The bristles are all metaphorical now

I have been having the weirdest urge to watch Mozart’s Mitridate, rè di Ponto again. I think this is one of those things that goes back to early childhood. When I was three, my mother took me to visit her grandparents in Arizona, and I have a very distinct memory of being told not to touch a cactus, and then touching the cactus, and then the next bit of the memory is my hand in the sink as my mother and great-grandmother attempted to get all the little cactus needles out of my palm. (I apparently did the same thing with a cast-iron stove a year or so earlier, but I don’t remember that, and the burn didn’t leave a scar.) Perversity appears to have been my modus operandi since at least 1981.

So. Mitridate. This will probably end much like The Enchanted Island – now that I’m grown up, I have to do all the swearing and the cactus-needle-removal myself.

2 thoughts on “The bristles are all metaphorical now

  1. It may not be as rough as you think. Which version are you planning to watch? (I recommend the M22 production — not least for Miah Persson and Richard Croft (and Bejun Mehta).)


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