Shades of Anna Russell?

I was listening to Reneé Fleming's new CD, "Haunted heart", this morning; mostly jazz, at any rate very different from her usual repertoire. Her voice was unrecognisable the first time I heard it, and today I couldn't help but be reminded of Anna Russell's line about coloratura sopranos who, because no-one save other coloratura sopranos appreciate their art, end up singing ... like this.

(cue blues intro)

"I gave you my heart, and you made me miserablllllle ..."

The game is afoot!

The information pack on the job for which I'm applying came in Thursday's post - remarkably quick, that - so now begins the tedious process of getting the covering letter and CV ready ...

The closing date is next Friday, but I'm waiting until Monday to send mine. For starters, it means I can ring them up and check the title of the person to whom the application is to be addressed (no point in falling back on Ms if she prefers something else, a good opportunity to display the attention to detail they require) besides giving me a chance to fine-tune my CV, which I last needed 3 years ago. I feel the letter, in the meantime, should show something of my flair for language, whilst also remaining necessarily formal; quite a difficult balance to strike.

I'd be expected to design all sorts of promotional material so am suggesting in the covering letter that I take examples of what I've done in the past (mostly with the French and German societies at university) to the interview. One possible stumbling-block would be my near-complete lack of experience with Photoshop, but luckily one of my neighbours is a professional photographer and he's agreed to show me how it works.

Without wishing to tempt fate, I'd say I'm in with a chance.

The best-laid plans of mice and men

When I started working in classical CD retail three-and-a-bit years ago, it was a matter of months to plan opening a place of my own. Glasgow and Edinburgh struck me as ideal locations, little realising that both cities already had an independent classical CD shop apiece and there wasn't really room for me. Hence the plan to move back to London, in a more senior post, and then see what the future held, possibly working for an orchestra, an arts venue or something along those lines.

Or that was the intention.

Today my floor manager told me he couldn't spare me on Saturday afternoon, when the first rehearsal for Dido takes place, leaving me pretty disheartened as I reckoned I wouldn't be allowed to sing in the concert. It's not the first time work has got in the way of my taking part in musical activities, so for the first time I gave serious consideration to resigning. My music is very important to me and I can't help but feel that I'm in the wrong job if it's threatened. Besides, dropping shift work for something more structured can only be of advantage to me when I get round to adopting, to say nothing of being able to enjoy the weekend with my child.

That's for the long term, however. I receive a weekly email on vacancies in the arts in Edinburgh and it was to this I turned at lunchtime, remembering there'd been something from the Scottish Chamber Orchestra in last week's edition. I've sent off for information on the marketing officer (print and publications) vacancy. It may all come to nothing, but at least I'll have made a start on looking beyond the shortcomings of retail for my career.

Mozart turns mathematician

Usually it's the customers who come out with mispronounciations or downright abuses of classical musicians' names and the like, but this time a mistake on the computer actually had me put down the pile of CDs I was working with as I struggled to contain my laughter. As it was, I was sorely tempted to go into the back office and give full vent to my hysteria.

The scene: I'm working my way through a long list of CDs which are to be sent back to the warehouse, these being identified by their catalogue number and the composer(s), work(s) and performer(s) featured. Bearing in mind these details are put on the computer system by humans, it's only to be expected the occasional mistake crops up.

Even so, how do you account for "Mozart addition vol. 24: songs, concert arias"?

Smug? You betcha!

A year or so ago I was in touch with one of the local orchestras-cum-choirs about the possibility of singing among their tenors, but heard nothing more after trying to stir things up a bit, putting it down to my being perhaps too old, their members being typically music students or graduates.

Until tonight. Apparently they've had a very strong year for tenors but are a little short for the Festival, so would I be interested?

Result: the performance of Dido and Aeneas I've been looking forward to is one in which I'll be singing rather than sitting in the audience, and on top of that there's a concert of Handel's four coronation anthems later in the month, I think on the 19th.

Quite how I'll work the rehearsal schedule around my shifts at work I do not know, but the first floor manager has got the impression I'm a great singer so it shouldn't prove too difficult to twist him around my little finger ...

Visitors, visitors and more visitors

My friend Tristan (with whom I used to sing at Paisley Abbey, back in my Glasgow days) popped in to see me at work this afternoon, taking a break from covering the Homeless World Cup across the road in Princes St Gardens. He may well be back tomorrow and will very likely be staying the night at my place sometime next month, when he'll be Edinburgh for a show at the Fringe which starts at something like 11pm.

He'd barely left when in came Martyn, whom I'd not seen for a while despite his also living in Edinburgh. We're very likely off to see Charlie and the chocolate factory on Friday - opening day, which means it'll probably be full of screaming brats, so we'll chuck popcorn at them.

