Review of the year

To say 2005 has been a year of highs and lows would be putting it mildly. On the work front, August alone ranged from the joys of discussing Festival productions with customers to the sense of betrayal I felt at not being permitted the time off to attend rehearsals for Dido and Aeneas. Before then there'd been a great sense of achievement from getting Nicola Benedetti in to sign her debut CD and, more recently, the madness that seems to an inherent part of the weeks immediately preceding Christmas.

In a wider context, July was, if anything, even more worrying: franco-british relations reaching a new low with London being awarded the 2012 Olympics, immediately followed by terrorist attacks in London and, closer to home, the incredible sight of face-off between anarchists and the police on the streets of Edinburgh. As highlighted in the Queen's Christmas Day address, there's been no shortage of environmental disasters around the world either, so between the way human beings treat each other and the planet, it's all too easy to be pessimistic about the future.

If 2006 is anything like as good as this year, musically speaking, I won't have much to complain about there - there was a glut of events during the Festival, as ever, in addition to the weekly joys of singing at St John's (unless there was any Rutter involved!). This autumn I joined a second choir and can now look forward to performing renaissance and baroque masterpieces as well. Similarly, entertaining at home has been as fun as ever, particularly the realisation that large parties aren't anywhere near as difficult as I'd always thought. Friendships have gone from strength to strength, and even if things with Paul didn't last beyond the three-month mark, I feel more secure on the personal front with each passing year.

Inevitably, however, the events of October have cast a long shadow. My father's untimely death affected me more than I could possibly have imagined and, while there are clear signs that we, as a family, are coming to terms with his absence, he is much missed. The eulogy the pastor gave at the funeral drew parallels between a life brutally interrupted and the Monet tapestry Father left incomplete but asked us to draw comfort from the memory of all that he did, all that he was and all that he gave us.

It's a new era for us as a family, no doubting that. Here's hoping it's reflected elsewhere ...

A Happy New Year to you all.

Back from the land of cuckoo clocks

All things considered, that was a surprisingly pleasant Christmas. We all felt my father's absence but in many ways life has moved on and we are getting used to it being just the three of us. My prime concern, not surprisingly, was my mother's welfare, and although she admitted to having felt a little lonely when my brother and uncle (who was also over for the week) took the dog with them, my father would be proud of her for coping so well.

It struck me recently that I am clearly more worried about her than I am about my brother. I've given the matter some thought and have realised that although both had a number of friends come to the funeral (the presence of my brother's would, we feel, have impressed my father), her loss remains much greater. I can trust Philippe's friends to take good care of him on my behalf, but he and I have a clear duty towards Mother, who has to come to terms with widowhood after 35 years of Father's companionship. Her need exceeds Philippe's, by a long chalk.

Interestingly, Philippe mentioned to me on the way to the airport this morning something which had been bothering me too: the need to tell friends that he was off to spend Christmas "at my mother's", implying (to both our minds) that our parents were separated or divorced. I suggested saying something about "a family Christmas" but even that doesn't seem quite right ...

Christmas Eve was a fairly quiet affair, though it was almost 2am before we went to bed, despite midnight mass having finished two hours previously. We were back at the abbey for mass in the morning, when the pastor, giving communion to one of us after the other, found it very difficult to keep a straight face as he saw first Mother in her new jacket, then Philippe in his scarf and finally me in my kilt, all three of these in the family tartan.

Eating apart, the rest of the day was largely spent reading the various books we'd received: in my case, a panopoly of vegetarian recipe books (Mother having been unable to find me a decent French one), a new Larousse (the standard French dictionary) and various novels. I'd given Philippe, in lieu of a stocking, the smallest bottle of whisky in the world (recognised as such by the Guinness Book of Records) and even when Mother gave him two proper bottles of cask strength whisky later in the day, he still had the cheek to suggest my contribution was a supository!

Yesterday we all watched Shackleton, a 3-hour dramatisation of the explorer's 1914 expedition to the Antarctic - we're related to the Shackletons, hence my getting the DVD for my father some years ago - followed by Marius, the first of Marcel Pagnol's celebrated Trilogie marseillaise, a classic of French cinema which Philippe had given me. A long time in front of the telly, but all highly educational.

I flew back this afternoon, which left little time for anything this morning save for walking the dog in the snow (glorious) and going to see my father's grave again (poignant every time).

Back to work in the morning ... Things should have quietened down now, thank heavens.

Christmas wishes

I'm off to join my immediate family for Christmas tomorrow afternoon, so this will be my last post until my return on Tuesday.

A joyful and peaceful Christmas to one and all.

The end of the line?

The day when I leave the retail trade seems to be drawing ever nearer.

I agreed, at some stage last week, to work the night shift tonight, largely because the January sale stock has got to be out by tomorrow and it's the best way of ensuring it's out the way I want it, my mild concerns about exhaustion being allayed by knowing my flight to Switzerland wouldn't be leaving until the afternoon of Christmas Eve - understandably, my brother and I are both going to be at our mother's side this year, no two ways about it.

Then, two days ago we were told the night shift would be starting at 3pm, going on until whatever time was necessary to get all the stock out. Last year, they weren't finished until 4am.

Now I can just about put up with work preventing me from doing all the singing I'd like (see here, here and here for the details of that saga), but if there's even the possibility of my family life being affected, there's something seriously wrong. This Christmas is going to be difficult enough as it is, and if I'm left too exhausted to do my part, it makes a nonsense of my going over to Switzerland.

All of which means I'm trawling the vacancies pages again - there's one good possibility, on which more in due course. Let's get the festive season on the road first ...

