Culture

The pop singer Sir Mick Jagger thinks that the Greek god whom he most resembles is Dionysus. Oh dear! One wonders if Dionysus will be pleased when he discovers that the national treasure on earth whose voice keeps giving up (bless) has likened himself to the terrifying god of transformation on Olympus. Dionysus had the cult-name Bakkhos, whence Latin Bacchus. He has four areas of interest. First and foremost he is god of wine and intoxication, though neither he nor his followers (maenads or bacchants) are ever depicted drinking (sorry, Sir Mick). This is because he was, second, god of ecstasy (mania), and no artificial stimulants are needed to experience that when the god is inside you (even sorrier).

Why would anyone want to write an opera libretto? The words are generally held to be at the service of the music, relegated therefore to second place, so what would make any self-respecting writer choose to offer up their skills to the peremptory demands of a composer? The reason is probably quite simply because it's something else, another way of stringing words together that can take them into an entirely different dimension. Any writer with curiosity will want to experiment with their chosen form, to try more than one way of exercising their craft. And music can take words to places that they cannot reach alone. Langston Hughes knew what the two could do together: Cheap little rhymesA cheap little tuneAre sometimes as dangerous As a sliver of the moon.

The country-and-western singer Kinky Friedman has a song called 'They Ain't Making Jews Like Jesus Anymore'. 'They don't turn the other cheek the way they done before,' sings Kinky. Had he met The Right Reverend Hugh Montefiore, the former Bishop of Birmingham, Kinky might have changed his tune. 'It happened out of the blue.' Montefiore, now 82, leans back on a delicate-looking wooden chair, balances it on two legs and rocks gently as he recalls his schooldays. 'I was 16, a keen Jew from a devout and influential family. I knew nothing about Christianity and I had never even been to a church service.' His voice becomes quiet. 'It was very, very strange.

There were four of us on the shortlist: three women in their twenties and me. We sat in a row while a Home Office cheerleader told us what a great life awaited one of us in the press office. The jolly-along lasted for perhaps ten minutes, and not once did the beaver pause in his smiling and giggling, or for a single heartbeat remove his gaze from the girlies in skirts to glance in my direction. I didn't get the job. Not that I'm bitter. It is entirely reasonable that nice Mr Blair should wish to fill his ministries with the young and personable, rather than middle-aged candidates for new-face transplants.