31 today

Meaning the he-I, only partly revealed in the above photograph in the grounds of the modern-art-rich Gunton Arms, North Norfolk, where we had a superb lunch to celebrate a birthday early last month in the middle of the equally flavoursome Southrepps Music Festival. We may have between us two feet in the grave, but I don't really buy in to Webster's cynicism. Anyway, the stunt is a good substitute for the fact that The Other won't allow full-frontals or facials other than this one (wedding photo 2015) on the blog.

Since 1988 we've been civilly partnered and married, to celebrate our rights, but our relationship began in Edinburgh while we were there performing Puccini's Gianni Schicchi on the Fringe with City Opera and the Rehearsal Orchestra. Edinburgh was, is and I hope always will be my city of love - unrequited over four years as a student (what pain that was), redeemed another four years later.

'Our' opera is either Schicchi or Nixon in China, the UK premiere of which we went to see around that time, other backgrounds being a visit to see university friend Eleanor Zeal's play that year, The Tainted Honey of the Homicidal Bees, based on the Greek myth of Erysichthon (Eric in her version), which won her another fringe first, after which we had J's sadly now erstwhile friend the Houri dancing up the stairs of the Annandale Street flat where I was lodging bawling 'I'm in love with a wonderful guy', and the Edinburgh Botanic Gardens, where a pledge was made. The above programme was signed by the great man some years later, when I got to interview him in a pre-performance event before he conducted the BBC Symphony Orchestra in a Barbican concert of his music.

Friends who were recently together back in 1988, my hosts in Annandale Street, are separated now but on good terms, and their lovely children are still partly ours (at least in my mind, anyway; we put in many intensive days of work entertaining them on visits to Scotland): Alexander first, chronologically, among godchildren, Kitty nominally J's goddaughter now.  Mother Julie has this heartstopping view of Arthur's Seat, complete with figures on top, from her kitchen window,

while Christopher still lives on the other side of this amazing valley in Broughton, between Peebles and Biggar in the borders, where we went for the first time in some years after our Edinburgh sojourn this year.

'Our' boy, Alexander, is now a hard-working twentysomething who's just bought his first modest property in Biggar with girfriend Kirsty. I hope he won't mind being the only face up for close inspection here, unconsciously but hilariously reflecting darling dog Lily's head-up with the ball at our picnic by Stobo Reservoir on our glorious four-hour walk from Broughton along the Buchan Way.

And here is said dog acting as substitute for the one I want, along with a garden, to complete our more or less contented life, outwardly ruffled at the moment by what happens to J's work should the European Commission Representation in London finally close on 31 October (but I'm still hopeful that it won't, probably a little more so after the first public response to democracy under threat this past week). We're both heading out of the confluence of the Tweed and Biggar Water on a gloriously warm weekend.

And here, continuing the tradition of anonymity for J, are my more feline companion and I heart-shadowing at Kew on Sunday

with blissful Mediterranean pine and sky directly above.

UPDATE: our evening should really have been dinner for two, but how could I miss Gardiner's Berlioz at the Proms?

I blush to say I applied relentless pressure on J, who hates the Albert Hall audiences but loves good singing and all-round excellence in opera, and he got both, having amusingly pointed out that our anniversary night subject was, in real life but not in Berlioz's romantic portrait, a brawling bugger who constantly faced arrest for both the stabbing and the sodomy. Anyway, a more joyous occasion couldn't be imagined.

It was a giant bottle of champagne to Haitink's farewell concert last night, a wine of very rich vintage.

You can read about both concerts (five stars, natch) on The Arts Desk: Benvenuto Cellini here and the Vienna Phil special here. With thanks to the doyen of action photographers, Chris Christodoulou, for the photos. 

Legal in New York

Hard to believe it happened here before it happened there, but same-sex marriage has finally been voted for in New York State by the senate in Albany: the stuck 31-31 turned to 33 for, 29 against, owing to two Republican 'defections of conscience'. Hence the tinted view of Brooklyn Bridge as I last saw it with one of Olafur Eliasson's waterfall constructions (not quite as pink as I'd like it, and a rainbow would have been even better, but you get the gist).

