MY VERSION OF EVENTS....

When - eventually - the world is declared 'normal' again and there are no lockdowns, enforced social distancing, closures of theatres and coronavirus is largely suppressed by vaccines, the performing arts world will emerge a very different beast. So, too, will audiences. It is optimistic to think that audiences will flood back as before, and although a large proportion of them will, I think that the immediate post-pandemic period may be even riskier than the disruption of 2020 itself. COVID was unquestionably a disaster for many companies (and particularly individuals) but I would also wager that many mid to large scale companies will have actually found their finances in decent order this year. The largesse of audiences, a reduction in the spending on work, often panicked, opportunistic staff reductions and the risk elements of audience response removed, the balance sheet will be better for some than it has been for many years. The support of furlough along with the man

Since the start of this pandemic, we have cycled through endless conspiracy theories about why we are in lockdown, why we shouldn't be in lockdown and even whether the virus is anything more than a mild head-cold. One of the most common justifications for covid denial is that 'there is an epidemic of suicide' as a consequence of it. There isn't, but that won't stop people using it as a reason to unleash furious diatribes on that basis. And the real kicker to all of this is that the people who often use it are the sort of Brexit/Tommy Robinson 'libertarians' who really don't give a fig about the deaths of people (I find they are also Grenfell-deniers and racists, too). Which leads me on to what I have been recently observing on an almost daily basis as a perfect demonstration of the kind of duplicities these people can indulge in; mental health baiting. The exemplar target of this would be Janey Godley, a Scottish comedian who came to my attention pri

I had it all planned. Tonight would have been the 31st opening night of my Opera Holland Park career. And my last, too. I retire from the company  on the 30th September  this year and I had intended to use the ten weeks of music-making and the conviviality for which the venue is famed as a backdrop to say an awful lot of farewells. Those after show drinks, served in coup, flute and miniature and usually filled with a concoction of James Clutton's invention will be no more. Anxious looks at the weather forecast are gone too (not a loss) but most of all, I have been shorn of the chance to celebrate with all the team after each – always different – adrenalin filled night of wonderment; committed professionals who, like the singers who come off the stage, are crackling with the release of the night's pressures, having made a contribution to the enrichment of a thousand people. After all, that is the particular elixir we crave and it is why we do it. I'm not dwelling too much on

Today it was announced that on September 30 th , 2020, I will be taking early retirement from my role at Opera Holland Park.   Ernest Hemingway once said that 'retirement is the ugliest word in the language' and in recent months, as I contemplated my own, I have come to know what he meant. Even though it is merely a word to describe my departure from Opera Holland Park after thirty-one years, it does 'catch' a bit. Which brings me onto George Burns who said that 'retirement at sixty-five is ridiculous. When I was sixty-five I still had pimples.'  I still have metaphorical pimples and remain as childish as ever, so I'm sticking with George's philosophy.    I'm not retiring in the conventional sense. I am retiring from Opera Holland Park, a formal, recognised conclusion of a life's work. It says 'my work here is done', not that my working life is. There are one or two big projects still in me. I am grateful to th

Lidia's Lasagne" This dish is one that Mum would have been taught by her mother who in turn would have been taught by her mother and so on. They were all born and raised in a mountain village in southern Italy in the province of Salerno. Much of the cuisine there is what you might call "peasant" food; earthy, rich, a concoction of whatever ingredients they could muster. Today there is something luxurious about it all. I learned how to make it from watching her do it a thousand or more times. This lasagne is "dry" and certainly lacks a béchamel sauce. It is more of a "cake". The critical difference that people first notice is the presence of salami and sliced egg. It is moist without being wet, the ragu is rich and smokey and the eating experience is one of great oral satisfaction; plenty to chew! Traditionally, the meat would be a blend of whatever they could get; rabbit, pork, horse et al.  I make it now with a mixture of pork and bee

1.      My name is Miriam Lamprell.  I am 79 years of age and I lost my only child, Debbie, in the fire at Grenfell Tower. I have asked Mike Volpe to read this because it is impossibly hard for me to stand up and read this out, but I am here. And I will be coming to the Inquiry, as difficult as it will be to find out what happened to Debbie. 2.      I had Debbie in the maternity hospital in Walthamstow in 1971 and brought her home to the flat in Hinds Park where I still live. Debbie and her father, my husband, Reg, lived there together right through her childhood and she stayed with us all through her early adulthood when she took her first jobs, until Debbie moved out when she was 31. We were an incredibly close and happy family. We loved Debbie and Debbie was devoted to us.  We were blessed with Debbie in a way that is very special. 3.      Because Debbie was an only child we encouraged her to have her friends round to play as much as possible. She wasn'