That was it for work (though two people ain't bad going), but tonight I rang Marcus in Cumbria, amonst other things to see when he might be able to come to Edinburgh. He's on holiday till October, so there's no rush - which didn't stop me from suggesting he shows up at the end of next month, when we'll be singing Tallis' Spem in alium at St John's. For those of you who don't know, it's a motet for 40 voices (8 five-part choirs, unless it's 5 eight-part choirs, I forget which), so the more the merrier!

In the meantime, I've got Dan and Rod coming next weekend, then Dan alone (assuming I've understood his travel plans; must give him a ring tomorrow) the following weekend, to say nothing of Luke and Darin's even more postponed visit, now to take place in September. Maybe.

What happened to common decency?

or, A customer service rant.

One of the things for which I'm most frequently complimented, particularly at work, is how polite I am. In most circumstances I'm grateful for the sentiment, putting it down to my upbringing, but when I'm serving a customer I see it as part and par of the course. Of course such behaviour should be never be taken for granted - the occasional acknowledgement notwithstanding - yet a polite manner (at least in front of the scenes) is something I would expect from anyone who works in the service industries.

Don't get me wrong: I do appreciate it when a customer thanks me for my help. What disturbs me is that the extent I go to is sometimes seen as going beyond the norm. A customer who, a couple of years ago, wrote to my then boss praising me for the assistance I'd provided - in that case, looking up available recordings of the Beethoven string trio, I think it was, in the catalogue and ordering one for her - seemed to think such standards were exceptional, when in actual fact it was everyday stuff for me. Now of course she wasn't to know that, but above all it was my helpful attitude she'd been impressed by; I'd not been conscious of having done anything beyond the usual for her.

I know I shouldn't be finding criticism here, but it is a bit dispiriting that people should have expect so little of the staff serving them. For all the importance of my knowledge of classical music, I still see it as coming second to having the appropriate manner in dealing with customers and can only assume that negative experiences in the past have had an adverse effect on their expectations. Now I do believe the service industries take customer service a lot more seriously than was the case ten or twenty years ago, but it's still no excuse. Finding the right staff is not that difficult ...

By far the best compliment I have received was from a man who was impressed I managed to remain so affable (his words) on what was a busy day not long before one Christmas. My colleagues and I could do with more like him.

"Would you like a bag?", part II

An old man's response, this afternoon at work.

"Noooo ...
He looks at the bag he's carrying, then decisively, in quick succession:
"Yes. No.
A pause ensues which, in any other circumstances, would mark him out as a fine comedian, then (mumbling):
"Yes, put it in a bag."

One of these years I've got to write a play about working in a record shop. The amount of material I've got is staggering!

Not again!

It's fairly clear, in my mind, that London had a lucky escape yesterday - something went wrong, from the bombers' perspective, and with the number of people who caught sight of the perpetrators, I doubt it'll be long before they're caught. Whether part of the same terrorist cell as those responsible for the 7th July bombings or not, it's a huge setback for them and something with great potential for the investigators.

Peter, it turns out, was on one of the underground trains targetted. Thank heavens he's safe.

London diary, day three (Sunday)

More or less since booking the tickets for my trip to London I'd been wondering about where I'd be spending my final night: I'd have liked to spend the night at Luke's, but the prospect of having to get up horribly early again to get to Gatwick airport, on the other side of London, probably at some expense, was not what I'd call enticing. Loath though I was to admit it, as I was already to spend Sunday evening in town, the simplest option seemed to be to spend the night at the airport ...

The morning was pleasant enough - after a light breakfast of croissants and blackberry jam, Luke, Darin and I went for a leisurely walk in the park, pausing for a moment to chat with James and Craig in the midst of their game of tennis. Lunch back at the flat, after which Darin gave me a lift to Victoria, where I was to leave my bags before heading to the Royal Albert Hall to queue for the Prom. I balked at the prices, prefering a bruised shoulder to paying an unreasonable sum for the convenience of having less to carry for the space of a few hours.

I'd deliberately not brought any reading material as I planned to buy a copy of Harry Potter and the half-blood Prince to see me through the queuing for the Prom and however much of the night at the airport. As I sat on the Albert Hall steps, the woman in front of me said the queue at yesterday's Prom - Gilbert and Sullivan and nothing but, not altogether to my tastes - had been full of people reading the book and the usually irritating regular prommers had a message from "wizards to muggles: please turn your pages quietly!"

