MY VERSION OF EVENTS....

It was eventful at OHP on Tuesday; the dire warnings of hurricanes and a deluge didn't materialise although if we had a windmill we would likely have generated a couple of kilowatts of energy. Nobody moaned and so fruity Italian expletives remained unslung. There was a demonstration outside too, but in making their point, the participants were dignified and deserve respect and thanks. You will understand that we can't remark upon their cause, but on behalf of the artists, patrons and staff of OHP, their exemplary behaviour on the evening ought to be recognised by us. The reviews on Wednesday morning gave us all a real lift and The Telegraph led the way with a thundering five-star review. It then quickly became all about opening "Flight" on Saturday: something of a very different flavour to Il trittico but still a remarkable achievement by its composer, Jonathan Dove. It is both funny and moving in equal measure, something opera rarely manages to pull off that wel

Tempestuous operas (and there are three of those tonight, in one way or another) don't demand a similar climate in which they are to be performed, so I am pleased that the breeze will have dropped by the time Puccini's gloriously evocative prelude to Il tabarro begins tonight. The annual narrative of quips, weather analogies and tales of stoicism has begun among our friendly critics; I think they do it to annoy me. Twenty six years of casting an eye to the sky, and designing a theatre to try to withstand the British summer, has done little to dampen (boom boom) my irascibility on grey opening nights, and I will be there all day barking and groaning at all and sundry to ensure everything is ship shape and bristol fashion for tonight; our operations manager considers this his worst day of the year. But the theatre WILL again look beautiful and the magic WILL arrive. Just wear a bloody coat. All the preparation has the effect of deferring my excitement for the artistic endeav