Diva fever

Mr Gnome alerts his friends to the fact that this is definitely not everyone's tasse de the.

The glorious lushness of the songs of Richard Strauss is not universally appreciated. But for many listeners, these works become a bit of an addiction.

This very short song 'Zueignung' is a perfect example. In three verses, the lyric conveys an almost ecstatic sense of gratitude for the life-transforming power of love, each verse ending with 'Habe dank' ('Be thanked.')

Here the great soprano Jessye Norman gives it her not inconsiderable all in a performance that combines total vocal assurance with, well, a thrilling experience of joyful release and benediction.

If you get it, you get it. If you don't, you'll see and hear a big woman make a lot of noise while waving her arms around.

And for anyone who has heard Norman perform on the concert platform, it will be a reminder of the power of this remarkable artist, who, with imperious ease, re-defined the concept of Diva in her glory days of the Eighties and Nineties.

The trees are singing

To Hereford and the Cathedral Close, to view Jemma Pearson's rather wonderful sculpture of Edward Elgar who lived in the town shortly before WW1.

Cycling attire has come a long way since the de rigeur Edwardian costume of tweedy jacket, plus-fours and boots. One feels that, compared to contemporary Lycra, EE's stylish 'look' has much to recommend it.

In the manner of the new Betjemann sculpture at St Pancras Station, this is very much a 'site specific' work - with the cathedral dramatically involved as Elgar, manuscript notebook in hand, gazes up at its tower.

Pearson has lovingly recreated Elgar's splendid Sunbeam cycle, which he nicknamed 'Mr Phoebus'. Such is the attention to detail that one can identify the saddle as manufactured by Brooks, the ne plus ultra of cycle saddlery.

I'm more than a little excited to discover that, in terms of personal comfort a-wheel, the great composer and I have so much in common.

The plinth carries the inscription: 'This is what I hear all day - the trees are singing my music - or am I singing theirs?'

Later I was delighted to discover that the cycle shop, pictured below continues to flourish close by. This unashamedly old-fashioned establishment may well have been trading in Elgar's day.

It was certainly going strong in 1987 when I purchased from it my Dawes Galaxy (complete with Brooks saddle).

Said bike has just been through its umpteenth service and is girding its bottom bracket for a major ride in 2010. Watch this space.

K, Mr K and Ak

Almost thirty years separate these pictures of my friend KB.

The first was snapped in the spring of 1980, when K and his father invited me to join them on the family's boat to celebrate K's ninth birthday.

The location is the Gastineau Channel, near the city of Juneau in south-east Alaska.

I was nearing the end of my year as a US/UK exchange teacher, working with a third grade class at a local elementary school, where K was one of my students.

K was one of those children who come along every so often in a teacher's career: bright, inquisitive, eager, puzzling, funny, thoughtful - and voracious.

With K, it wasn't a case of him keeping up with what I was attempting to teach. The big worry was that I wouldn't keep up with him, so rapidly did he Hoover up the work.

Fortunately, it was here that my exchange teacher's 'unique selling point' came into play.

I'd brought with me a stack of materials about varied aspects of British life and culture: Guy Fawkes, red letter boxes, postage stamps and, my trump card, the Royals.

This was in those deferential pre-Diana days, when the Top Family was riding high after the success of the Silver Jubilee of 1977 - and was more or less divorce-free.

Consequently the simple family-tree diagram I'd prepared made it easy to see who was related to whom over several generations of assorted Windsors.

K was particularly intrigued and, under his own steam, began researching his family and forebears.

The busy school year rattled on to its conclusion. I left Juneau, travelled the Alaska Highway and celebrated my thirtieth birthday at the Grand Canyon - and returned reluctantly to the slightly less than Alaska-rugged milieu of my home and school in southern England.

In subseqent years I kept up Christmas-card contacts with K's family until, inevitably, changes of address (and my carelessness) ended such exchanges.

Until about ten years ago, when thanks to the www revolution, we re-established contact.

K, a man of deep and questing faith, now lives in Utah where he serves voluntarily on the staff of the local Roman Catholic Cathedral. And he pursues an international career as a genealogical researcher and lecturer.

The up-to-date picture comes from K's recent visit to the glaciers of Argentina.