I'm not going to review the new book here, partly because I wish to re-read it first (yes, I finished it at the airport at something like 1am) but more particularly because this day was more about the Prom, a performance of all the music from Purcell's score to The fairy queen, an elaboration on A midsummer night's dream. I'd seen Paul McCreesh conduct Handel's Saul at the Proms two years ago and had equally high expectations of this, a much lighter work with a great sense of fun about it. Mhairi Lawson was in particularly fine voice for her Proms debut and, among the men, Mark Le Brocq stood out for his camp turn in the dialogue between Coridon and Mopsa as well from a vocal standpoint.

One thing that did strike me was the difficulty in voice casting, as many of the higher male parts were really within the range of a tenor and counter-tenor at once, meaning a frequent change in tone on the part of the singers, depending on the register. The effect took some getting used to but did not marr an excellent performance.

I was in no hurry to get to the airport so after the concert was over let the other Prommers get on the buses ahead of me, eventually catching a train to Gatwick about an hour after leaving the Albert Hall. The rest of the night was just a matter of whiling away the hours before checking in for my flight home: I didn't get much more than two hours' sleep (not very comfortable ones at that) and was glad the plane landed in Edinburgh sufficiently early to allow me to go home, shower and get changed before going into work.

Though I did drop off for an hour or so in the early evening, since then it's been more or less back to normal. Usually it takes a day or two for my lack of sleep to catch up on me, but now, a good four days later, I've yet to feel the after-effects - which gives further credence to my theory that I destroyed my body clock during my student days ...

Some people have the strangest tastes ...

Imagine you're a woman about to get married, thinking about what music you want playing as you're walking down the aisle. What d'you pick? Arrival of the Queen of Sheba, perhaps, or Mendelssohn's Wedding march?

Not if you're this one customer I had today, you don't. She's got her heart set on being given away to the strains of Barber's Adagio for strings.

Whatever will her fiancé think?

O beware, my lord, of jealousy

The culture vultures among you will, I trust, be utterly sick with envy on reading what events I'm going to as part of the various festivals in Edinburgh next month. With no further ado:

Friday 5th: a preview of Monty Python in French - a sell-out in Paris, apparently, and besides sounding damn funny, the linguist in me is intrigued.
Saturday 6th: Purcell's Dido and Aeneas - nuff said.
Tuesday 9th: an event I can't speak about*.
Friday 12th: Jonathan Harvey's Beautiful thing - I've seen the film often enough, but the original play has eluded me, until now.
Wednesday 17th: Britten's Curlew river with a stunning line-up which extends into the instrumental ensemble.
Friday 19th: Magdalena Kozena in recital - again, say no more.
Saturday 20th: Bach cantatas for solo voice - I can't pass up a performance of Vergnügte Ruh' ...
Monday 22nd: Monteverdi Vespers (not the 1610 ones but a recreation of a different service) conducted by Rinaldo Alessandrini in the one period instrument performance of the festival.
Wednesday 24th: the Rotterdam Philharmonic playing Tchaikovsky's 4th and the Mozart Sinfonia concertante for violin and viola, a great favourite of mine.
Friday 26th: the Michelangelo Quartet playing Mozart, Haydn and the Schubert quintet - should be bliss.
Friday 2nd (Sept.): the Dutch National Ballet dancing to music by Ravel and Chopin.

Bear in mind that these are only the ones for which I've booked tickets (there'll be more to come at shorter notice) and you'll understand that I'm well chuffed. Let the green-eyed monster strike!

* At the suggestion of my friend Peter, three of us have/are to select an event to attend together, the other two knowing nothing save the date, time and venue. Discretion prevents me from revealing what my choice is until afterwards.

Do they come any keener?

A customer came up to me at the counter, handed me a CD which I scanned, after which I confirmed how much it cost. Nothing unusual so far.

Then he hands me his card and types in his PIN - before I've had a chance to put the card in the machine.

London diary, day two (Saturday)

I was fully expecting to sleep late on Saturday, what with my lack of sleep the previous evening, but Luke's brother's girlfriend denied me that pleasure by sending Luke a text message at 7:40am (he'd left his phone in the living-room, where I was sleeping). From that stage, of course, I was unable to get back to sleep.

It was a leisurely start to the day, not setting out to do the shopping in Muswell Hill until the late morning, where we stocked up at Sainsbury's: Luke was making a variety of canapés, bruschetta and miniature Yorkshire puddings with rare beef, horseradish and mustard while I contributed spiced roast new potatoes, the aubergine, feta and mint skewers I'd liked so much from my last party and, at Luke's specific request, banoffee pie.

Herewith the recipe for the last of these - just make sure you're not on a diet before making it! Smash up a 300g packet of digestive biscuits with a rolling-pin. Melt some butter and mix in the biscuit crumbs until they turn golden brown, then flatten into a greased cake tin with a removable base and chill for at least two hours, preferably weighed down. In the meantime, place two tins of condensed milk in a pan of boiling water and leave to simmer for two hours, making sure the pan doens't boil dry. Open carefully - the milk will have turned into sticky toffee and will be very hot so you can expect a little to come out as you release the pressure. Place the biscuit base on a serving plate and spread the toffee over the top; leave to chill until about two hours before serving.

