Don't forget that this weekend is Anne-Carolyn Bird's recital, Sunday afternoon.
And tonight is the prima of Peter Grimes. I called the Met to see if they couldn't be persuaded at the last moment to put on Daphne or something, but you wouldn't believe it, they staunchly refused to put me through to Gelb. "Gelb," I was fixing to say, "I'm all for diversifying the rep and all, but couldn't you pick something less dreary and redolent of fish?" But no go, so I shall be grumping about Britten in the middle of the night, if I know me.
Actually what I just decided should happen is the lights should dim halfway at 7:30 and Gelb should step out in front of the gold show curtain, and we should all gasp or groan or whatever, and then he should say, "Ladies and Gentlemen, I'm sorry to inform you that the opera Peter Grimes is indisposed this evening. We hope you will accept Lakme in its stead."