Recently one of my treasured patrons chided me gently for being lazy in updating my blog. Frankly, I was a bit surprised to hear that somebody actually wanted to read my ramblings, and installed a blog page only because it appears to be de rigeur these days. I don't do social media, neither professionally nor privately, which makes me a bit of a dinosaur. I promised to mend my ways, and will make more of an effort in the future.
The same gentleman spoils me with my favourite Artisan du Chocolat dark choccies, which is a huge treat. My mother, who lives in a nursing home, is also addicted to the delicious creations, and we have girl time systematically munching our way through a box while watching recordings of La Traviata or Don Giovanni.
La Traviata is a particular favourite of mine, since it's a cautionary tale about what not to do when you're a successful sex worker. The gorgeous young Violetta was a popular and busy courtesan, who fell in love with a man who, although or because he was from a good family, would not marry her, but was quite content to let her sell all her paintings, fine furniture and jewellery just to pay the bills, allowing him to live his self-obsessed fantasy, while leaving her impoverished and ill. Every time I see a live production I want to rush the stage, shake the poor girl and give her a stern talking to about Pension Plans and Stocks and Shares ISAs, and about how we have names for men like him. The score is gorgeous, and I'm looking forward to returning to New York City in March in order to see the production at the New York Met.