Whip about three-quarters of a pint of cream until it forms soft peaks. Chop up three large bananas and spread them out over the toffee, followed by the cream (I tend to do it so that you can't see the banana). Chill yet again, sprinkling with grated chocolate just before serving. (Enough for 12 portions.)

The guests started arriving in the early evening: Luke's boyfriend Darin first of all, followed by Peter (good bit of slapstick comedy there as I went out to meet him without my phone, so when he rang me Luke set out in search of both of us), Kevin, Andrew and Craig (James' boyfriend, James being out at an REM concert). The food went down very well and was beautifully complemented by Kevin's cocktails, with the conversation being at one stage confined to sex talk thanks to the DVD of Head on which someone put on - if you've seen this film, you'll know who I mean by Captain Birdseye and why he failed to make a good impression on any of us!

From a personal point of view, the evening was particularly memorable for me as Peter and Luke, two of my closest friends, finally got to meet properly (the last time, at my 30th birthday party, Luke fell asleep from exhaustion) and thanks to Andrew, I got back in touch with our mutual friend Marcus, whose phone number I'd lost when my mobile was pinched back in March, and invited him to Edinburgh at some stage of the summer as he's getting bored at home. The low point was going along with everyone's suggestion I leave the room while they discussed a part of War of the worlds which would give away too much of the plot (I was the only one not to have seen it and didn't want it spoilt for me), but that was a minor incident.

All in all, a very pleasant evening, though it did leave me wondering, when we eventually packed up for the night, when my sleep would catch up with me ...

"Would you like a bag?"

The boss asked us in this morning's meeting to help keep costs down around the shop, anything from turning lights off to not wasting paper when printing reports. The assistant manager suggested everyone take a leaf out of my book and ask customers if they want a bag.

They're barking up the wrong tree if they think that's the reason I systematically ask this question. True, it's a good knock-on effect, but it's all down to environmental awareness. Planetary concerns are of infinitely greater importance than what, for a big corporation, is little more than saving a few pennies.

London diary, day one (Friday)

Rush-hour London was an unsettling experience. I'd expected things to feel different when I arrived there on Friday and I could understand the looks my bag was getting on public transport, just as the strong police presence was inevitable. No, it was the air of tension that did it, something I felt the proud defiance had yet to overcome.

Once 9:30 was past and I could buy a one-day travelcard, I headed to Kensington to see about getting my parents the "19th hole" sign they've been claiming, forgetting that I wouldn't be able to get there by tube as the Circle line was closed. Asking when the next train would be along really exposed me as a non-Londoner ... By now I was running short of time so took myself to Waitrose in the King's Road, Chelsea, to get a couple of bottles of white grape and peach squash (I can drink the stuff like water but there aren't any Waitroses in Scotland, to my regret), after which I headed to my parents' estate agent to see what had happened to the mail they were supposed to be forwarding me.

Further problems on the underground - the Piccadilly line from Hyde Park Corner this time - meant I was a little late meeting Peter at Trafalgar Square, which didn't stop us spending a little short of three hours nattering, first at the café on the top floor of the Royal Opera House, then at a place in Old Compton Street. Then it was time for me to meet Luke as he finished work (early): we stayed in town for a bit, starting off at Chappells in Old Bond Street, one of my old haunts (no better place for sheet music) before moving on to various off-licenses in search of cherry brandy and the flagship branch of my company so both of us could take advantage of my discount card in their sale.

We got to Luke's flat at about 5pm, at which stage we had a very late lunch and settled down for the evening with heaps of alcohol, a bottle of wine swiftly giving way to a number of cocktails, the last of which (being brandy-based) was notably stronger than anything up to that point. Luke's flatmate and landlord, James, returned at around 11pm and we packed up an hour or so later, Luke and I suitably light-headed.

Plans for the next day would revolve around preparation for the evening's party ...

Bleedin' knackered, me ...

I went bed at 1am on Friday morning and was up again three hours later to go to London. Somehow my tiredness failed to catch up with me there, but today I'm a goner, not helped by having spent last night at the airport (where I got two hours' sleep, at most).

In other words, despite having had a great time in London, I'm not going to write about my weekend tonight. Too tired.

