Faux-pretentious, moi?

The countdown to a puppy has begun!

2007-11-07T08:46:00.000Z

I'm moving to a larger flat - ground floor, two bedrooms, sufficient room for my piano and (huge) bed, secure parking, communal garden, not even horribly expensive - a few days before Christmas, which should be interesting. Not least because my mother and brother are coming over for the day in question, so I need to get the movers in on this sooner rather than later. As soon as I've made sure I can get a day or two off work ...

Come late January, by which time things will have quietened down at work, I'm getting a fortnight (that's two weeks to you Americans) off to housetrain a spaniel puppy. Getting the flat is great, but knowing I'm that much closer to having a dog is much more exciting!

... and another started (post 2 of 2)

2007-10-09T23:10:00.000+01:00

Barely a couple of weeks after putting the finishing touches to Beati qui lugent, we were celebrating the harvest festival and I was suddenly hit by what I later realised was a bit of a pretentious idea. Even if I hadn't later found the original German version of the hymn "We plough the fields and scatter" to be, well, rather naff, a multilingual cantata would be better suited to a Pentecostal work than a cantata for harvesttide.

So here's the plan - this time with an organ part, 'cos let's face it, there are lots of dramatic bits to this which would be much enlivened by having an accompaniment.

I: Exordium - Creation (solo soprano, organ)
In the beginning, God created the heaven and the earth. And the earth was without form, and void. And God said, Let the dry land appear. Let the earth bring forth grass, the herb yielding seed, and the fruit free yielding fruit after his kind, whose seed is in itself, upon the earth: and it was so. [Genesis 1:1-2, 9, 11]
This'll probably be more of an organ prelude with the soprano's narration floating over the top, starting off with the rumbles of the 32' pedal and gradually building up from there.

II: The harvest (full choir, organ)
Thrust in thy sickle, and reap: for the harvest of the earth is ripe. [Revelation 14:15]
A land of wheat, and barley, and vines, and fig trees, and pomegranates; a land of olive oil and honey. [Deuteronomy 8:8]
I've half a mind write the word "lustily" above this movement, as it describes the mood to a tee. That line about pomegranates is just asking to be sung suggestively!

III: Thanksgiving (solo baritone, organ)
O almighty and everlasting God, who hast given unto us the fruits of the earth in their season, and hast crowned the year with thy goodness: Give us grateful hearts, that we may unfeignedly thank thee for all thy loving-kindness, and worthily magnify thy holy Name; through Jesus Christ our Lord. Amen. (Scottish Book of Common Prayer, 1912)
A slightly less worldly approach to celebrating the harvest which I envisage setting in a Bachian way, à la 'Mache dich, mein Herze, rein'.

IV: The sower (full choir)
A sower went forth to sow his seed. As he sowed, some fell by the way side (the fowls of the air devoured it up), some fell upon stony ground (scorched, it withered away), and some fell among thorns (choked). Other fell on good ground and bare fruit, some thirty, some sixty, and some an hundred. [composite of Matthew 13:3-8, Mark 4:3-8 and Luke 8:5-8]
A moment of respite from the high spirits to consider the first of Christ's parables, highlighting the need for fertile ground, in agricultural and spiritual terms.

V: Praise (double choir, organ)
(words - and music! - here)
Verses 1 and 3 of one of my favourite hymns, the first for 8-part choir, with the organ joining in for the second, to bring this work to a joyous close.

One work completed ... (post 1 of 2)

2007-10-09T22:15:00.000+01:00

It was with mixed feelings that I completed Beati qui lugent, a piece intended to be for mourners what a Requiem mass is for the deceased, on what would have been my father's 65th birthday. We're even going to be performing part of it - the movement from which the work as a whole takes its name - at evensong on Sunday, 4th November, so that's something more to look forward to.

As I didn't really elaborate on the libretto I posted here last November (click on the link above to read it), the completion of the work seems an ideal opportunity to make up for it, so here we go ... (Note: the scoring in the numbered movements is different every time and the collects are all led by alto and tenor soloists, singing in unison throughout.)

I: O vos omnes (full choir)
"Behold and see if there be any sorrow like unto my sorrow" - a standard text, here given a different reading, with the mourner angrily dismissing others' pain as nothing compared to his/her own. This is borne out by unexpected modulations, cross-rhythms and frequent chromaticisms.

Collect for aid against all perils (full choir with soloists)
The one that begins "Lighten our darkness", the words also treated figuratively - if the sense of loss which follows the death of a loved one isn't darkness of a sort, I don't know what is.

II: Beati qui lugent (double female choir)
The second beatitude speaks directly to the bereaved, so its inclusion was more or less a foregone conclusion. There's something incredibly pure about female voices alone, even with trips into unexpected keys at key moments.

Collect for those in sorrow (full choir with soloists)
With the mood moving from a cri de coeur to the fervent hope of comfort, it's clear that it's going to take more than the preceding movement to restore calm, even when it closes in a more positive frame of mind.

III: Dominus reget me (full choir)
Psalm 23 has to be among the texts sure to provide comfort in difficult times - sung in Latin but to Anglican chant, which is somehow adds to the effect.

Collect for All Souls (full choir with soloists)
Finally a prayer for the deceased, suggesting the mourner is coming to terms with his/her loss. There's something almost ethereal about the words, the peace they refer to reflected in the music, finally freeing itself of dark modulations.

IV: Expecto resurrectionem (full choir, splitting into two choirs for a closing fugue)
The words say it all: resurrection and life eternal, a light at the end of an especially dark tunnel.

We're off to see the ... er ...

2007-07-06T15:28:00.000+01:00

On Sunday morning I'm off to Jersey for four days. By the time I get back, my internet connection should be up and running again, so with any luck I'll be able to upload a few photos. (Might not be the Emerald City though.)

In the meantime, I've a sangria party to host tonight and a friend's 40th tomorrow. If only the weather were as fab ...

Notes on Lucia di Lammermoor

2007-06-22T16:20:00.000+01:00

Andy asked me, a week or so ago, what the Scots make of Lucia, highlighting the equally unlikely pairing of Puccini and the Wild West in La fanciulla del West.

Well, it appears Walter Scott tended to play fast and loose with historical accuracy at the best of times, tending to prefer a highly romanticised view of Scotland, yet the librettist takes this even further. While Scott sets his novel The bride of Lammermoor during the reign of Queen Anne (1702-14), the opera refers to the recent passing of a King William, leaving a Queen Mary on the throne. The Mary in question cannot be Mary Queen of Scots (who was around over a century earlier, preceded by James V), yet as the lack of any ordinal following her name suggests, she was the first Scottish monarch of that name. Mary II and her husband William III, both of whom had an equal claim to the throne, came to the throne in 1689 - interestingly, after the union of the crowns (in 1603), but before the Act of Union of 1707 - which would make sense in the case of this opera, if it weren't for his surviving her rather than the other way round.

That said, I doubt many opera lovers pay that much attention to such minor matters as historical accuracy - let's face it, that's not the point of this particular artform. Despite Donizetti's music being, in a lot of places, utterly unsuited to tragedy (there are times when it veers dangerously close to Gilbert and Sullivan), all is swept away by the glorious bel canto of the two principals. Okay, there may be a distinct lack of Scottish influence to the score, but come on, who cares when you've got the ne plus ultra of operatic mad scenes?

A cultural roller-coaster

2007-06-12T15:35:00.000+01:00

My mother is coming to visit on Friday which, as ever, heralds an intense few days' culture: we've got something on every day.

Some friends are coming round on Friday evening for a game of Ex libris (think a literary spin on Balderdash). The next evening sees us holding a French dinner party (artichoke gratin, a selection of Alpine cheeses and apple charlotte), and after church on Sunday we're off to Dundas Castle for The life of Jesus Christ, which (assuming the rain holds off) promises to be stunning.

On Monday we'll be off to the Filmhouse (one of Edinburgh's arthouse cinemas) to catch Beijing bicycle - this is apparently Edinburgh Bike Week, but that comes second to Mother's interest in all things Chinese. Tuesday evening sees us at Guys and dolls at the Playhouse, all leading up to Lucia di Lammermoor at the Festival Theatre the following evening.

Mother's always keen to try out the city's restaurants, so we have a table booked at David Bann (one of the vegetarian restaurants in Edinburgh) pre-Lucia and will probably be off to the sizzling Scot at some stage.

Enough to be getting on with, I think. At least, I'll have a little breather before Festival madness kicks in ...

Christian malappropisms

2007-06-06T12:21:00.000+01:00

As a child, I'd hope I was not alone in misunderstanding parts of the liturgy when attending church. The possible resurrection of the Mass in Latin has reminded me of these, though it wouldn't surprise me if children hearing the texts in a language other than their own produced some fresh misconceptions.

In my case, I somehow got the impression the Nicene Creed was called the Nicotine Creed. Slightly more worrying was my conviction the Te Deum contained the line "Thou didst not abort the Virgin's womb", which I thought was pretty obvious. I mean, having gone to all that trouble with the Immaculate Conception, it wasn't very likely God would have a change of heart ...

Emphatically not kicking myself

2007-06-04T15:55:00.000+01:00

In the early hours of Sunday morning, as I was walking home from a friend's 30th birthday party, I was accosted by a man who claimed to be a record producer after new vocal talent. Asked to sing something, I asked him what style he was after (trying hard not to laugh) and left him after suggesting my voice mightn't be in top condition at that hour.

Had it not been for the hour and my minor inebriation, I might have been tempted. But what record producer stalks the streets of Edinburgh at a quarter to three in the morning?

Luke reckons my debut album should be Wagner. I retaliated with a proposal of Boulez, Cage and Xenakis - you know, real crowd-pleasers.

Why Elgar is not worth the bother

2007-06-02T13:33:00.000+01:00

It's the 150th anniversary of Edward Elgar's birth today, an ideal occasion to write about why I don't like his music.

You see, I'm inherently suspicious of anyone who is very little (if at all) known outside their own country - Z-list celebrities certainly, but also those composers who are adored by a given nation but unheard of elsewhere. The ones who wrote little beyond operetta make up a high proportion of these as it's a genre which doesn't travel well, not helped by the relative poor quality of the music. Please don't go telling me that Gilbert and Sullivan is high art because I will shoot you down. The fact the latter wished more attention were paid to his serious music says a great deal.

Now even I wouldn't put Elgar in this category; the amount of light music he wrote is comparatively small compared to his other output. It's not even a case of disliking him on account of political incorrectness (displayed by works such as The spirit of England which, to be fair, are typical of the Imperial English view of the world): true, there are times when he can be insufferably English, but this was a man who didn't actually like the association of his Pomp and circumstance March no. 1 with Land of hope and glory. That said, his outlook was so limited that little of his music is known outside the English(-speaking) world.

