So naturally, halfway through, someone collapsed. Poetic justice would have made it the lady who originally talked to me, but actually it wasn't. No real harm done though, just a fainting fit brought on by wearing a thick brown overcoat in a warm concert hall.
On a pleasanter note, I seem to have jinxed myself, too. It's always frightfully embarrassing when you accuse someone of not reading your journal, go away and come back to find they've added you to their friends list. My mistake, sir. ~s~ (Mind you, half the people whose friends lists I'm on don't read my journal, but that's not the point.)
Oh, and leafing through Opera magazine at work I discovered that Covent Garden is putting on Don Giovanni in September, with Nuccia Focile (one of my idols), Ian Bostridge and Gerald Finley (two good friends and rather attractive men). I may just have to squeak at my mother, I want very much to go.