.

Music and lyrics
There is something weird which distinguishes opera from other performance arts and that is the contradiction between the brilliance of the music, singing and stagecraft, and the banality of the lyrics. It is hard to take it seriously when baritones and sopranos belt out lengthy and expressive singing conversations when many of the actual words are about mundane or even dopey matters such as watching out for dog-fouling on the footpath when going up to the shops to buy the Sunday papers. It is disjointed and maybe that sounds alright when it is sung in Italian because so few of us can understand that language that we can then justify the silliness of the lyrics as simply poor translation.
For those unfamiliar with opera, the modern practice is to have a monitor above or to the side of the stage providing sub-titles in order that the audience can get an idea of the action. But what is even weirder is, as was the case in Puccini's Madam Butterfly, when the opera is sung in English accompanied by an English translation on the monitor presumably for those who cannot understand the sung words. And what is even weirder still is when there is a person to the side of the stage doing the sign language version. This may seem insensitive but two different translations of the same English words seems excessive (we presume deaf can read) and if you need both, why go to the opera at all given that it is a medium of sound?
We almost became two of those people we have complained about vociferously; those who arrrive late or get up and wander around and eat during a stage performance. It was a close call but it wasn't our fault. Allowing almost an hour and a half to get from home in Ealing to The Coliseum Theatre near Covent Garden, we opted to drive rather than take the tube and the inevitable happened, we became stuck in traffic. Forty minutes to get down Piccadilly but we found a park in one of Anousheh's secret locations (she has the London Knowledge) with just four minutes to spare. A sprint, or as fast a walk as dignity allowed, and we made it in just as the doors were closing.
As for the performance, as would be expected from the English National Opera it was spectacular, the sets, production and singing outstanding. Madam Butterfly is the story of a fifteen year old Japanese geisha's marriage to an American naval officer who abandons her soon after the wedding but not before he impregnates her (showing that nothing changes). She waits in vain for him to return, he eventually does but with his new American wife to forceably adopt the by-then three-year-old offspring. With child gone, the butterfly dramatically stabs herself to death, leaving us to ponder why such a tragic story so beautifully sung can be told with such silly words. Clearly Puccini needed a good lyricist.
The venue, the Coliseum Theatre in St Martin's Lane is a grade II listed heritage building and is magnificent, its designer, one Frank Matchum, wanted to build the "largest and finest peoples' palace of entertainment for its age". And it would be hard to dispute that he succeeded, it is a classic theatre of Italian Renaissance style with boxes for the toffs, stalls for the aspiring toffs, and circles, a grand tier, and then a balcony for those of us in the cheaper seats. The ceilings and walls are adorned with ornate plasterwork, as is the outside with columns and carved figurines.
On another note entirely, we can report that Marty's computer has been restored to full working order under guarantee, but in a manner which illustrates the very best and very worst of English service. To activate the repair, the company's mend-it team required scanned copies of our arrival and intended departure documentation, somehow to prove that we are actually in the UK (as if we would try and get it fixed in the UK if we were not actually here). Although difficult to do with e-tickets, no scanner and a broken computer, added to by the fact that we don't yet have any permanent departure arrangements, we cut and pasted our arrival tickets, return tickets for an intended side trip to Hungary, and offered to forward them the original e-tickets. Not good enough apparently and there followed a lengthy debate, them firmly insisting on the actual scanned tickets saying they needed to print them off for their records, and advising the original e-tickets or cut and pasted copies were not satisfactory. Quite why was impossible to fathom but stalemate it was.
Slightly frustrated, Marty phoned the company, spoke to a very sensible chap and was told to ignore the email traffic, comforted by an analysis from this person that the one (actually two) we had been dealing with was just being "anal". As a result the computer was picked up from home next morning, Tuesday, and and couriered to Plymouth for repair and returned first thing Friday in full working order. Brilliant. It is as well the last man told us to ignore any further email traffic as, even after the courier had picked the computer up, we received further email advice that, unless scanned copies of our actual tickets arrived, repairs would not be undertaken.