If we limit ourselves to purely instrumental works (which have a greater chance of international acceptance because of the lack of any text to get in the way), the Pomp and circumstance Marches can be, in the wrong hands, little better than bombastic Sousa marches. Even at their best, they appear po-faced when compared to the fun of Walton's efforts (Crown Imperial, Orb and sceptre and the like), which can be taken as satirical swipes at the genre. Only the 'cello concerto escapes such jingoism, and that's largely because of Jacqueline du Pré, whose association with the piece has (in Britain, at least) sadly become mired in sentiment. The same is of the Enigma variations, which would be his greatest orchestral work if it weren't for the dreadfully English nobility of Nimrod.

The fact I don't like the thickness of his textures is very much a personal matter, in the same way as I don't much care for the German Romantics, but at least they're not always so pompous and humourless. Wagner seems just as bad until you hear bits of Die Meistersinger or the beautiful chamber music of the Siegfried-Idyll, while Strauss maintained his youthful outlook far beyond Der Rosenkavalier. Even Brahms, another one I have litte time for, wrote a sublime violin concerto amid all the more turgid stuff.

Great artists create for the world. Elgar didn't and thus cannot hope to be among them.

I never heard so musical a discord

2007-06-02T11:33:00.000+01:00

Andy's comments to my previous post have put me in reflective mood with regards to the incongruities of the music heard in some operas when compared to their settings. To the best of my recollection, there is very little in Donizetti's Lucia di Lammermoor to reinforce the Scottish locations, while Andy points out the unlikely pairing of Puccini's hyperlyrical style with a Western setting in La fanciulla des West. John Wayne it ain't.

However, it strikes me that some operas get away with this quite neatly. Bizet's Carmen benefits from the ease with which French composers of the period adopted an Hispanic idiom, with the result that the music sounds typical of its composer without losing any of its Spanish flavour. At the opposite end of the spectrum, Aida is historically so far removed from modern times (only marginally more than when it was written) that any attempt on Verdi's part to introduce even pseudo-ancient Egyptian influences would sound quite strange. It's probably helped by the fact that next to nothing is known about music of the period: despite the survival of some instruments and various pictorial representations of music-making, there's still a lot of conjecture about what it sounded like.

That said, there's one opera, among the best-loved of them all, which has almost succeeded in side-stepping the issue entirely. Le nozze di Figaro is an Italian opera composed by an Austrian, based on a French play set in Spain - and just to spice things up, one of the characters speaks of going on a diplomatic trip to London. Mozart's only attempt at making the music sound relevant to its setting is a fandango at the end of Act III, and to be honest it doesn't work - you can tell he never crossed the Pyrenees. Obviously the work as a whole more than makes up for this (very minor) blemish, but the sheer mixture of cultures involved in its conception is impressive in its own way. Given how much of a cultural melting-pot Vienna was in its imperial days, it's almost a shame the EU never seized on Figaro's pan-European qualifications ...

(Bonus points if you can name the source of this post's title. Without the assistance of a search engine!)

Highs and lows

2007-05-29T15:49:00.000+01:00

I've just returned from singing at the funeral of the doyenne of the choir - a 75-year-old alto who was a great character, to say the least. There were a couple of difficult moments for me, largely (I think) because this was the first funeral since my father's which I have attended for someone I knew, even if not hugely well.

On a more positive note, I've sorted out holidays for the next few months, very much along similar lines to last year: a trip to Jersey in early July almost immediately followed by a trip to London and France for my mother's birthday. She's also coming to visit in mid-June, prompted by Scottish Opera's performance of Lucia di Lammermoor. We'll also be fitting in a dîner français (at which I'm serving just French food and all conversation is required to be in that language) and an open-air performance of The life of Jesus Christ at Dundas Castle, all in the space of five days.

In the meantime, work continues with its peaks and troughs of activity. It's one of the latter at the moment, as you might have gathered: last up, we were dealing with tickets for the end-of-Festival fireworks ballot. Next up is, well, twiddling our thumbs for a bit ...

ADDENDUM (12:14, 02/06/2007) I forgot to mention the degree of consternation precipitated in my colleagues by the revelation that I'm going on holiday to Jersey with a woman. And no, it isn't my mother!

The answer

2007-05-07T16:05:00.000+01:00

I'm having a fine time not telling my colleagues where Thomas took me last week - you see, they'd requested a postcard, so I've pointed out (perfectly reasonably, if a little mischievously) that there's no point in my telling them because it'd ruin the surprise when it arrives.

It wasn't in the post on Saturday and today's a public holiday, so they're having to be very patient ... Not so you, dear reader, as I will now exclusively reveal that we were in Amsterdam.

The weather was gorgeous (to the extent that I, with my very sensitive skin, got a little sunburnt) and we had a grand time overall, being cultural on the second day by visiting the Rijksmuseum - sort of "Rembrandt and friends" - in the morning, though deciding the queues for Anne Frank's house were a bit much come the afternoon. The first day we'd spent wandering around in an attempt for me to get my bearings. It struck me that in the vast majority of places, which side of the river you're on is a convenient way of describing your location; a bit more difficult when the city you're visiting is traversed by endless canals!

The one thing that was very much under par was the accommodation. The hotel in which we were staying put us in a dingy little basement room, the only natural light coming from a window in the shower cubicle. As if the softness of the mattress weren't bad enough - it engulfed us both - we were woken up at 8:30am by the sound of drilling in the room underneath. It turned out they were reinforcing the foundations of the building, but as we'd already had a pretty sleepless night owing to the heat, we requested that the builders be asked not to drill before 10 o'clock the next morning.

They started at 7:15am.

Thomas went out to have a word with reception, noticing along the way that there were notes up around the place asking the builders not to drill until 10am - which they'd clearly ignored - and for the following quarter of an hour we heard no drills. What we did hear was hammering, before the drills started again. We got up, dressed and left the hotel in search of silence.

Thankfully that experience didn't spoil my impressions of the city, as I've every intention of going back, possibly with my mother. Just not to that hotel ...

Anthony and Thomas' Magical Mystery Tour

2007-05-02T11:28:00.000+01:00

Thomas is being deliciously cagey about where we're going - after some time suggesting we were going to be driving somewhere (which could have been bluffing), there appears to have been a change of plan.

Yesterday he emailed me these instructions: We leave [from his flat] tomorrow at 6pm - come tomorrow with small overnight bag with ordinary clothes (small enough to be hand baggage only) passport & Euros. I asked him what weather we're to expect there and if I should bring walking shoes, which got the following response: No mountain goat walking involved but some sturdy shoes as a reasonable amount of walking will be involved ... Weather – same as here [i.e. sunny, possibly a bit windy].

My colleagues at work have been having a fine time speculating about possible destinations. I'm not going to tell you where they've suggested, because I'd like to see what any readers of this blog think. (There've not exactly been a lot of comments left on my recent posts, so take the hint - it's my birthday on Friday, call it a present.)

An interview meme

2007-05-01T13:56:00.000+01:00

Let's start off with the instructions:

1. Leave me a comment saying, "Interview me."
2. I respond by asking you five personal questions (I will leave these questions for you in my comments) so I can get to know you better.
If I already know you well, expect the questions may be a little more intimate!
3. You will update your journal/bloggy thing/whatever, with the answers to the questions (please don't leave your answers in my comments unless you don't have a blog). You will include this explanation and an offer to interview someone else in the post.
4. When others comment asking to be interviewed, you will ask them five questions.

(These questions courtesy of Scarlet.)
1) What is your favorite classical piece of music to listen to?
Help - where to start? My favourite composers are Telemann, Haydn, Grieg and Prokofiev, so probably something of theirs ... Let's go with Haydn's The seasons as I know The creation inside out and I'd like a bit of variation.

2) If you could only wear one colo[u?]r for the rest of your life, what would it be?
Green. Preferably not always the same shade of it though.

3) I want to ask you the same question I asked Ant about stereotypes...what stereotype of Americans do you find to be true?
All the Americans I have met have invariably been well-intentioned, but depending on the degree of brashness (and volume) of their delivery, they can leave an impression of rudeness. And those who ask idiotic questions unfortunately perpetuate the myth of Americans being stupid.

4) If you had to live in another country, which one would you choose?
Austria, no question. On which subject, Thomas has dropped all sorts of interesting clues about where we're going for my birthday this week - more on that later today.

5) Would you eat an insect?
My initial response was "do I get to choose what sort of insect?", but then I remembered I'm a vegetarian so the answer should be an unequivocal "no" (at least not on purpose). That said, if I were in some far-flung country in which roast locust, say, were on offer, I may be tempted, just to say I've tried it.

Now then, who would care to be interviewed in their turn?

Wise after the event

2007-04-23T13:57:00.000+01:00

I've just served a rather hunky Australian who was getting tickets for the Beltane Fire Festival, a pagan celebration of the end of winter on Calton Hill which involves much naked cavorting. I'll leave you to consider what I wish I had said when he asked the following question:

"Is it illegal to get naked in this country?"

Adrenaline rush

2007-04-18T15:59:00.000+01:00

Anyone who didn't know me would probably have thought, by the time we closed on Saturday, that I was on something. I'd been working at the counter for eight-and-a-half hours straight (with one toilet break), having refused a lunch break on the grounds that I was enjoying myself too much.

Among my first customers were a couple who said, as they sat down in front of me, that they hoped I'd be getting them their seats as they remembered how good I'd been last year (I didn't know them from Adam, but still, you don't reject compliments). It was just as well they were in a good mood because the software let us down in a big way, losing track of their entire booking - with the exception of the payment, naturally - so we had to start all over again ... Later on, two women were taken aback by the amount of detail I started going into with regards to their seating options ("if you sit on the right side, you'll see the two violins, as opposed to getting a great view of the viola and 'cello from the left"). With a few exceptions, most people were perfectly polite - there was a certain amount of relief at having reached the counter after sometimes as much as six hours' wait - but in retrospect, I wonder if I didn't start grinning inanely as my enthusiasm took over.

Put it this way: we stopped allowing people in at 3 o'clock and thus reached the end of the queue at about six. It didn't deter me, however, as I was telling anyone who would listen I wanted more customers ...

Then I had some coffee. As you do.

Fast forward to Monday, still plagued with a number of credit card problems, only this time on the phones, which didn't stop ringing all day - at least until the phone system stopped working and we couldn't make or take any calls. Tuesday was a slight improvement, at least as far as the hardware was concerned, but there were far fewer customers. Not to mention most of the best seats having long since been taken.

I've had the day off today and to be honest, now that I'm off that (however naturally-induced) high, I'm glad of the rest.

The joy of box office

2007-04-10T14:00:00.000+01:00

Two years ago I wrote about the, shall we say, slightly eccentric customers I dealt with in my retail days. Now, one year into box office work, I'm building up a nice repertoire of similar anecdotes regarding a slightly different bunch of people ...