Back to earth with a bump

I was out for about three hours this afternoon on a little shopping spree, getting tickets for the Fringe Festival (of which more at a later date), a bottle of raspberry liqueur from Valvona & Crolla (a gift for Luke when I go and stay with him in London), copies of next season's RSNO and SCO brochures (also for Luke, an incentive for him and his boyfriend to visit). The two minutes' silence observed in memory of the victims of the London bombings came as I was waiting for the Fringe box office to open, which was very moving but could have been more so: I was on the Royal Mile (very likely the tourist street of the city, though it was still quieter than Princes St) and there were lots of people milling about, puzzled by what was happening but carrying on normally.

I could have asked the family who paused by the shop window behind me to stop nattering, but it would have been impossible to do so without being rude, to say nothing of drawing attention to all of us, so I let it pass. As the two minutes passed and people started returning indoors, I glanced up the street (we were all facing east, which can't have been merely because there was a clock visible in that direction: it was five past before anyone moved) to see a good number had left their offices to commemorate last week's attacks and felt a little better. It was just a pity that the penny didn't drop for some people.

Got back home a couple of hours later with an extra bit of shopping in tow - a seriously gorgeous Paul Smith shirt (it's not on their website so I can't show you) I got in the sale, having balked at the price previously - and thence online, there to be brought back to reality with something of a jolt. An online friend of mine in Romania was feeling a bit down, the confirmation of a compatriot's death in London last week having got to him; I really felt quite shallow, being on a shopping-induced high, and as is often the case in these situations, was at something of a loss for what to say.

We chatted at some length, both of us feeling rather better for the company, but I still feel a little idiotic in my ignorance of others' plight.

An abrupt change of tone to finish with: I'm leaving for London in the small hours of the morning, not returning until the equally small hours of Monday morning, so this is it for now. Have a good weekend!

Disco inferno

I'm not a baby, but I certainly did burn yesterday ...

We had glorious weather on Arran so Kris and I spent just about all day sunbathing in between bouts of discussion the various attractions of her neighbours. I had no sun cream and am consequently doing a passable impression of a lobster.

I got through quite a bit of Garrison Keillor's Love me on the journey to and from Arran. It's put me in mind of a literary version of Schubert: very lyrical writing, but ineffably sad.

War of the worlds got postponed again. May catch it later in the week, if I can be bothered - it seems to have got very mixed reviews, and I get the impression Spielberg's in a bit of a rut.

Holidays and a change of scene

After the not altogether pleasant time we've had recently here in Edinburgh, I'm lucky enough to have next week off and will appreciate being able to get away. Tomorrow I'm off to the isle of Arran for the day to see my friend Kris, who's working there this summer - the first time I'll have seen her since January.

The original plan was to stay there overnight, but my plumbing problems from last month has re-arisen so I'll need to be back in time to call a plumber in first thing on Tuesday. A great shame, as I was looking forward to spending some time with Kris, not to mention that I've yet to spend a night away from my flat this year!

The next few days should be on the quiet side - as far as I recall, the only plan I've got is seeing War of the worlds with my friend Rob on Tuesday evening (put off from the weekend, when more scenes of destruction would not have made for comfortable viewing) - and then it's off to London on Friday, which in the light of Thursday's bombings, is likely to be a bit surreal, to say the least.

I've just checked my flight times and am a little shocked to see my flights (in both directions) leave at the 6:30am mark, a bit early even by my standards. Still, it means I'll be arriving in London in time for an early breakfast before (probably) hitting the shops, starting off with Chappells, where it's all too easy to spend a small fortune on sheet music. I was supposed to be meeting my friend Luke (at whose flat I'll be staying) for lunch, but it might be the only occasion I have to see my uncle, the one about whom I was so concerned on Thursday and Friday, so I feel he should take priority.

I'm only in London three days (returning on Monday morning, just in time to go more or less straight to work), so it's going to be a bit hectic catching up with everyone. I expect to be back behind the counter next Monday feeling I could do with another week off, as good as sign as any that I'll have had a good break.

Correction

My previous post isn't strictly accurate - inaccurate use of language bugs me generally. It goes a long way beyond the English/British thing.

I've just been in a chatroom in which someone asked, completely out of the blue, in what religion his fellow chatters were raised. "Church of Christ", answered one, at which point I wanted to say that's not a religion, it's a denomination of one (feel free to correct me if Church of Christ is a synonym for Christianity, I could be wrong). I pointed this out to the person who asked the question, who suggested that "most people in the U.S. belong or have been associated with some Christian denomination".

Perhaps, but it doesn't make it any the less wrong.

It's like the spate of programmes there was on Channel 4 until a few months back (at least, I've not seen any recently and hope this post doesn't resurrect the format), all entitled something along the lines of The 100 best something-or-other, anything from bitchy TV moments to ways to skin a cat, for all I know. The problem I have here is that the polls is invariably a tally of favourite 80s singles, say, which is not necessarily a measure of quality.

