Well, I suppose I shall have to write something every now and then. But there is nothing very exciting to write about. Life is the same as usual. Learning German by myself as usual and feeling extremely puzzled by it as usual. Dying to go to Salzburg as usual and having utterly no chance to do so as usual. Worrying about my weight as usual and powerless to resist the temptation from snacks as usual. Beating my brains out to write something astonishing as usual and failing dismally as usual.

I watched the first episode of BBC's The Genius of Mozart yesterday and I was furious! Where on earth do they find such an idiot and scoundrel-like man to portrait Mozart? And why on earth do they have to make Mozart behave like a rascal? I mean, yes, he might have misbehaved a bit when he was in his early 20s, but is there the necessity to expose it and detail it? Mozart is an angel—a god, if you like—whatever his conduct might have been.

To be just, the narration is fine, the music fantastic (Of course, since it was composed by Mozart), the costume correct, the landscape beautiful and the boy who played child Mozart adorable. But the actor who played adult Mozart ruined it all. He does not look innocent and childlike enough. He is too worldly. He does play the pianoforte with the easy and confidence that is typical of a great performer like Mozart. In short, he just cannot be Mozart.

Now the 1984 Oscar winning film Amadeus is much better. I strongly recommend it.

I never knew BBC could do so terrible a job. I understand from my former experience they are very good at making TV mini-series. 1995's Pride and Prejudice is the best of its kind I have seen. And Emma, David Copperfield, Wives and Daughters and Tess of d'Urbervilles are also jobs well done. But this time… I really have nothing more to say except to quote Darcy's words in Pride and Prejudice that:" I am grieved indeed.Grieved, shocked." 

I dreamt of Mozart the other night. Much as I admire him, I have never dreamt of him before. He is a saint, an angel to me. Dreaming of him seems too worldly, not celestial enough. But I dreamt of him the other night (of course I have been having a lot of sleep lately, maybe that accounts for this). It was quite wild, really. I was having lunch (possibly dinner?) in a small restaurant. The surrounding was plain and even a little bit dirty. But oddly enough the restaurant had an orchestra. I sat there eating my noodle (oh, how ghastly!) and they began to play. It was Mozart's Violin Concerto (at least I believed so in my dream) they played. I happened to look around and saw none other than Mozart himself sitting at the next table! He was leaving. And all of a sudden I began to sob and weep. (Strange, I almost never do these in reality). He turned and came to me. Smiling, he passed his hand on my head in a saintly manner and I felt I was the happiest creature on earth.

All the while, I didn't distinguish his face. I simply felt that it was him and knew it was so. Well, anything may happen in a dream.

I am no Freud, but I certainly would like to know what there was in this dream.

Usually I end my writing about Mozart in the following manner. I hope you do not mind.

Oh! I want to go to Salzburg!!!