Teal we meet again

My daughter Tessa is in town for a long weekend visit to celebrate her 24th birthday, along with her BOYFRIEND James. They’re staying in the spare room, door firmly shut and me wondering whether I should have bought some earplugs. So far though all has been quiet though, thank heavens.
It’s hard for someone like me with control-freak genes to let them wander the city and see what they want to see. I’m too easily inclined to say “go there, avoid that!”, though I have made my opinions clear on some things; for instance that anything with Madame Tussauds on it will be utter tripe and a waste of euros.

Shanks for the memory

There’s quite a lot of doom-and-gloom at the Netherlands Opera thanks entirely to the massive cuts they are about to suffer. Fees are being slashed and the word is that if you’re not singing a major role then your only hope of working here is if you already live in Holland and are prepared to work for a pittance. So, a bit like England then.

A question of size

Well obviously, after so long an absence from the blogosphere, the very first things I want to blog about are bogs. No, I didn’t misspell that. Bogs.
Loos. Lavatories.
There’s something that has puzzled me for some time and after a couple of pints in the opera’s local boozer, the Blaubrug, and a couple of visits to the smallest room, I felt compelled to bring it up. So I asked Clive, our Claggart: “these loos with two flush buttons, which do you reckon you’re supposed to press? Is it small button for small flush or big button for big flush?”