Before considering paying customers, however, there's a degree of repetition in queries from people who've come to the wrong place - above all, during the summer, those seeking tickets for the Edinburgh Military Tattoo, whose offices are elsewhere. After informing them where they should try, we will let the nicer tourists know that tickets went on sale the previous November, so they probably shouldn't raise their hopes too much.

The puzzled question "is this the cathedral?", another repeat offender, at least has the benefit of being an understandable mistake. We, like the Festival admin staff, work in the Hub, a former assembly hall for the Church of Scotland which, despite all appearances to the contrary, was never actually used as a church. People tend to realise they've come to the wrong place the moment they step through the door (at the east end, incidentally, but if I've only just realised it as I'm typing this post that's the high altar would be, I can't expect a tourist to), but it's only reasonable they should come further to ask where St Giles is, if not here. (Answer: further down the road on the right, you can't miss it.)

"Is this the castle?" Er, no. I could go on, but my friend Peter's fantasy about adorning the outside walls of said castle with the spray-painted legend "it's over here, you American p****s" says it all.

(shudder)

On to customers who know what they're doing here. The request for leg-room in any of the venues used for the Festival is probably the most frequently heard, and certainly one we try to accommodate. It's the reasons they give us which are priceless, not to mention how they describe it: a gammy leg, "left leg out" (and your right leg in?) or, a couple of days ago, the sublime "I have terrible knees". We shouldn't laugh, but it brightens up our day no end.

Last year, tickets to the Berlin Philharmonic under Rattle were few and far between, even during the priority booking period. One man refused to believe the ticket we'd sent him was the best available at that stage and did not hesitate to tell us so, very aggressively. How he could think that treating box office staff with such disrespect would work to his advantage, I cannot imagine, but his customer record promptly gained the warning "VERY rude man".

Compare him to the lovely old dear who rang us constantly to ask if there'd been any returns for Abbado conducting The magic flute. We got to recognise her voice immediately and were invariably sorry not to be able to help, as she was invariably so optimistic. Imagine how delighted we were when, on the morning of the final performance, she finally got her ticket - worth £42, which (she said) was the number of times she had called. I only wish I could remember her name ...

Of course not everyone is so lucky. Even when a performance is sold out, people after a single ticket find it difficult to accept that no, we really can't fit them in anywhere, and woe betide you if you have a pantomime booker who simply refuses to go in January when all the performances in December of nigh on full, even when you point out it'd give the children something to look forward to in the New Year. As for not having a performance on Christmas Eve this year - it falls on a Monday, which is invariably their day off - let's not go there.

Given the international flavour of the Festival, there's the usual inevitable round of mispronounciations. Don Quixote was spoonerised into Donkey Toxey, while there was an incredible number of people going on about die Zorba float last year. This time round I predict references to the Emperor Nero's lover Poppy-a, umpteen manglings of Euripides (Yuri Pieds?) and the funky Rameau ballet On danse being pronounced with a lisp owing to the forte-style F used instead of an S.

I'll keep you posted ...

Confidentiality clauses

2007-04-06T11:07:00.000+01:00

I started to write something about the difference between this year's and last year's bookings, but however much it makes for interesting reading, I'm not comfortable with it. It's not the sort of thing which should be divulged in such an open forum as the internet and as it is, I'm hesitant about going into any further detail just in case some enterprising journalist or media pundit should come upon this post. I've long been a victim to a strong code of personal ethics, of which is this just one more example.

No such qualms need assail me about the EIF programme now it's been publicised. Luke sent me a text message on the launch day saying he'd definitely be up this year, which is as good an indication as any that the line-up is manna to the early music enthusiast. Jordi Savall is doing what amounts to a residency, taking in opera (Monteverdi's L'Orfeo), concert performances (more Monteverdi - the 1610 Vespers - and music inspired by Cervantes'Don Quixote) and a solo recital on the viola da gamba. Then there's a whole series of choral music from the 11th to 18th centuries in the spacious acoustic of Greyfriars Kirk, not to mention chamber music of the Italian baroque.

Which is not to say the post-Classical periods are overlooked. Anyone who likes Sibelius' symphonies is well catered for, while continuity is assured by the return of Festival favourites such as Ian Bostridge and Alfred Brendel. For my part, I'm particularly looking forward to seeing Thomas Adès conduct his violin concerto, while others will be delighted by programmes of Strauss and Mahler.

(If I've said nothing about drama, bear in mind music is very much my forte. There's only so much I can tell you about the various adaptations of Greek tragedy, even if one does star Alan Cumming!)

Overall, though, I'd say this year's programme is characterised by a sense of fun. Berstein's Candide and Poulenc's organ concerto bookend the Festival and with anything from the Tiger Lilies' take on Monteverdi and hip-hop dancing to Rameau in between, there's definitely a healthy dose of the joyous (not to say pleasingly bizarre) to look forward to.

Important though it is to give a flavour of what I'm involved with to those who might not otherwise hear of it, that's enough blatant self-promotion, no matter how great my enthusiasm. On to other things.

After Thomas had to pull out of a couple of things we had planned - a concert of American classics and stand-up comedy courtesy of Jo Brand, both very enjoyable - I asked him to make sure he does not get booked up for the couple of days around my birthday. Now we just have to work out what we'll be doing (assuming he's not working on a surprise, which I wouldn't put past him).

On her last visit, Mother brought with her the family set of mah-jong for me to have. It's been a joy rediscovering it, if slightly confusing when it came to the practicalities of playing against others whose rules differ slightly, all the more so when there are complete novices involved. Still, it's good to introduce new players to such a good game, though I'm well aware that as the days get longer, the potential for games nights is rather reduced, so it may not see the light of day again for a while.

In the meantime, it's the Easter weekend and I've a fair amount of singing to do. As far as the Church is concerned, Lenten music beats the rest of the year hands down - from Ash Wednesday, things get darker and darker aside from a brief respite on Palm Sunday, and suddenly light bursts forth on Easter Day. Christmas may have usurped Easter as the feastday in the public consciousness, but there's no doubting the steady build-up of good cheer over Advent is no competition for the sheer drama afforded by Lent.

Back online

2007-03-23T13:46:00.000Z

I've started the new job at the International Festival, now with the untold excitement of - drum-roll, please - internet access and - huge crescendo leading to the corniest of "ta-daaah!" - a work email account. All terribly exciting, see?

Which means I also know everything that's on this August, and take it from me, it's a corker. I can't say anything more as it's all embargoed until Wednesday 28th March (not long to wait), and anyway, if you're interested, I wouldn't want to spoil the surprise for you. But take it from me, it's going to be fab.

Equally fab is Thomas ... Do you really want me to witter on endlessly about him again?

Another (infrequent) update

2007-02-18T13:25:00.000Z

I've just noticed it's been more than a month since I last posted anything here, so it's high time I corrected that tendency ...

Things with Thomas continue to go swimmingly: he's away (again!) at the moment, in South America, but returning in early March, at which time this spate of travelling will be over. He was back for a week earlier this month - far too short a time, but boy was it good to see him again. We've got a weekend trip to Manchester planned for mid-March and are looking into possible places to go for my birthday in May.

Good news too on the job front: I'm returning to the Edinburgh International Festival as a senior ticket sales assistant, i.e. a welcome step up the ladder from last year, to say nothing of a further leap in salary. I was interviewed a supervisory position they had going, but despite not getting it (lack of experience, inevitably), I'd still say I'm doing pretty well to have been offered this other post considering I've not even been doing box office work for a year.

After spending the end of last year having decidedly mixed feelings about the new choir I'd joined - Loud and Proud, the local LGBT one - I've started to enjoy it now, though I've no idea what has caused this change of heart. Even if the repertoire (show tunes and the like) is far from what I'd usually go for, it's all good clean fun and I'm going to stick the year out at least. Beyond that is a matter of conjecture; as getting a dog is still very much on the cards and I balk at people who leave their pets tied up outside shops and the like, I'm not going to be leaving mine alone at home for hours on end several times a week.

Who'd've thought?

2007-01-13T14:35:00.000Z

My mother returned home a couple of days ago after a week's visit that saw the usual round of culture - three films, a musical luncheon party and the ballet - which, good though it was, paled in comparison to her interest in Thomas. I thought it best to tell her about him before she heard anything at choir rehearsal and started giving me puzzled looks, little suspecting that she'd be full of questions ...

Trouble was, I was clearly nervous as hell as I started babbling almost the second I opened my mouth to tell her I'd met someone. She rather sweetly stemmed the flow by asking me his name. Next morning, as we were out shopping, I mentioned him in conversation, still trying to gauge how she was taking all this, and she promptly asked how on earth it was we'd met. Understandably, given his professional interests - he's a baseball umpire/photographer/pyrotechnic - she'd tried to work it out and failed.

Sometime earlier this week I mentioned I had to go round to his to check the post and forward anything urgent to him, not quite expecting her to tag along, even though we were on the way to the cinema at the time. I mean, this is the first time there's ever been any question of her meeting a partner of mine and now she was going to be in his flat. Still, it all bodes well.

He's back in under three weeks. Can't wait!

Mildly apprehensive

2006-12-15T17:12:00.000Z

When I bought my flat just over two years ago, I was all a-quiver about inviting friends round for meals in a place of my very own. Christmas certainly figured highly on my list, but that year it was denied me as I had to go to my parents', having discovered a bit belatedly that Mother had expected me the previous year. As things turned out, it was for the best as my father died the following October.

Last year, it being our first Christmas without him, there was never any question of us being apart: I was away from Edinburgh for the second year running. This year, I'd invited two otherwise by-and-large unattached friends over for Christmas lunch, but Rob's now off to Italy while Peter's returning to his parents'. Thomas I knew wasn't going to be here anyway, but it leaves me feeling a little concerned about Christmas Day.

I will have the usual quantity of singing to do, true enough, and now I'm working out out my Christmas menu - a parsnip and nut plait with peas and braised red cabbage, I think - but I've still a niggling feeling it could all be a bit lonely.

My beloved is mine and I am his

2006-11-27T13:19:00.000Z

And thus a month in Thomas' company comes to an end with his leaving again, this time for around three months (save for a week back here in early February). His initial month's absence, back in October, had its frustrations, but these proved so beneficial to us that I can face the winter with confidence. Put it this way, being apart for nearly four weeks right at the beginning meant we were able to build a relationship rather than give in to physical attraction before anything more had been established and have it all fizzle out in no time.

By last weekend, it was pretty clear we were on to a good thing, but the opinion of a really close friend such as Luke was always going to be welcome. He and Thomas didn't meet until the party on Saturday (at which, incidentally, we served 20 bottles' worth of mulled wine) and got on beautifully. The fact they went out for a coffee next morning while I was at church says it all.

It's not very often I'll use an old-fashioned expression without some measure of irony, but this is an exception. No matter how optimistic I feel about Thomas being away for the next three months, I'm still going to miss him like the dickens.

