Budapest

The seats of the Magyar Állami Operaház are wooden and not well fixed. Despite Szilvia Rálik's fine lungs and the novelty of Fidelio rendered on three tiers of concrete and in costumes of vivid colour, the audience occasionally becomes restive and fidgets. Then there is an ominous creaking throughout the auditorium, as if the timbers of a ship were under the stress of turbulent sea.

Twitching sounds of the trolleybus pick-ups on the wires. Harsh buzzing of the closing doors. Otherwise the electric vehicle silent but for its tyres and the voice of a passenger in emphatic agreement with her companion, 'Igen...igen...', drifting through the open windows.

In the streets at dusk material falls from the buildings as the temperature descends, thudding and cracking plaster leaves at the end of the day.