The People's Race

Continuing with the firsts from the last post. Here's another one. I went to the Grand National. That's a big tickbox item, right? Right?

I didn't understand it. I liked the sitting-on-a-hill part of it - that reminded me of a music festival. But that was kind of it. It was a festival where instead of watching music you just guessed the set list, which doesn't make for heaps of entertainment.

So that leaves you to get your festival kicks from fancy dress and day drinking. Neither of which it does that well. The fancy dress theme for this year was as glamorous as possible, which meant a lot of people were not dressed appropriately for sitting on a slightly-soggy grass bank. Wet bottoms a-go-go.

As for day drinking, the service was so bad it felt like it was designed to stop you drinking, which made it all the more impressive how drunk some of the crowd were. Credit where it's due...

Anyway. Grand National. Box ticked. Let's never talk of it again.

Snowdonia

Snowdonia. It's taken me a while. I've seen it twinkling in the distance but this is the first time I've properly mountained up. 

On the way North we got our first Welsh taster when we stopped for a walk in a place with an eleven-letter-long name, but which contained no vowels. Well Welsh.

First Number One: Snowdon. The second of my Three Peaks and something that I probably should have done twenty years ago. Still box ticked now. The weather had been rubbish the week before so it looked like it might not happen, but happen it did. Yomped up the Pyg track, which was really pretty but unpleasantly full of people. Snuck down by the Rhyd Ddu track, which - after the ridge at the top - was a lot less pretty but felt less like a queue.

First Number Two: puffins. Went out on a boat from Beaumaris to see a lighthouse and some seals. Managed to see a handful of puffins despite it being early in puffin season - I say handful, you would need pretty big hands, even though they were about two thirds of the size I expected. 

Beaumaris had its own chilli shop (what castle isn't complemented by a chilli shop?). Which was where I found out how spicy Carolina Reapers actually are. When they broke me last Summer they were officially the spiciest chilli in town. If I'd known that at the time I would have afforded them more respect. 

What else? Stayed in Bethesda, where a casual run is a little bit more hilly than Essex. Stopped at Llanfair PG for obligatory station pic. Visited the Devil's Kitchen (complete with full Welsh rain) and the Anglesey Sea Zoo which I last visited in the early nineties - my gut feel is it hadn't changed too much, still who doesn't want to see cuttlefish?

We had a break at Ironbridge on the way South. The bridge had put its pyjamas on, which added an element of ridiculous to the nostalgic detour.

Oh and there was a third first I'm keeping for myself. That one isn't for you internet. Hashtag new normal.

The Room Where It Happens

I just don't get opera. I've tried and I tried and I just keep trying but I don't get it. It was La Traviata this time - I recognised tunes and everything. But didn't get it. I'm not certain why. I mean I like music but I don't appreciate classical music on any intellectual level. So that just leaves the narrative.

I've been raised on a diet of films which have complex narrative arcs and intertwined sub plots. You just don't seem to get that in opera. In my limited experience the story seems to be simplistic to the point where it's almost incidental. And I just don't find that that satisfying.

Plus I do like lyrics. And lyrics to the opera tend to be a bizarre mix of repeated nonsense and everyday speech. They don't rhyme "panicky" with "anarchy". In short, I guess what I'm trying to say is that I much preferred Hamilton to La Traviata.