A whirlwind of a week

2006-11-23T10:40:00.000Z

Luke's arriving for a three-day visit tonight, so knowing I'd be short of time to put the flat into some semblance of order, I decided to skip Monday's choir rehearsal - yes, I've joined a third group! - so I could do some much-needed housework. Except I met Tom for a bite to eat, we went back to mine and ... well, let's say other things took precedence.

On Tuesday I had an early start at work, had an interview for a supervisory position in the box office which went very well and went along to Scottish Opera's production of Der Rosenkavalier in the evening. Despite being a very enjoyable day, it left little time for anything else.

Which left yesterday and this morning. I won't say the flat is spotless 'cos frankly that's never likely to happen, but at least it's in a fit state to welcome visitors. Just as well, considering I've one of my semiannual parties coming up this weekend - part of the purpose of Luke's visit, the other one being Scottish Opera's production of Handel's Tamerlano, only we're not so sure about that one now.

The cryptic "bring a mug" line has returned. Anyone care to guess why?

Beati qui lugent: the libretto

2006-11-14T15:57:00.000Z

(for anyone who's interested, the Biblical passages are taken from the Vulgate Bible and the prayers from the Book of Common Prayer)

I: O vos omnes
O vos omnes qui transitis per viam attendite et videte si est dolor sicut dolor meus. Attendite, universi populi, et videte dolorem meum. [Lamentations 1:12,18)
(trans.: All ye that pass by, behold and see if there be any sorrow like unto my sorrow. Behold, all ye people, and see my sorrow.)

II: Collect for aid against all perils
Lighten our darkness, we beseech thee, O Lord; and by thy great mercy defend us from all perils and dangers of this night; for the love of thy only Son, our Saviour Jesus Christ.

III: Dominus reget me
Dominus reget me et nihil mihi deerit.
In loco pascuae ibi me conlocavit super aquam refectionis educavit me.
Animam meam convertit deduxit me super semitaxs iustitiae propter nomen suum.
Nam et si ambulavero in medio umbrae mortis non timebo mala quoniam tu mecum es virga tua et baculus tuus ipsa consolata sunt.
Parasti in conspectu meo mensam adversus eos qui tribulant me inpinguasti in oleo caput meum et calix meus inebrians quam praeclarus est.
Et misericordia tua subsequitur me omnibus diebus vitae meae et ut inhabitem in domo Domini in longitudinem dierum. [Psalm 23]
(trans: The Lord is my shepherd: therefore can I lack nothing.
He shall feed me in a green pasture and lead me forth beside the waters of comfort.
He shall convert my soul and bring me forth in the paths of righteousness, for his Name's sake.
Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil for thou art with me; thy rod and thy staff comfort me.
Thou shalt prepare a table before me against them that trouble me; thou hast anointed my head with oil, and my cup shall be full.
But thy loving-kindness and mercy shall follow me all the days of my life and I will dwell in the house of the Lord for ever.)

IV: Prayer for those in sorrow
O heavenly Father, whose blessed Son Jesus Christ did weep at the grave of Lazarus his friend: look, we beseech thee, with compassion upon those who are now in sorrow and affliction; comfort them, 0 Lord, with thy gracious consolations; make them to know that all things work together for good to them that love thee; and grant them evermore sure trust and confidence in thy fatherly care; through the same Jesus Christ our Lord.

V: Beati qui lugent
Beati qui lugent quoniam ipsi consolabuntur. [Matthew 5:4]
(trans: Blessed are they that mourn, for they shall be comforted.)

VI: Collect for All Souls
Father of all, we pray to thee for those we love, but see no longer: Grant them thy peace; let light perpetual shine upon them; and in thy loving wisdom and almighty power, work in them the good purpose of thy perfect will; through Jesus Christ our Lord.

VII: Expecto resurrectionem
Expecto resurrectionem et vitam venturi saeculi. Amen. [Ordinary of the Mass]
(trans: I await the resurrection of the dead and the life of the world to come. Amen.)

Contrasts

2006-11-13T16:09:00.000Z

Among Beethoven's lesser works is a pair of Italian songs, L'amante impatiente, in which the same words are set in very contrasting moods: in one the singer sighs longingly for his/her lover, while in the second he/she is exasperated at the other's tardiness. While not among the composer's best outpourings, it is nonetheless a fascinating example of how one set of words can be interpreted (in this case, by one person) in markedly different ways.

It's comparatively rare for a composer to make multiple use of the same words - one obvious exception being settings of the Ordinary of the Mass - and indeed composers tend to be particular about their choice of texts in general when it comes to vocal music. Before opera seria fell out of favour, Metastasio (whose words Beethoven used in the example above) was more or less ubiquitous and since then, only Shakespeare can lay any claim to universality. Biblical texts, however, stand slightly apart, as they continue to provide inspiration to composers without being restricted to one language alone.

I've become conscious of this just recently in my own composing. Some years ago I wrote a setting of Lamentations 1:12 - "Behold and see if there be any sorrow like unto my sorrow" - in which the emphasis was very much on the word 'sorrow': that one word is repeated a dozen times in the space of a couple of minutes, more often that not in the form of an echoing sigh. Among the pieces I'm working on at the moment is a work, also for unaccompanied choir, which includes the same text, also in Latin, but from a different perspective: this time, the key word is similis, suggesting the listener's pain is nothing compared the speaker's. The same text, once soothing, is now bold and angry: instead of providing comfort they are an accusation.

That said, there wouldn't be much point in composing two near-identical settings of the same words, now would there?

Hopefully not the road to hell

2006-11-08T16:10:00.000Z

Good intentions can lead one to terrible places, it appears. Despite my last post, I've not posted anything since - after the trip to my mother's (which went as well as it could have done, in the circumstances), it was back to feeling frustrated about a certain person's absence. Since Tom got back, just over a week ago, let's say my mind has been, well, on other things.

Yes folks, I'm no longer single. Life is good. (That's as much as I'm saying at this stage, because I really ought to check that Tom's okay with my writing about him here.)

On the ever-important musical front, I'm started composing yet another work, entitled Beati qui lugent (i.e. Blessed are they who mourn), which should give a pretty good clue as to the sort of piece it is. Scored for unaccompanied voices (increasingly my medium of choice), it is intended to chart the changing moods of a bereaved Christian, from an angry O vos omnes to an evocation of the afterlife, alternating Biblical passages (in Latin) and prayer settings. I imagine it's the closest I'll ever get to writing a Requiem.

On a more cheerful note, my first date with Tom was at a screening of the 1925 (therefore silent) film of The phantom of the Opera, with Lon Chaney in the title role. Unfortunately the technical wizardry was rather let down by plotholes, hammy acting and unintentionally hilarious caption cards. Somehow the villian became a lot less frightening with the revelation he was an insane criminal named Erik ...

Breaking the silence

2006-10-11T14:59:00.000+01:00

It's a very quiet afternoon at work - I'm over at what might be described as the secondary theatre for which I'm now selling tickets and the only other person here has gone for lunch, so I'm taking advantage of the lack of customers. Yes, I am still around.

So, what's been going on? The Festival finished in something of a blaze: five visitors over the space of one week, which was just about as many my (not enormous) flat could hold. I got to quite a few shows in the final week, which I'll try and add to the reviews by the end of next week.

As soon as the Festival finished, I started my new job over at the Edinburgh Festival and King's Theatres, very similar work to the EIF but concentrating on two venues alone. There's a huge variety of shows on, from opera to the horrors of the Singing Kettle (a Scottish show aimed at young children), so it's mostly good fun and, a definite bonus this, better paid than my last job.

The ballet I was in was, for the most part, a lot of fun. I'll write a more detailed entry on it in due course, complete with a photo of me in pig costume, so for now I'll just say that I was a bit of a naughty boy when we all went out clubbing after the final performance. These dancers, I'm telling you!

Last week brought a very pleasant surprise my way: I joined a small group in going to see The Queen (a superb film, incidentally, highly recommended) and afterwards got talking to this one guy, got on like a house on fire, good chemistry, absolutely no complaints save that he was leaving the following morning for three weeks in the States. We're making arrangements to see each other again when he gets back at the end of this month, so watch this space. In the meantime, the wait is proving rather frustrating.

After such a long absence, you'd hope I'd be around for a while. However, this Sunday marks the first anniversary of my father's death so I'm going to be away for a few days at my mother's. She and my brother have been doing fantastically well, but understandably these couple of weeks have been getting increasingly difficult for the three of us. One of the altos in the choir, who lost her own husband some years ago, told me from the start it's the first year that's the most difficult, after which it becomes a lot easier. Roll on Monday ...

Of all the unlikely guises ...

2006-08-12T23:57:00.000+01:00

Three years ago, when keeping a diary, I became conscious of a need to try out new things if writing new entries (to say nothing of reading them years later) were to retain some semblance of interest for me. It almost makes me regret that I'm not keeping one now, as later this month, I'm taking on a challenge quite unlike any other I have attempted.

If you're among that small number of regular readers I have, you will know that Edinburgh is in the midst of Festival fever. I'll bet you never thought the British première of a major ballet would see me on stage ...

To be honest, Die Zauberflöte (which also needed extras) was a lot more tempting, but that required trained dancers (ha!) and ten days' rehearsal, which was never going to happen. To be in Don Quixote, on the other hand, it's just a matter of having stage experience, by which I understand not looking like a rabbit caught in headlights - among other things, I get to be shackled and lead across the stage in the prologue, and later on I could well be a pallbearer.

This ballet is the very reason my mother's coming over, so she's going to get an extra thrill (I hope) from my involvement. That said, I'm having to find other people to accompany her to some of the concerts we had planned to attend as I will have a number of rehearsals.

Pictures will be published here, assuming anyone takes any.

Festival days are here again!

2006-08-06T21:04:00.000+01:00

Today saw the official opening of the Fringe Festival, which vies with the International Festival for prominence in the Edinburgh calendar. To be honest, it's pretty well a dead heat: the latter gets to finish things off with a spectacular fireworks display in early September, the former gets the calvacade - a procession through the main streets of the city - on the first Sunday in August.

As it happens, today also saw the end of the Jazz and Blues Festival, though a good deal of the artists are staying on to perform during the Fringe. At work, this means we've got a week with no events taking place before the International Festival kicks in next Sunday. The first night is very much a big event, unfortunately frequently viewed as something to go to in order to be seen to be there, but for all that it remains on a large scale musically too - Strauss' Elektra this year, with Jeanne-Michèle Charbonnet in the title role.

I prefer noisy fireworks to watching processions and don't believe in depriving someone of a ticket to something they're likely to appreciate more than me, so have bothered neither with the calvacade nor a ticket for the opening concert. Besides, I've got quite enough other things to attend; five events down, heavens only knows how many to go.

There's also been some good news on the job front: the day after my contract at the Festival box office runs out, I'm starting at the box office of the Festival and King's Theatres, which means I should be able to get reasonable seats for Alan Bennett's The history boys when it's on tour in the autumn ... and I'll be paid a whole extra 48 pence an hour!