I'm proud to count K among my friends.

The wrong trousers....

Persistent pedagogue Mr Gnome is forever emphasizing the importance of giving credit where it's due. Hence today's story.

It is a truth universally acknowledged that conventional male trousering is unsuitable for cycling, particularly when astride a drop-handlebar machine as pictured above (my 22-year-old Dawes Galaxy).

It's a pocket-design thing. Stuff falls out. Sensible people wear specialist clothing - or empty their pockets prior ro departure.

No prizes for guessing that, when pedalling the short distance to work today, I chose to ignore this wise counsel, absent-mindedly bunging my wallet in my trouser pocket as I left the house.

I didn't notice that the wallet was missing until lunchtime, whereupon I abandoned myself to a protracted bout of searching, wailing and self-recrimination.

Next I picked up the phone and cancelled my cards.

And then my phone rang.

A charming woman informed me that her son had found my wallet and had identified me as its owner thanks to presence within of my change-of-address card. It was awaiting collection at her house.

So in the wonderful economy of human interchange, my act of foolishness was countered by a deed of straightforward honesty and kindness.

Hence the fact that I'm celebrating the integrity of one local teenager, and of the family and school that have helped to shape those values in him.

I wouldn't dream of embarrassing him by mentioning his name. But here's a link to his school.

Thank you very much.

Obama's People

Obeying his whim of iron, Mr Gnome made a summer Sunday beeline for Birmingham and allowed Serendipity to do the rest....

His splendid discovery was the highly impressive photographic exhibiiton Obama's People, hosted by that glorious people's palace the Birmingham Art Gallery and Museum.

Following last November's election, the New York Times commissioned photographer Nadav Kander to create a series of portraits of the men and women of the new administration - from the Vice-President to the presidential body-guard.

And here they are, portrayed in big, rather stark images of a remarkably diverse group of people.

Some gaze impassively into the camera, others glance away, a few seem eager to please and one or two have a look of 'Why me?' astonishment.

Curator Rhonda Wilson (of arts company Rhubarb Rhubarb) was on hand to give an engaging talk in which she sketched the series of events which led to this high-profile art show coming not to Washington DC, New York or Paris - but to Birmingham.

(Although she didn't toot her own trumpet, it became pretty apparent that much of the credit for this curatorial coup should go to the energetic Ms Wilson herself.)

The exhibition captures something of the spirit of optimism that powered Obama's journey to the White House.

Let's pray that Obama and his people keep faith with us - and we with them.

Although photography is not allowed in the show, Rhonda kindly agreed to pose beside her favourite portrait - that of 24-year-old Keeper of-the Presidential Contacts Book Eugene Kang.

A modest proposal

Cheerful of disposition, robust of character and tolerant to a fault, Mr Gnome eschews the moan, the whinge and the complaint. By which point the reader is doubtless well prepared for the arrival of....

But, Mr G feels a mildly overwhelming urge to offer a few apercus on the topic of the mobile telephone, as evidenced by that omnipresent modern phenomenon - the ringtone.

In his experience, many of these aural annunciations can be described by the words in the upper segment posted above.

Loud, insistent and intrusive, they karate-chop their way into daily life with their bold-as-brass tones as if to say: 'Hurry up! Answer me! Now! At once! Jump to it!'

Oh please, sighs Mr Gnome. Too, too wearying for words.

Needless to say, he is inordinately pleased with telephone tones that may be described by the words on the peaceful white background.

A glissando of harp strings, a ping as of a celeste, a bluesy solo clarinet - these and many other choices are perfectly audible, alerting the phone owner to an incoming call or text. But they do so with modesty and discretion.

Not racketing in with a gallumphing self-advertisment that would make Atilla the Hun look like Julie Andrews.

Chill, says Mr Gnome.

La Coppola

Mr Gnome, generous to a peccadillo, is keen to 'big up' a splendid addition to the Leamington Spa food firmament.

To be honest, his experience of La Coppola on Regent Street is limited to one winter-evening visit some months ago.

That said, he enjoyed a jolly evening of excellent food and characterful, Italian service.

In addtion, the restaurant's frontage makes a charming, colourful and stylish contribution to the town's streetscape.