Musical malapropism of the year

The première of Stravinsky's ballet The rite of spring in 1913 has gone down in history as a succès de scandale par excellence. Given the brutality of the subject matter (ritual sacrifice in pagan Russia), reflected in the music and the dancing, it is not surprising it caused a riot.

I can imagine The right to swing (as one of my customers this morning believed it was called) would have the same effect, even in this day and age.

Carols, carols and more carols

Yesterday one of my fellow tenors from our days at Paisley Abbey, who's now singing in one of the choirs south of the border, came into the shop, completely out of the blue (it was the first time I'd seen him in two years). Turns out he was back in Scotland taking part in a series of carol concerts for Capella Nova and, better still, was able to get me a ticket.

The programme was a quite extraordinary mixture, standards cheek by jowl with choral classics by Poulenc and Leighton and (for this choir) unexpected fare like Have yourself a merry little Christmas. Most impressive was Hassler's Verbum caro factum est (very much their standard repertoire); it was a pity that, after this and many other quiet pieces, the audience erupted into applause without giving the music time to settle.

Tonight we had the service which, for many Brits, really symbolises Christmas: nine lessons and carols, which went down a treat. Next up is be midnight mass in Switzerland. so it won't be over for a while yet ...

Not so commonplace after all

The annual choir dinner was held tonight, an affair which requires us to dress fairly formally for an evening at one of Edinburgh's private golf clubs. I'd worn my kilt last year and did so again this time round, with the difference that I planned to go clubbing afterwards with some of the younger contigent of the choir.

I got back about half an hour ago and can say that it has never before sparked so much interest as was the case tonight. For the most part, it was women who were fascinated, from the innocent (a foreign girl wanting to have their photo taken with me) to the less so (lifting it up at the back to see if I was wearing anything underneath). Of the two men who approached me, one had been sent by his two female companions while the other came over of his own accord, seeking to know if I was what is generally termed "a true Scotsman" (i.e. not wearing underwear). He then laid his hand on my backside in an attempt to verify my answer.

It was a little disconcerting to have so many women paying attention to me (though the one unattached straight man in our group stopped short of being envious), but next time I don my kilt for an evening's clubbing, I think I shall try a gay bar for comparison ...

Five simple pleasures

(courtesy of Andy, who tagged me.)

1. A walk on a winter's evening, the air crisp with frost.
2. Comfortable silence, of the sort you get between two close friends.
3. A night's sleep in my own bed after time spent away.
4. The feeling described thus by Winnie the Pooh: "although Eating Honey was a very good thing to do, there was a moment just before you began to eat it which was even better than when you were." Not restricted to food alone, of course.
5. The memory of my grandmother's cooking.

Now I'm told I should tag five people, but she's not posted anything in so long that I'm passing the buck to Kris alone. Get writing!

I despair of some people

(another Overheard in New York homage - I tell you, this time of year brings out all the idiots!)

A man comes up to the counter, two CDs in his hand.

Customer: Have you got that latest Andrea Botticelli "Aria" CD?
Me (puzzled): You're holding it.

Two floors down, along with your intellect

(or, an Overheard in New York homage)

At work today, I'm approached by a customer who wants to know if the jazz CD he's ordered has come in. I check the computer and find it has.

Me: I've only the classical orders here, so you'll need to go to the basement to collect it.
Customer: Where's that?

To his credit, he immediately realised what he'd just said, but still ...

A line from this morning's sermon

This apparently came from a Christmas card greeting - seems a bit unlikely, but it had us all smiling.

Be the person your dog believes you are.

Thoughts from work

How on earth does The Darkness manage to get away without being sued for being a complete rip-off of Queen?

All Justin Hawkins needs to do in order to be another Freddie Mercury is grow a moustache ...

It's too early for Christmas carols!

We're now firmly at that time of year when all retailers would have us believe it's Christmas - an incredibly drawn-out period which exceeds the bounds of Advent, to the effect that the sense of excitement is over before it's had much of a chance to get going.

As I don't feel particularly Christmassy and am saved the ignominy, in my department at least, of Do they know it's Christmas? and the like, I refuse to play any carols. That said, in the best tradition of classical record departments, I am in a fine position to run rings around management as, in the event of their complaining that I'm not playing anything Christmassy, all I need do is point to the recording of Bach's Christmas oratorio on the playlist. It's suitably festive but not so obvious as to annoy me - or my customers ...

Didja miss me?

I've been playing host for the last couple of weeks, hence the silence on the blog front. My mother was over for a week, and the day she left two friends came up from London - they were staying in the flat so as a result I have two new fridge magnet sentences to share with you.

Albert's: Der Junge flüstert mit verlockender Zunge in einem Flut delikater purpurer Sprache. ("With enticing tongue, the boy whispers in a flood of delicate, purple speech.")

Matt's: Ne'er question a merry wanton maiden's bosom lest she beseech her villainous lordship come hither and curse this vile peasant who doth slander my seemly breast.

On a more serious note, my mother is doing very well. She admits she's yet to work out what to do with herself - we went to see Mrs Henderson presents and she's certainly no intention of buying a theatre, which is a relief! - but is very glad for the attentiveness of friends and family. Christmas was always going to be a bit strange, but my uncle's presence, not to mention that of two family friends, should at least help maintain our spirits.

Inevitably, with my mother around, it's been a busy time culturally. Besides Mrs Henderson, we went to see A man for all seasons at the theatre in Glasgow last week, with Martin Shaw superb in the lead - the final scene between the Mores was immensely moving, though as Mother pointed out, the circumstances had a lot to do with it. We also went to the Burrell Collection and the Choice exhibition at the Royal Scottish Academy.

Next up is Keeping mum, probably on Friday.