The calendar fills up

2006-07-30T19:53:00.000+01:00

I've no idea where July has gone to, but the Festival season is now upon us and it's all madness from here on in. Work has given us the rotas for the remainder of our contract (which finish on 3rd September), so yesterday I poured over the Fringe brochure and worked out what I can go to on my days off.

Which means I've now got another seven performances to go to next month - two Tom Stoppards among the plays and quite a mixture otherwise, from a one-man show entitled Shakespeare's passions to the funny (peculiar and ha-ha)-sounding Oxford Gargoyles. That's a total of twenty shows ...

Besides my mother, I've also got my middle cousin coming to visit with a friend of hers (as a post-A level treat) and two friends from London. I'm going to rope them all in to write up reviews of the shows they go to, so Edinburgh Arts will be keeping us busy!

End of Cow Parade special

2006-07-28T22:29:00.000+01:00

A post for Spencer. It won't take away your back pain but hopefully might just distract you for a couple of minutes! xx

The 2006 Cow Parade being now at an end - if my understanding is correct, they've been removed for safekeeping (and, in some cases, touching up) until they're auctioned for charity in early September - I thought it was high time to post my various pictures of them.

A great many were to be found (grazing?) in groups of three: this Caledonian-African hybrid and the two below were outside the International Conference Centre.

The designs of some cows are clearly defined (in many cases, by local culture) but most others are happy to remain pretty abstract ...

These two - and a third, less interesting one - were round on the other side of the Sheraton hotel and typify two contrasting influences, the stereotypically touristy and modern art-based.

Not all were to be found out of doors - besides one under the impression it was Tarzan (not as good as it sounds) and a tweed-clad one in Jenners, there was this one, part of an exhibition on gay culture. Who'd've guessed?

Inevitably, the Festival side of Edinburgh got in on the act. I expect Kris and her cousin Rob weren't the only ones to pose underneath this one ...

Another trio, this one on my way to work. Being in (very) central Edinburgh, these were among the most popular with the tourists ...

... many of whom failed to look up and thus missed this lot, held up between the pillars of the National Gallery immediately behind.

St John's, being in a prime location - on the corner of two of the city's main thoroughfares - got to welcome three, including this rainforesty one.

Click on the photo if this bovine version of a very famous painting means nothing to you ...

A spiral of quotations from works by Scottish authors on this one, including Stevenson, Conan Doyle, Walter Scott, Rabbie Burns and (among the more modern writers) Irvine Welsh and, perhaps inevitably, J.K. Rowling.

One of my favourites, if nothing else because everyone took a second look at the hide. Infinitely better than the Braveheart cow up the road!

A rare use of materials beyond paint marked this one out from the crowd.

Poorly placed, the other side of this cow was not immediately visible - again, click on the photo to see it.

Bovine law enforcement of the future, perhaps?

Another schizophrenic cow, this time placed on a street corner where it could be seen from all angles. It rarely seemed to be facing the same way twice, in fact.

A fun, if utterly impractical, version of a favourite boardgame. Perhaps one best left to drunken students?

My personal favourite to finish with. Never mind the artistic allusion, that title is a delicious pun.

Eye trouble

2006-07-24T21:50:00.000+01:00

As I took out my left contact lens out last night, I felt a sudden pain suggestive of muck in my eye - a speck of dust, perhaps, at any rate something no amount of blinking could get rid of. It was only by splashing some lens solution into my eye that I was able to soothe the pain sufficiently to get to sleep.

It was agony trying to get my lens in this morning, so I rang the optician's and got myself an appointment for ten o'clock. After examination, he told me it looked as though I'd scratched my eye as I was removing the lens, with part of the pain being caused by a slight swelling on the inside of my eyelid. It was already showing signs of healing, but he gave me some eye drops to help things along.

What with only having clear vision on one side, I've been spending a good deal of the day looking through my right eye only. Extraordinary how it affects depth perception, to say nothing of requiring to turn my head further if I want to look left.

Hopefully my eyesight will be back to normal tomorrow. Then I might get on with writing about London ...

UPDATE (17:59, 27/07/2006) Turns out I shouldn't have put my lens back in on Tuesday: despite the comfort, it covered the abrasion in such a way as prevented it from healing - so much for my plans to see Superman returns on my day off! Although my eye felt fine this morning, I decided not to take any chances and let it rest another day. The lens'll probably be going back in tomorrow ...

Disturbing adverts

2006-07-12T23:52:00.000+01:00

There are times I wonder what goes through the minds of company bosses when advertising agencies are putting forward proposals for new campaigns. True, there are a good deal of fabulous adverts out there, but equally some have a very worrying subtext ...

Tesco owns the biggest market share in British supermarkets and its current advert suggests that their customers might want to make a gift of their phone services to their friends and relations, even abroad. Though the tone is kept light, it suggests ambitions that remind me all too much of Mercedes advertising in the late 1930s - which implied German intentions for expansion across Europe. Just because the age of cultural imperialism may be over (well, if you disregard Dubya for a moment), it doesn't mean we should all embrace its commercial cousin.

Tonight I just saw an advert for Seat - couldn't tell you which model - for which the slogan was "man and machine as one". In it, a driver was seen to meld with his car, his hands and feet turning mechanical as they made contact with the steering wheel, gear stick and pedals. I'm not keen to relinquish control to an automatic gearbox as it is, so the idea of turning into a cold machine as soon as I sit behind the wheel doesn't exactly sit well with me.

... and here we go with trip no. 4

2006-07-11T08:05:00.000+01:00

It's been fun, these last couple of months, having all these short trips around the place. I've now got my tickets for the fourth and final one, to London, so I'll be away from Sunday to Thursday inclusive.

As with the others, the purpose is twofold: I'm going to a couple of Proms - the first including Mozart's Serenade for 13 wind instruments, the second one a semi-staged version of Glyndebourne's new production of Così fan tutte - and catching up Luke and, hopefully, my uncle, whom I'd rather neglected until last October. It'll also give me the opportunity to revist all my old haunts, which is always welcome.

Concerning my choice of Proms, I should point out I don't usually go all out for Mozart in this way. As I pointed out in a previous post, they (and most other festivals this year) are going overboard with him this year, but Così is my favourite opera and the Gran partita is glorious music. Besides, even if I weren't working for the Festival up here, I wouldn't dream of leaving Edinburgh in August: it's just not done.

I'm perfectly willing to take photos if it's requested of me, but be warned - now the tourist season is well under way, I refuse to pass myself off as a tourist, particularly somewhere as big as London.

(Slightly) rose-tinted spectacles

2006-07-06T22:17:00.000+01:00

On my last visit to Jersey, I was a mere 13 years old, visiting my grandfather for what turned out to be the last time. It took me (and my brother) nineteen years to return, so a spirit of nostalgia was inevitable. Certainly there've been a lot of changes there in the interim, but for all that, a great many things were familiar to us the moment I saw them. For instance, I wasn't sure I'd be able to find my grandparents' flat, yet once I was on the right road it all returned to me.

Landing on Jersey after such a long absence proved quite an adrenaline rush which the long wait for a bus into St Helier, the island's capital, failed to dampen. Even as we travelled the five or so miles from the airport, I was formulating a plan for a camping trip with my friend Dan, quite possibly in the early summer next year, a plan I still intend to see bear fruit. That, combined with the brevity of my stay (not even 48 hours), should be proof enough of how much I enjoyed those couple of days.

Many objects jostle for space on the St Helier skyline: there's a lot of construction going on at present, so cranes would dominate if it weren't for Fort Regent (left), a leisure centre which spreads over the rock of the same name, bringing to my mind a malevolent spider. (If you doubt its evil intentions, consider but the fact it's most likely responsible for the absence of the playground my brother and I frequented as children. The windy snake slide is sorely missed.)

If you're coming into Jersey by ferry, however, chances are among the first sights to greet you will be Elizabeth castle, built just a little out to sea. Like the Mont-St-Michel off the coast of Brittany, the high tide makes this peninsular inaccessible at night but, unlike its French cousin, is (to the best of my knowledge) uninhabited and probably uninhabitable.

Being such a small island - about 9 miles by 5 - it's not surprising nautical activities should be of such importance. Besides long stretches of sandy beaches, yachting and sailing in general are popular activities, if even the dry docks are this full.

And there's no shortage of history here either, perhaps dominated by the Channel Islands' status as the only parts of the British Isles to have been occupied by the Nazis during the Second World War. There are many reminders of this, most prominent of these being the underground hospital, part of a system of tunnels built at the time, and, at stragetic points, fortifications such as this one. My brother, on our last visit, bought a book entitled Jersey under the jackboot which he found rather hard going, but I imagine he'll be giving it another go now.

Putting aside the historical significance of street names such as these, the Islands' proximity to France (where they are known as les îles anglo-normandes) means that the French language has made more headway here than anywhere else in the UK, to the likely despair of anti-Europeans. Place names in French are not uncommon and there's even a local dialect, Jerriais, a conglomeration of French and English, one of those little-spoken languages constantly fighting for survival. That said, the number of Portuguese immigrants (accounting for a high proportion of unskilled labour on the island) would suggest a shift in linguistic dominance.

Enough of the guidebook stuff and on to the nostalgia. This was the sight that really brought memories flooding back: Howard Davis park, with its shaded paths, the bandstand overlooking an enormous lawn, the ponds and, of vital importance to a child, the shop across the road where we bought Smarties knowing we'd be vying each other for the orange ones. Ah, memories ...

For all that, Jersey is still capable of surprises, as this picture of the morris dancers we happened upon on my last evening amply demonstrates!

A laborious process

2006-06-30T20:47:00.000+01:00

... and that's putting it mildly!

I'm downloading CDs to iTunes in anticipation of getting an iPod when I'm in Jersey next week - it's a tax haven so I'd be daft not to - and boy does it take a long time. There's not even any particular order to it: I've covered Mozart, Beethoven, Telemann, Byrd, Britten, Poulenc, Handel and (because no classical collection is complete without her) Florence Foster Jenkins so far, and there's a while to go yet.

Ho hum.

Limbo

2006-06-29T00:08:00.000+01:00

I got back from my trip to Norfolk last night (where I had a lovely time), but as I'm off to Jersey at the end of the week these few days' work feel a little odd, more like an interlude between trips than serious work ... I doubt there'll be much of interest to report before my return from the Channel Islands (next Tuesday), so things are likely to be quiet on the blog front.

O beware, my Lord, of jealousy (again)

2006-06-21T19:50:00.000+01:00

(updated 01/08/06 following the purchase of more tickets ...)

