you have been, thank you for reading this.
Image: Ross Hawkes under CC BY 2.0
Image: aurelin under CC BY 2.0
Image: thisisbossi under CC BY 2.0
Image: Carlton Browne under CC BY 2.0
