Grumpy

I have decided that getting ahead of schedule can be a frustrating experience; you start to grumble when contractors can't take up the earlier slot that has now opened up for them. That then leaves you with empty days that you frantically try to fill with other smaller jobs. I'm not complaining because clearly it beats being behind schedule but the trick, I suppose, is to give each job less time next year (then you will fall behind schedule but will have a month long "safety period" to fall back on). The mezzanine has fair flown up in two days and it sits proudly alone like a giant modern sculpture beneath the vast roof. Just the glass to go in and we will be able to have a party on it although guests would have to climb the zip tower to get onto the floor. There might be a PR opportunity right there.

Talking of which, I was sent a copy of an interview with James and I in this months festival edition of 'Opera' magazine. The writer, Nick Kimberley, in composing a very good piece, has quoted me as referring to myself as a 'melodramatic Italian tart'. I could tell who in the office was reading it by the hoots and snorts of recognition. I can't blame Nick for the fact that in the industry magazine, in which one would like to present oneself as a serious opera professional, one has caricatured oneself thus. Alas, one has to accept its truth. This crashed home to me this morning as I flounced out of the house muttering Neapolitan profanities at Fiora's wilful truculence over playing with the forbidden fruits of Sally's make-up bag. Melodramatic Italian tarts make no concession to the fact that her second birthday is still five months away.

I look forward to tonight when my children's school indulge in an evening of operatic endeavour. In such an environment, melodramatic Italian tarts are tolerated.