It's not actually one year on (only eleven months), but my plans for the 2006 Edinburgh Festival season are so clear that I'm going to show off here and now. All the more so when I point out that these are only the events for which I've booked tickets (or am due to sing in); it's very likely others will be added on the day. Anyhow, this is how August looks:

Thursday 3rd: a preview of Stoppard's Rosencrantz and Guildenstern are dead, which my mother and cousin will be seeing later in the month. Why should I be left out?
Friday 4th: more Stoppard, this time The real Inspector Hound, a parody of the Christiean murder mystery play which should be fantastic if done well, followed by a one-man-show on Shakespeare's passions.
Sunday 6th: being the first Sunday of the month, we only get two services at church, essentially a warm-up for a very busy month. In between I've got more theatre to go to, in the form of Peter Shaffer's Black comedy, a tremendous farce.
Friday 11th: Ludus Baroque's annual performance of Bach's Mass in B minor, which usually marks the beginning of the Fringe Festival but for some reason appears to be a week late this year.
Sunday 13th: an entire day of Mozart at church, with Muggins singing the tenor solo in the Coronation Mass.
Tuesday 15th: a recital by the flautist Emily Beynon, including the sonatas of Poulenc and Prokofiev, followed by an adaptation of The Canterbury tales (presumably not all of them, as it only lasts an hour) and a group called the Oxford Gargoyles singing jazz.
Friday 18th: taking part in a concert of music for the Queen's 80th birthday, full of old favourites.
Saturday 19th: two big Handel oratorios to sing in the space of one weekend, starting with Saul.
Sunday 20th: besides singing in Handel's Israel in Egypt, I'll be doing those mezzo piano high G sharps in Kodaly's Missa brevis at the church again. Expect me to be voiceless by Monday morning! In between, I'll have a harpsichord recital by Andrzej Zawisza to go to.
Tuesday 22nd: my mother's arrival heralds an inordinately busy week, starting with a concert by Colin Steele, an Edinbronian* jazz trumpeter influenced by Miles Davis and Scottish folk music.
Wednesday 23rd: my mother's going to Rosencrantz and Guildenstern are dead in the afternoon, then I'm joining her for the Budapest Festival Orchestra under Iván Fischer in a programme which includes The rite of spring and Bartók's 3rd piano concerto with Richard Goode.
Thursday 24th: just one show booked, Tchaikovsky's Mazeppa (by the Opéra National de Lyon). Mother will probably spend the day going round various exhibitions at the city's galleries.
Friday 25th: Mother's going to a Christian Zacharias recital, the play Divino Pastor Gongora (about the persecution of an actor by a Viceregal Inquisitor in 18th century Mexico) and a performance by Salsa celtica (who do precisely what it says on the tin) before I show up for the Minnesota Orchestra under Osmo Vänskä performing Petrushka and another 3rd piano concerto, this time Beethoven's, with Llyr Williams as soloist.
Saturday 26th: (deep breath) the historian Antonia Fraser talking about the Sun King, a tribute to Flanders and Swann, Mackerras conducting the SCO in Beethoven's 7th (part of the complete cycle) and the European première of Balanchine's Don Quixote as choreographed by his muse (and its first Dulcinea), Suzanne Farrell. My friends Tom and Abby, in the meantime, will have arrived in the early morning and, after having most of the day free to explore, will be going to the final performance of Troilus and Cressida.
Sunday 27th: besides three more church services, the four of us will be attending a lecture recital by Richard Goode on Beethoven's penultimate piano sonata. Then Mother's off to a talk by Suzanne Farrell (see above), after which we go both along to Murder at the Savoy, which sounds silly in a Gilbert-and-Sullivanesque way. Tom and Abby, after (probably) joining in with the singing, have tickets for Stuart MacRae's opera The assassin tree, which will have got its world première on Friday. At some stage, my cousin Laura and her friend Ploy will have arrived, but they're going to play things by ear - at least, they've not asked me to book them any tickets as yet ...
Monday 28th: Mother's going back home, probably exhausted, leaving Tom and Abby to see Ian Bostridge and Antonio Pappano in recital. They're off back to London afterwards, in time for work the next morning, while I carry on playing host to Laura and Ploy until Wednesday.

Peter accuses me of having an insatiable appetite for culture. Wonder from whom I get it?

*No-one else, to the best of my knowledge, uses this term (meaning "an inhabitant of Edinburgh"), but it sounds good, not to mention being a huge improvement on 'Edinburgher' - which is just plain ugly.

Nothing to be ashamed of

2006-06-21T19:11:00.000+01:00

So I've not got the EIF job either, but I'm by no means disheartened about it. They were perfectly happy with me, but the luck of the draw meant there was someone better qualified than me there on the day.

For all my lack of experience, there were only seven of us interviewed out of over a hundred applicants, so I think I can be pretty proud of myself.

Interviews and penguins

2006-06-20T23:24:00.000+01:00

As expected, I've not got the SCO job - the letter came yesterday, by which time I'd worked out the position must have gone to someone else.

Had another interview this morning though, for a position within the sponsorship department of the Festival, of which the scariest bit was the Excel spreadsheet exercise at the end. I'm not convinced I'll be offered the job as some of my answers were a bit left-field owing to lack of strictly relevant experience. The piece I wrote on my father just recently, for instance, came up in the context of writing concisely without leaving any information out, which was a little odd ...

On the plus side, I was one of only seven to be interviewed, so I've already done well in getting to this stage. There was a lot of thinking on my feet involved - suggesting ways of finding corporate sponsors for obscure Festival productions, that sort of thing - at which I did a pretty good job. That said, I reckon there's a high chance of one of the other interviewees having more relevant experience, so I'm only cautiously optimistic.

If I made a good impression, it was without any help from my stomach, which felt a bit unsettled this morning, the result of being out at a reception for the British Antarctic Survey, for whom we've been selling tickets as part of their "Discover Antarctica" series. The four of us who went had a whale of a time (sorry, the pun was ripe for the picking!) drinking just about nothing but champagne - we switched to white wine when it ran out - bonding with one of penguin statues and laughing at the Ice Queen, whose mere presence was unbelievably camp.

Anyway, back to the job: they should let me know by the end of the week, by which time I'll be in Norfolk visiting family. I expect it'll be a phone call, but I'm going to ask one of the neighbours to keep an eye on the post, just in case.

Unless something terribly exciting happens tomorrow, this will probably be my last entry before leaving on Thursday morning. Back next Tuesday ...

Writing again

2006-06-17T01:23:00.000+01:00

Eleven years ago I started work on Wilting daffodils, a rite-of-passage novel set in Victorian Britain and France. Although I worked out the complete plot and structure, life got in the way and I have yet to finish it - maybe when I'm retired? It's going to be a big volume though: I've written around 40,000 words so far and that's not even halfway.

Sometime earlier this year I started thinking about writing something more detailed about my father's last days, initially planning on doing one-year-on posts on this blog, until I realised that it's too personal for this medium, not to mention the difficulties posed by fading memories. No time like the present, so I've been remaining up pretty late these last couple of nights working on what could be termed a short story if it weren't entirely factual.

That said, the creative writer in me still wanted to create something in a distinctive style, which in this case comes over in the narrative structure. It's anything but linear: what appears to be an account told in flashback soon starts jumping about a timeline covering about a month, forever going backwards and forwards in a reflection of the way a mind under stress reels from one thought to another.

The intensely private nature of these recollections means I won't be publishing them, at least not for some years. Who knows, Daffs (as I affectionately call my novel) could be completed sooner ...

On another note, I think it's very unlikely, at this stage, that I've got the SCO job. They said they'd let me know by the end of the week, and chances are it would have been in the form of a telephone call. The lack of any contact would suggest there'll be a rejection letter in tomorrow's post. At least I've got the EIF interview on Tuesday, not to mention the opportunity of looking into writing programme notes for the SCO, which might have been a bit dubious if I were working there.

Job applications under pressure

2006-06-16T00:15:00.000+01:00

Maybe it's the way forward. Despite my covering letter for the Festival vacancy being as non-specific as could be - having no information to hand at the time, I didn't have much choice but to leave it pretty general - they want to interview me too. I know, I shouldn't complain, but it's still a little disconcerting.

It's to be held next Tuesday at 9am, giving me time to get downstairs in time for the beginning of my shift an hour later. As the box office staff is all off to a reception for the British Antarctic Survey (for whose visit to Edinburgh we're selling tickets) the previous evening, it means I'll have to behave myself ...

No news about the other job as yet. After my mixed feelings on the day, I'm now cautiously optimistic. True, I may have had some weaker answers but I feel I countered them with some pretty good ones elsewhere.

A slight wobble to the chicken's head

2006-06-13T23:21:00.000+01:00

I'm not sure if my slight misgivings about today's interview are entirely justified. It went pretty well overall, but I feel I let myself down with a couple of my answers, in particular that regarding where the position would fit in with my career aspirations. I'd like to hope that they can understand why I was perhaps a little hesitant as this would really be my first step into arts administration proper, so something of a new venture for me.

A bit of a shock awaited me later this afternoon with the revelation that the closing date for another application (this post being within the Festival offices) was today - what with wanting to get the SCO one done first, I must have convinced myself (wrongly) that I could afford to leave it for the time being. I'd got my CV in previously so just had the covering letter to deal with, though having to do so at such short notice, without the job description in front of me and hand-written - talk about old-fashioned! - was quite a challenge.

The interviews won't be held until next week, by which stage I can expect to have heard from the SCO. Alea iacta est.

A headless chicken sans the headlessness

2006-06-13T00:00:00.000+01:00

Quite a busy day off. By rights, my feet should be in agony.

Before heading out, I'd cancelled a dial-up connection and paid a bill. Then I was off to the post office (to post two Fringe brochures to my mother) and the bank (to cancel a credit card) on the way up to work, as I wanted to check how much time I should allow to walk to my interview tomorrow afternoon - 20 minutes. At that point I retraced some of my steps to book train tickets for my trip to Norfolk in ten days' time, after which I bought a cabin bag which will also do me quite nicely for my two-day trip to Jersey straight afterwards.

By then it was time for lunch, so I went back home and had a bite to eat before going to do some food shopping. Then it was off to the cinema to catch the very powerful United 93, over to Princes St for a quiet coffee over a sudoku and back to the cinema for a showing of, depending on your perspective, the most inappropriate or only possible film to see so soon afterwards: Airplane!

Right, time I went to bed. Big day tomorrow ...

An unexpected development

2006-06-10T22:40:00.000+01:00

I dashed off another job application last weekend - for the SCO, whose staff turnover still leaves me worried. My hopes weren't particularly high: the speed with which I wrote the covering letter and my uncertainty about the whole enterprise left me in little doubt I was undertaking little more than a futile gesture. Imagine my surprise, then, when they asked to interview me.

Now my concerns about applying for the position have been superseded by not knowing whether to raise said concerns at the interview. On the one hand, it could well cost me a good job offer, but on the other I'd like to hope they'd appreciate my honesty in raising the matter. Either way, tact and diplomacy will certainly be the order of the day.