I have a soft spot for the films Shooting fish and Death to Smoochy, but let's face it, neither is in the league of Some like it hot, which is an absolute classic. The fact it doesn't appeal to me as much doesn't mean the others are any better.

Before you ask, I'm not especially fussed about Eats[,] shoots and leaves, because punctuation is an incredibly subtle medium and its correct usage, while no bad thing in itself, should be secondary to correct and accurate use of language.

Rant over - for now, at any rate.

There aren't many things that seriously bug me, but ...

... many countries' tendency to use "England" and "Britain" synonymously is one of them (as you might have guessed from my post on the international response to the Olympics).

The following news item appeared on the TF1 website (they're not getting a link this time!) as breaking news at 10:07pm tonight, French time: A New-York, une cloche offerte par les Anglais après le 11 septembre 2001 a retenti en mémoire des victimes britanniques. A bell given by the English to New York after 9/11 rang in memory of the British victims.

Now I have to say that previously I'd never heard both terms being used in one sentence, which suggests it's a conscious decision to avoid repetition (which is very French) - if anything, though, it makes the mistake all the more apparent.

England is one of the four nations which make up Britain. It's frankly insulting to the other three to talk about them as if they were English.

Honestly, do I have to draw a Venn diagram?

Positive side-effects of the London bombings

The French have changed their minds about the English - by which they mean the British. Suddenly we're no longer the lowest of the low.

The G8 leaders have put aside their differences, giving a show of unity a good deal more credibility than usual. (Making poverty history has, I expect, been put on the back-burner.)

It's yet to sink in

This week has felt like some sort of limbo for me. On the work front first of all, the various demonstrations disrupting much of the city centre - Princes St has been closed at some stage every day - not to mention what we think was a bomb scare yesterday evening which required a good deal of Princes St to be evacuated (I've found out since two controlled explosions were carried out).

None of this even compares to the horrors of the London bombings. It's yet to sink in, despite getting on the phone to many of my friends there; I'm glad to say they're all safe and well, but thus far none of us have heard from my uncle. My mother was initially concerned that I was in London (until she recalled that it's next week I'll be there), while my cousin and I struggled to remember how he gets to work. We've all left messages on his answer phone but this morning I'm growing concerned. Last night it was fair enough to assume he may not be able to get back home until much later than usual, but I've received no email, no phone call, either from him or the rest of the family.

I pray he's safe and well.

UPDATE (18:51, 08/07/2005) He's fine. He was already at work at the time and heard the bomb on the bus, his office between fairly close by. Seems my aunt and other uncle's phone was ringing off the hook with concerned friends and relatives ...

G8 news: Dubya in bicycling accident

You've gotta laugh. The supposed leader of the free world goes on a bike ride round the grounds of the hotel where the G8 summit is being held and falls off after colliding with a police officer.

I'd not heard the pretzel story before. Albeit a little gem, I can't help but wonder how a man whose dog shares its name with an annoying purple dinosaur was ever elected President.

The Olympics from other perspectives

I hadn't wanted to say anything more about the Olympics - I can't say today's announcement was of any great concern to me - but I've just had a look at TF1, one of the French television channels, to see what they had to say. (If you understand French, the article is here.)

I'm sorely tempted to say "bad losers". After a stunned silence, reactions picked up from the crowds included accusations of lobbying by Tony Blair, claims that the London bid had a much greater budget and, most incredible of all, a suggestion that "it's the Hundred Years' War all over again".

I felt morally obliged to attempt to put the record straight so decided to add to the comments: two of them thus far, one going on (and on) about corruption while the other suggests the problems are closer to home. I've got no idea if they'll post my two hap'orth - do they frequently get views from abroad, I wonder? and do they appreciate them? - so here it is for prosperity. In French, with an English translation.

J'ose espérer que l'extrème amertume dont fait preuve les réactions outre-Manche (par rapport à moi) est dû principalement à un sentiment de déception, qui est parfaitement raisonnable. Seul un pays indifferent à la décision du CIO puisse véritablement y porter commentaire neutre, les pays candidats ayant tous des préjugés qui les empêchent de traiter la chose avec un esprit ouvert.

Quoi qu'il en soit, les relations franco-britanniques ont continué leur nivellement par le bas, mais n'allez surtout pas croire qu'il y aurait une meilleure entente entre nos pays si Paris avait été sélectionée.

Et de grâce, que quelqu'un comprenne enfin que l'Angleterre et la Grande-Bretagne ne sont pas synonymes! L'Ecosse, le Pays de Galles et l'Irlande du Nord devront aussi payer les JO ...