I'm still a little confused, or perhaps a little dense, about whether we should be putting 'marriage' in inverted commas. We still talk of civil partnerships here, and I'm happy to use that terminology - ie we have rights; that's good enough for me (it's also quite useful for telling strangers where you stand if they ask if you're married. 'No, I'm civilly partnered' is a quick answer which they can then follow up or not as they wish). 'Husband' (or 'wife' for that matter) and 'married' surely hark back to a more proprietorial idea of conjugal necessity, but I wouldn't deny folk the right to use such terms if it makes them feel more free and happy. Cheers!


Meanwhile, the Anglican church hums and haws, making me wonder why anyone would wish to be yoked to it. So it's going to be OK for bishops to be openly gay, but they must be celibate. Even this, apparently, isn't enough for the evangelical wing. But in any case why deny people the only love they can say they will ever know for certain, and the right to express it fully? Craven-hearted indeed.

Unlike Rev. John Unni of St Cecilia's Boston, who got a standing ovation from his congregation for the speech/sermon in his 'All Are Welcome' service. He declared that parishioners 'are welcome here, gay or straight, rich or poor, young or old, black or white. Here, you all can say, "I can worship the God who made me as I am".' As I wrote to Will, who posted this on his Designer Blog, it only takes one good, charismatic man or woman to reverse a deal of harm.

Civil rights, Italian style

Here's a sober, if charmingly directed, take on the abuse of the religious wisdoms so beautifully stated in Of Gods and Men, since it highlights the Vatican's nonsensical 'crusade' against the rights of same-sex civil partnerships in Italy (where else does religious authority interfere in legislation to the same extent? Only in Islamic theocracies). To make Suddenly, Last Winter (Improvvisamente l'Inverno Scorso) Gustav Hofer and Luca Ragazzi followed their impressions, and the healthy conflicts in their eight-year relationship, offbeat-documentary-style through the year of government shilly-shallying over the bill for the so called DICO that would have given them the same rights we have in so many other European countries, or something like them.


The Jarndycean to-ing and fro-ing in the Senate (Cesare Salvi pictured above) is amusingly covered, with a light touch backed up by quirky music for wind quintet. But the Vatican's various statements that legalising loving relationships will lead to 'incest and paedophilia' as well as pose a threat to families are shown in their full impact not just on extreme religious groups but also on the widespread support for the truly creepy 'family day' (fine, celebrate the family, but don't use it as a pretext to oppress people who are different from you). Luca states his reluctance to hold the camera in no uncertain terms, while Gustav unassumingly puts the questions to sundry bigots and nearly gets beaten up on one demonstration. To balance that, we see the huge crowds and hear the impassioned speeches - including one from a spirited old priest defrocked by the Vatican - at political and Pride rallies.


Luca's feelings are familiar: we're protected by the microcosm of friends and family, but out there they hate us, and why? It's that curious feeling that we're living in the modern world and centuries ago simultaneously. As for one commenter's suggestion here that I really ought to read the doctrines and arguments of the Catholic church, why on earth should I when their unChristian, uninclusive attitude on social issues is built on such ill-considered fallacies? For, of course, it's not an 'either' 'or' situation. And, however many may argue that a child needs a father and a mother, families now come in all shapes and sizes, sometimes very large extended ones (two mothers, two fathers, plus close friends, in which respect we've been honoured to participate in a small way in the upbringing of our loved ones' children).


It's easy enough to comfort ourselves and say, well, Gustav and Luca will be fine; this is Italy, anyway, with its own version of America's Obama/Palin polarities, and just look at Berlusconi (no, not a harmless old clown, very far from it). But even when won, civil rights remain fragile, and tolerance is not the same thing as acceptance. I'm glad this often very funny film is able to put its points across more elegantly than I can. Ultimately, it remains optimistic. See the very detailed website and/or watch the trailer:



*stop press: good on Judge Rutherford, who found against a couple of hoteliers in Cornwall for refusing a room with a double bed to a gay couple. Summing up, he said of the 'Christian' hoteliers: 'I am quite satisfied as to the genuineness of the defendants' beliefs and it is, I have no doubt, one which others also hold. It is a very clear example of how social attitudes have changed over the years for it is not so very long ago that these beliefs of the defendants would have been those accepted as normal by society at large. Now it is the other way around.' Amen to that.