A couple of weeks ago I found out some interesting facts relating to the boss' attitude to my work. Following the interview, there were concerns that I would not fit in owing to my greater age and extensive musical knowledge, hence my being offered the shorter (six-week) contract - a decision I am told she swiftly regretted. In the meantime, one of my other superiors took a dislike me for asking too many questions, which information should perhaps serve me as a warning against excessive curiosity.

While I am glad the boss saw sense, it seems I would do well to tone down my enthusiasm in interviews. As far as my inquisitive nature is concerned, however, I consider such an attitude a source of pride, enabling me better to understand the matter at hand, so have no intention to surrender it.

(If you're wondering about my choice of language in this post, I put it down to watching the BBC's 1997 adaptation of Fielding's Tom Jones as I type. I would defy any lover of language not to fall under the spell of 18th century English!)

Theatres and the celebrity factor

2006-06-06T23:04:00.000+01:00

Many years ago, my family and I went to a performance of Pagnol's La femme du boulanger (The baker's wife), starring Michel Galabru, one of the greats of French stage and screen - a very enjoyable occasion marred only by the spontaneous applause which greeted Galabru's first appearance. It was the same thing last month, the audience going into raptures to welcome Pierre Arditi, Evelyne Bouix and whoever was playing Sybil in Private lives.

Until tonight I thought it was a uniquely French phenomenon, practised by audiences who think nothing of disrupting the flow of a performance just because they have recognised the star before he or she has uttered so much as one word. Thank heavens Rik Mayall (playing the lead in The new statesman) is a master of comic timing - though that didn't stop me from glaring at the woman two rows in front of me who whooped the moment he bounded through the door.

I've noticed the same thing with audiences on American sitcoms. Never mind the gross sentimentality of the series finale of Friends, what spoiled it for me were the endless cheers as the Ross/Rachel storyline was finally wrapped, about five series too late. On a similar note, audience involvement in the American version of Whose line is it anyway?, in my opinion, utterly ruined a fine programme, rendering much of the improvised comedy inaudible.

It brings nothing whatsoever to the performance and, at worst, there's a chance of the actors losing their stride, so please, just let them get on with it. Save your applause for the end.

A soap opera thwarted

2006-06-05T23:42:00.000+01:00

A goes out with B. A and B decide to call it a day. In the meantime, C is going out with D; they split up too. B and C start dating; A and C arranges to meet for drinks. Hijinks do not ensue.

I am A; the rest will remain anonymous, at least for the time being.

One of my work colleagues, who would be a right fag-hag if she didn't have something of a love/hate relationship with gay men, was convinced a triangle of some description would result from my meeting an ex's new man. Said new man is something of a catch, but I know better than to compromise an established friendship and another good one in the offing.

When will some people understand that being gay does not mean you sleep around as a matter of course?

Reflections on a curate's egg

2006-05-31T20:36:00.000+01:00

My mother and I have come to the conclusion that the French don't do subtle when it comes to theatre - a little odd when you consider what wonders their cinema industry comes up with. The production of Private lives we saw was incredibly overblown, the wit sacrificed for the sake of farce. To anyone who didn't know the original (the woman sitting directly in front of me among them), this was tremendous stuff, but it left those of us familiar with the wryness of Noel Coward distinctly underwhelmed.

That said, I should be glad that I got to France at all, having overslept on Saturday morning and woken up a mere hour before the departure of my flight - all praise to the taxi driver who got me to the airport in twenty minutes!

Putting to one side the disappointment at the theatre, I would be hard-pushed to speak more positively of my stay. Never mind how enjoyable the recitals we went to were: even though Cédric Tiberghien and Hervé Billaut's piano duets and Felicity Lott's high spirits were a joy to behold, it was spending time with my mother, brother and Pluto (the dog) which really made it. True, taking Father's place at the theatre was the impetus for the trip, but the lack of a holiday or commemoration made all the difference - which means July to October, which encompass most of our family anniversaries, will be another matter.

We're all enjoying the greater sense of family unity. How much better it would be if it hadn't been at such expense ...

(My train of thought, when writing about my family, is by its very nature repetitive, so if you're expecting me to avoid the subject of my father and the continuing effect of his death on my family, tough luck. While I am apt to spend some time on the language I use in these entries, I will not censor my thoughts.)

Break no. 1 coming up

2006-05-25T23:05:00.000+01:00

Right, I'm off to France first thing on Saturday, getting up at 4am or thereabouts to arrive in time for the first bit of culture - Cédric Tiberghien in recital. (He's playing at the Edinburgh International Festival, which'll be a good way to start a conversation.) Then we've got Felicity Lott on Sunday and Private lives on Tuesday.

Back on Wednesday ...

Possible job news

2006-05-18T18:56:00.000+01:00

I applied for the position of Assistant Box Office Manager at one of Edinburgh's main music venues a couple of weeks back and should be hearing back from them next week. To be frank, I'm not really expecting to get very far with this - my lack of experience is my weakest point - but it's got to be worth a shot. After all, I've no idea what sort of person they're after.

The Scottish Chamber Orchestra is after a Marketing Assistant, yet I have to say I'm not even sure I want to give it a go: it's the third time in less than a year that a position has come up in their marketing department. Such a high rate of staff turnover is a little discouraging, to say the least, but it's not prevented me from requesting an information pack. Again, there's no harm in looking into it.

Don't take this to mean that I'm unhappy in my current job: it's more a case of wanting to make headway in arts administration sooner rather than later. At my age, I should be doing better than low-paid jobs, however fun they are.

That said, I'm starting upon a new venture, looking into writing programme notes; not that I'd expect to make pots of money from it, but it's still a worthwhile pursuit. My years in classical CD retail taught me how to speak about music in such a way as to make it accessible for novices without losing the interest of the most passionate music-lovers - very much a case of "same subject, different medium".

A bookworm born of circumstance

2006-05-18T17:46:00.000+01:00

Things have been so quiet at work these last two weeks that I'm halfway through my fourth book. I'm not a slow reader, but it's not usual for me to spend the vast majority of my working day with my nose in a book!

First up was John Buchan's The thirty-nine steps, which I only knew by the reputation of Hitchcock's film. It's quite a slim volume and a little episodic in nature, but great fun nonetheless. Most pleasingly, the descriptions of the Scottish lowlands - in which a substantial portion of the novel is set - are beautifully evocative, without falling back on clichés about windswept heather. It's an absorbing read too, taking me a mere 24 hours to get through.

I kept to the classics and turned to Harper Lee's To kill a mockingbird next, a book I'd studied aged 13 and not read since. It was wonderful returning to it, all the more so as I could only recall the bare bones of the plot; I suspect a good deal of the humour had passed me by as a child, while the elegiac tone which follows the trial of Tom Robinson was fabulously moving. Many was the occasion I thought back to my English teacher's declaration that he wished he could be as good a father as Atticus Finch.

After two classics, a change of mood was needed so I picked up James Gaines' Evening in the Palace of Reason. This is perhaps best described as a simultaneous biography of J.S. Bach and Frederick the Great, built around the latter's challenge to the former which resulted in the composition of the Musical offering. A fascinating examination of both men, their backgrounds and temperaments, written in such a way as makes light of the author's scholarship - never mind the musical content, this is recommended reading for anyone interested in the history of ideas.

Andrew Greig's The return of John Macnab, which I'm currently reading, brings this bout of reading full circle. It's a delightful read, telling of three friends resurrecting this John Buchan character's challenge to poach from three Royal estates. Like Buchan, Greig is a master at describing the Scottish landscape but also succeeds in engaging the reader's emotions. This goes beyond mere tribute to stand on its own terms as a fine modern Scottish novel.

Next week is likely to be on the quiet side too, so chances are my reading won't stop there ...

Simple joys

2006-05-17T20:59:00.000+01:00

You pour some oil into a tall jug, add an egg and a splash of vinegar, then season. Then get your liquidiser into action, and hey presto.

Who would have thought making mayonnaise was so simple?

A hairdresser's nightmare

2006-05-10T23:34:00.000+01:00

I'm going to be on holiday four times over the space of two months:

(1) France towards the end of May. My parents had tickets booked for a production of Noel Coward's Private lives (in French) on the 27th and, being of a more theatrical bent than my brother, I'll be accompanying my mother instead. As it happens, my visit will also coincide with Les nuits romantiques, a local music festival with some pretty starry names to its credit, so we'll be going along to that too.

(2) Norfolk towards the end of June. A dual purpose here: I'd been planning on visiting my uncle, aunt and cousins for some time, so when the opportunity came to sing at Norwich cathedral (even if for but one afternoon), I jumped at it.

(3) Jersey in early July. My mother's parents retired to the Channel Islands and we've got family business to take care of. It's been 19 years since I was last there and I'm looking forward to it tremendously.

(4) London in mid-July. The Proms beckon again, despite there being far too much Mozart for my and Luke's liking - though to our delight, the sublime Così fan tutte is among those works chosen.

Just as well I don't need a haircut for a while. Right now, "where are you going on your holidays this year?" ranks alongside "where are you from?" as a question I can do without being asked.

A first time for everything

2006-05-08T23:20:00.000+01:00

The unprecedented happened at my birthday party on Saturday. Peter had mentioned to me during the course of the evening that I had a gift for bringing groups of disparate people together, and a couple of hours later a huge disagreement arose between two of my friends. Coming as the proceedings were drawing to a close (at around 4am), it could have spoilt the evening as a whole, but thankfully things had gone so well until that point that my memory of the occasion is, on the whole, as a happy one. It just saddens me that tempers should have got the better of my guests ...

My mother and brother returned home this morning after a short week here which took in a walk around Arthur's Seat on my birthday, a trip to see Les liaisons dangereuses at the Lyceum on Friday, the party on Saturday and, considering the Pimm's and G&T I'd drunk the previous evening, some pretty good solos on my part at the eucharist on Sunday. I arrived at the church just in time to launch into the Agnus Dei from Kodaly's Missa brevis which opened the rehearsal - soaking wet, my glasses steamed up and (crucially) my voice not in any way warmed up. I'm still not entirely clear how, come the service, I managed top G sharps mezzo piano without going into falsetto.

Now I'm back and ready to blog on the delights of Lully and his contemporaries, whose music I'm singing this Saturday.

Fame at last!

2006-04-26T23:16:00.000+01:00

This poster was displayed outside the church towards the end of Holy Week. It took a lot of effort to suppress a snorty laugh as I walked past it.

The service was recorded but the sound quality was not all I'd hoped so I won't be posting the audio file of my O vos omnes here. If you'd like a copy, feel free to ask.

The common cold

2006-04-25T08:58:00.000+01:00

Back in my schooldays, there were 123 different types of rhinovirus. You can only catch each one once during your lifetime as your body develops an immunity to it, but that still leaves the potential for two colds a year.

Oh well, I suppose that's another one off I can tick off my list.

This one time, at band camp ...

2006-04-20T18:23:00.000+01:00

I'm going to be away for the next few days. It's the annual choral retreat (for want of a better word) to Cumbrae, one of the Western Isles, which is essentially an excuse for fun and games, with a lot of drinking and a bit of singing thrown in for good measure.