Trans.: I would like to hope that the extreme bitterness in French reactions [to the announcement] is down primarily to an understandable sense of disappointment. Only a country with no interest in the IOC's decision could really comment neutrally, the candidate nations' prejudices preventing them from approaching the matter with an open mind.

Regardless, franco-british relations have worsened further, but don't go thinking things would be any better had Paris been chosen.

And for pity's sake, would someone please understand that England and Great Britain are not synonyms! Scotland, Wales and Northern Ireland will also have to pay for the Olympics ...

(The content of the last paragraph is a particular bug-bear of mine. Sadly it's not just the French who do this, but I refuse to give up.)

Madrid plans to give it another go in a few years' time (good for them), while the Moskovites seem torn between disappointment and wondering if it was all a PR stunt on the part of their leaders. What of New York?

Well, I've yet to find any reactions on an American blog - was there really so little interest in the outcome? That said, I gather there was much rejoicing at Paris not being selected, which reminded me all too much of the scenes of jubilation in some parts of the world in the immediate aftermath of the attacks on the World Trade Center.

Schadenfreude is horrendous, people. Don't do it.

UPDATE (00:38, 15/08/2005) Courtesy of my friend Marcus, the BBC's response to the "100 Years' War" accusation.

Oh, that piece!

I'll be writing about the various protests taking place across Scotland later on (when I might have some sense of perspective), but in the meantime, another little something on my customers.

This man came in a while back looking for a DVD of La traviata, speaking very highly of a touring production he'd seen at the Playhouse theatre, by the sounds of things the first and only time he'd seen the opera (he was concerned the brindisi wouldn't be included in every production). I recommended the Covent Garden production with Angela Gheorghiu's debut and Georg Solti at the helm, and he left apparently satisfied.

Until this morning, when he came in complaining that, while "the famous one" was included, they'd cut "the one where she's on her knees", clearly expecting me to know precisely which piece he meant (kneeling down, to prove his point, didn't help). While it was possible the different staging had blinded him to recognising the music, I fought hard not to point out that Solti probably had his reasons for leaving it out from the Covent Garden production ...

The Olympics

It had been my plan to move back to London in a year or two. If that still happens, I may well see about moving away again come 2012 ...

Inter-G8 relations (before the event)

So Dubya's not planning on doing Tony Blair any special favours (big surprise there) and Chirac's in Singapore for the announcement about the 2012 Olympics, to say nothing his supposed diplomatic faux pas - you can tell the silly season is upon us by the way it's been blown out of proportion by the media - of insulting British food.

Relations would appear to be on the tense side.

This, in Edinburgh?

That's been my reaction watching the news tonight. Many of us, on leaving work, suggested lightly that it would be interesting to see how things developed over the next couple of hours, but the disruption was much longer-lived and more serious than I, for one, had expected.

I got home at 3:30pm with no plans to do anything much and was horrified to see, on the six o'clock news, that the demonstration (if it could still be called such) had yet to finish. Even now, four hours later, there are reports of continuing stand-offs at Waverley station, at the far east end of Princes St.

It's horrific. The protesters apparently numbered only about a thousand, of whom a small core are believed to have come to Edinburgh with the intention of causing trouble. Billed as a carnival for full enjoyment, details of what was planned were scarce before the event, and from what I can tell it did start off with a carnival atmosphere, only to deteriorate as it progressed.

There was something faintly ridiculous about the sight of protestors uprooting flowers from Princes St Gardens to throw them at the police. Nothing even remotely amusing about bins and park benches being thrown in their direction, which really brought home to me the seriousness of the situation. It's something you do see in many violent protests, but to have it take place in your home city is another thing altogether.

According to the latest news, there've been 60 arrests and 20 injuries, not to mention complaints about police heavy-handedness from residents and protesters alike. I have to ask though, isn't this to be expected of any violent demonstration? It's a real case of "damned if you do, damned if you don't" - you can be sure there would have been even more complaints had their approach been more hands-off - and must be a tremendously difficult balance to strike. If anything, I'm impressed that there were no more than 20 injuries.

My concerns lie more with the long-term effect: as one report has pointed out, the plight of Africa's poor seemed far away from today's demonstration. We've got two days to go until the next G8-related event - Live 8, about which we can feel more optimistic - not forgetting the G8 meeting itself, at which I hope and pray that the leaders involved can look past the violence initiated by the few and bear in mind the wishes of the many. If it also gives today's violent contingent less to protest about (and therefore less credibility if they do so regardless), well and good.

A lot rests on the next few days. Casting it all aside would only be playing into the anarchists' hands, and we cannot possibly afford to do that.

Right in the thick of it

If you've been following the G8 news, you'll know that an anarchists' demonstration was planned for today in Edinburgh. It got sufficiently serious for us to be sent home early, but rest assured, I'm safe and in one piece.

Things weren't to kick off until 12 noon, but there were various ominous events during the morning which did not bode well: Standard Life employees had been asked to come to work dressed casually, without their security passes showing, as their place of work was to be one of the prime targets. The city was placed on level two alert, no doubt partly because the demonstrators' route was unknown (they were congregating all over the place) and, as if that wasn't enough, there were dark clouds coming in from the south.

Twelve noon came and went, a police presence obvious on Princes St, and about half an hour later I looked out of the window to see two men being handcuffed immediately opposite, a task which required the presence of six policemen. It took quite a while before they were bundled into a police van, by which time several armoured vans had also appeared on the scene, and suddenly I noticed a growing crowd outside our main door, which I assumed (correctly) had been closed for the safety of staff and those members of the public we had inside.

This was but small fry compared to what happened next: an unknown number of demonstrators appeared from the east end of Princes St, police officers closing in one them from either side, while yet more anarchists came from the west end without much sign of anyone keeping an eye on them. What struck us all (customers, my colleagues and I) was the number of ordinary people out and about, watching events unfold, despite the risk to their safety. Some even had young children with them, which was incredibly irresponsible.

The commotion to the east was well within our sight (though it was difficult to tell how far it extended), but nothing much seemed to happen for quite a while. In the meantime I went off upstairs for my lunch break - I'd have wanted to stay if I'd not been curious about what coverage this was getting on the news, which was pretty minimal (save to say that the financial district, for which the demonstrators had been aiming, had been sealed off) - and when I got back an hour later, the street was just about deserted.

Princes St was still sealed off, to all intents and purposes, and despite the odd flurry of activity outside it was obvious all the shops would be closing sooner or later. To say the last hour was boring as hell would be an understatement.

On a more serious note, I would hate to think that the disruption caused in the city centre could undo all the good work put in during Saturday's Make Poverty History event. I would hope that the G8 leaders have more sense than that ...

Variations on a theme

In the light of all the debate surrounding McCreary County vs ACLU (regarding the display of the Ten Commandments in a Kentucky courthouse), the following text, printed inside this morning's service sheet, struck me as being of particular interest.

Hinduism This is the sum of all true righteousness: do nothing to your neighbour which you would not have him do to you after.
Zoroastrianism That nature only is good when it shall not do to another whatever is not good for its own self.
Jainism A man of religion should treat all beings as he himself would be treated.
Buddhism Hurt not others in ways that you yourself would find hurtful.
Confucianism Surely it is a maxim of loving-kindness: do not to others that which you would not have them do to you.
Taoism Regard you neighbour's gain as you own gain, and your neighbour's loss as your own loss.
Judaism What is hateful to you, do not do to your fellow human. This is the entire law; all the rest is commentary.
Christianity Whatever you wish that people would do to you, do so for them; for this is the law and the prophets.
Islam No one of you is a believer until he desire for his brother that which he desires for himself.
Sikhism As you deem yourself, so deem others. Then shall you become a partner in heaven.
Baha'i Regard not that which benefits yourself, but hold on to that which benefits humankind.

A carnival atmosphere

This was the first time I'd so much as seen a major demonstration first hand, and I can't imagine that many of them feel like as much of a celebration as this one. For all the seriousness of the message, this came across as a festival, a vast crowd of people from across the world (figures vary, though it could have been a quarter of a million) coming together with one common purpose. Even seen from afar, it was exhilerating stuff.

I would dearly have liked to replicate that atmosphere within the classical department, but couldn't think of sufficient pieces of music along similar lines to play so went for a more general humanist theme: we got the B minor mass, Beethoven's 9th and - more off the beaten track - Messiaen's Turangalîla symphony, which brought the day's work to a rousing close.

Going out tonight was a good idea, there was a lot of life about the place. Feeling in something of a celebratory mood myself, I donned my kilt and set off to meet my friend Rob. We weren't out for very long - enough for a drink followed by a meal, a mere three hours - but neither of us had any regrets. The next step is actually taking part in a demonstration ...

News from (not quite) the front line

Edinburgh city centre is absolutely dead today - it was quite errie at first, but walking home for my lunch break it came across as very pleasant. True, a lot of shops are boarded up (particularly the classier ones along George St, one street away from the hub of the activity on Princes St), but there's a good-natured feeling about this, a sense that people can make a change.

To my shame, it was only yesterday I realised I should have made the effort and ask to have today off (it's not very often I'm going to be living somewhere where there's a major demonstration taking place), but I suppose this is better than being far away. I'm planning on going out for a couple of drinks tonight - if the current atmosphere is anything to go by, it should be a great evening for it - which won't exactly make up for it, but I'll know better for the next time.

More to come when I finish work ...