No flutes are involved.

He speak French not so good, isn't it?

2006-04-14T17:50:00.000+01:00

Britain, along with a good deal of the English-speaking world, has long been saddled with a reputation for deplorable standards when it comes to speaking other languages. I remember being vaguely insulted, on a summer course in Salzburg back in 1993, when one of my teachers said how very unusual it was to meet an Englishman who could speak another language. For many years fought against this perception of my country: the advent of the European Community, I staunchly believed, had to be a catalyst for change.

Now I've moved beyond refusing to accept this argument to trying to understand why the British continue to be viewed as anything but linguists. The jigsaw’s a complicated one, but I believe I’ve found another piece.

Of all my memories of my childhood in France, one of the clearest is writing conjugations of French verbs up on the blackboard as part of our grammar lessons. I've seen something similar in Germany, another country where they take the learning of their own language pretty seriously, and for all I know other countries do the same, making sure schoolchildren have a good grasp of their own language. While part of it may be to safeguard their language and culture against the influences of others (i.e. English), it's still an admirable trait, one which I have never come across in British schools.

Ask a British child how the English language functions and chances are he or she will be unable to tell you. We have very little idea of the workings of our own language, so it's not surprising we should struggle with others. Grammar is something of a stumbling-block in learning other languages, and therefore something of a turn-off.

Two personal anecdotes to illustrate this: I was the only student of German in my class to have studied Latin previously, another language rich in grammar, and thus the only one for whom the concept of cases (nominative, accusative, genetive and dative) was easy to grasp - some of my peers struggled right into their A-level year. On the flip-side of the coin, it was something of an eye-opener, when working as an English language assistant in Vienna, to be presented with the words "English" and "grammar" in conjunction. I'd never even heard of the preterit ...

Hilaire Belloc’s satirical Cautionary verses includes a poem about a frankly nauseating boy by the name of Charles Augustus Fortescue:
He extremely fond of sums,
To which, however, he preferred
The Parsing of a Latin Word.
We know, therefore, that the time of its publication (1896) the British knew something of grammar, though this analysis of a word in terms of its function within a sentence has long since disappeared from the curriculum. I’m not necessarily suggesting it’s a practice we should resurrect, but clearly something needs to be done to improve English-speaking schoolchildren’s knowledge of their own language before we can expect them to get to grips with others.

And don’t anyone try telling me the British can get by without having at least the rudiments of other languages. Europe is a multilingual continent, perhaps more so than any other. There's only so many times we can go on about English being among the most-spoken languages worldwide or the sea separating us from mainland Europe before it becomes formulaic. These may be convenient excuses, but that doesn't make them reasons.

The internet, for all its faults, serves as a pretty good indicator of linguistic standards across the world. It pains me to say that this grammatical malaise is not restricted to English alone, so perhaps other countries would also profit from re-examining how they teach their own languages ...

The first anniversary

2006-04-14T07:51:00.000+01:00

Faux-pretentious, moi? is a year old. What a fine medium for my rants it's turned out to be.

Ahem.

Actually, it appears i should have posted this on the 13th, but I'd got it into my head I'd started this on 15th April. Oops ...

In celebration, dear reader, I have but one requirement of you: leave me a comment saying where you're from and how you came upon this blog of mine. And if anyone dares use the word "blogoversary", I shall glare.

Thank you for reading, and all the more so for sharing your thoughts.

An old favourite raises its ugly head

2006-04-14T07:25:00.000+01:00

OK Cupid's a funny old place. In the last few weeks I've made a couple of potentially good acquaintances there and to counter that came across a test claiming to assess how English I was - except the writer kept on referring to Britain.

I'll let the exchange of messages do the talking:

Me: I feel I should point out you're using British and English [in your test] to mean the same thing. Some people might find that offensive ...

Him: Am I to take it that by mailing me, you are voicing the fact that you personally are offended by me not explicitly differentiating between British and English?
If so you have my apologies......but unfortunately I am far too lazy to actually do anything about it.
However in order to atone for my slight against the diversity of nationality and culture the U.K encompasses, I shall go without a cigarette for a whole hour.

Me: To be honest, I'm more offended by your apathy. I realise I'm probably coming across as pretty humourless in this, but after all, if we Brits can't get it right, what hope does anyone else have?

UPDATE (23:29, 26/04/2006) Not entirely to my surprise, there's been no response as yet, nor do I expect one at this stage. For all that, I rather doubt he will have learned anything, but at least I've tried.

Roll up, roll up!

2006-04-09T08:45:00.000+01:00

Public booking opened for the Edinburgh Festival yesterday. Put politely, it was inordinately busy.

Apparently one man showed up at 6:30am. Clearly a bit keen, as we weren't opening for another three-and-a-half hours ... By the time I got in, shortly before 9:30, the café across the corridor was packed with about 200 people ready to get their Festival tickets. After a bit of last-minute anxiety (one of the ticket printers was causing trouble), the shutters went up at 10 and we were on the road.

For the most part, the punters were perfectly civil. A bit chatty, some of them - there were times I'd've loved to have said "are you here for tickets or a chat?", they went on so much - but no-one truly offensive. One customer who was being served at the booth next to mine did reek to high heaven, true, but the worst I got was an elderly gentleman whose opinion of what constituted a really good seat for Vaughan Williams' Serenade to music differed considerably from mine. I offered him a seat in the middle of the grand circle, admittedly in the back row, and he wasn't best pleased; even so, this paled compared to the offence he took when I suggested a seat in the stalls.

He positively wimpered. "Oh no ... I was so looking forward to the Vaughan Williams." I wondered then if he was so upset that he'd forgo the performance altogether, but thankfully he accepted a seat further along in the grand circle. Strange man.

The Berlin Phil sold out within an hour, maybe two, and seats for the two performances of The magic flute are in short supply. The others couldn't match that degree of popularity, but it was still impressive stuff.

We usually finish work at 5:15pm, but the queues were only just letting up by that stage so we all decided to stay longer, eventually bringing the shutters back down at 6:30. After tidying up, closing the tills (general administration, in other words), it was time for a well-deserved drink and a rest: the box office is closed today so we get a brief respite before the second - quieter - onslaught on Monday.

(For what it's worth, I only served one person who recognised from my previous place of emploment, though one of the stewards told afterwards that many others had wanted to say hello to me. Bless 'em.)

Little joys

2006-04-06T21:28:00.000+01:00

My mother is coming to visit during this year's Festival. The idea had struck me when we were shown the programme ahead of the launch date: among the indisputable highlights of this year's programme is the first British production of Balanchine's Don Quixote, choreographed by Suzanne Farrell, for whom it was written. I knew immediately Mother would appreciate it, and with one of the dates coinciding with her first wedding anniversary without my father, my mind was made up: it's one of those occasions when she shouldn't be left on her own.

We also plan to see the Opéra National de Lyon's production of Mazeppa and the RSC's Troilus and Cressida (both directed by Peter Stein), Osmo Vänskä conducting Petrushka and Mackerras joining the SCO for Beethoven's seventh, not to mention Suzanne Farrell talking about the Balanchine. Mother will probably also be going to see Christian Zacharias giving a piano recital - all this in the space of four days!

(For my part, I'm only going to see two other concerts outside those four days - a recital of 20th century flute music and the Trout quintet. You may wonder why I'm not bothering with the Berlin Philharmoniker under Rattle or Abbado conducting The magic flute, but the truth is, the performers are secondary to the programme. Zauberflöte is so difficult to get right that I'm perfectly willing to miss it rather than be left disappointed.)

That's fantastic news for the summer. In the meantime, my contract at work has been extended to take me up to the end of the Festival (early September), about which I'm delighted. I had been a little worried that I'd be gone after the six weeks were up - never mind whether they wanted me to stay, it was going to depend on the workload first and foremost - and in the end, it was down to one of the other new recruits handing in his notice (to go to a better-paid job), but I'm not complaining. If it helps me make a career in arts administration, it's all good.

Final surprise tonight was that my O vos omnes, which we performed at last year's Good Friday service, is getting another airing, again on Good Friday. I mentioned The prodigal son to our director of music on Sunday and he's expressed an interest, so in the meantime, another performance of Oi, you lot! - as I affectionately call it - will go down quite nicely.

The prodigal son: the libretto

2006-04-05T00:28:00.001+01:00

no. 1 - Chorus
Choir: In this life we cannot do great things: we can only do small things with great love. [Mother Theresa of Calcutta]
Love beareth all things, believeth all things, hopeth all things, endureth all things. [1 Corinthians, 13:7]

Recitative
Evangelist (counter-tenor): A certain man had two sons. And the younger of them said to his father,
The younger son (high baritone): Father, give me the portion of goods that falleth to me.
Evangelist: And he divided unto them his living. And not many days after the younger son gathered all together, and took his journey into a far country, and there wasted his substance with riotous living. And when he had spent all, there arose a mighty famine in that land; and he began to be in want. And when he came to himself, he said,
The younger son: How many hired servants of my father’s have bread enough and to spare, and I perish with hunger! I will arise and go to my father, and will say unto him,

no. 2 - Aria
The younger son: Father, I have sinned against heaven, and before thee. And am no more worthy to be called thy son.
Choir: O my God, I firmly resolve, with the help of Thy grace to confess my sins, to do penance and to amend my life. [Gibbons, Act of contrition, 1884]

Recitative
Evangelist: And he arose, and came to his father. But when he was yet a great way off, his father saw him, and had compassion, and ran, and fell on his neck, and kissed him.
The father (bass): Bring forth the best robe, and put it on him; and put a ring on his hand, and shoes on his feet: And bring hither the fatted calf, and kill it; and let us eat, and be merry.

no. 3 - Chorus
Choir: Blessed is he who comes in the name of the Lord. Hosanna in the highest! [Ordinary of the Mass]

Recitative
Evangelist: Now his elder son was in the field: and as he came and drew nigh to the house, he heard musick and dancing. And he was angry, and would not go in: therefore came his father out, and intreated him.
The father: Son, thou art ever with me, and all that I have is thine. It was meet that we should make merry, and be glad:

no. 4 - Aria
The father: for this thy brother was dead, and is alive again; and was lost, and is found.

no. 5 - Chorus
Choir: Father of all, we give you thanks and praise, that when we were still far off you met us in your Son and brought us home. Keep us firm in the hope you have set before us, so we and all your children shall be free, and the whole earth live to praise your name; through Christ our Lord. Amen. [Post-communion prayer, Book of Common Prayer]

Notes:
1. Except where indicated, the text is taken from Luke 15:11-32 (slightly abridged).
2. The divisions between numbers are, as indicated in previous posts, a little arbitrary; a degree of overlap is anticipated.
3. Changes may yet be made at the discretion of the composer ...

The prodigal son: composition begins

2006-04-02T14:13:00.000+01:00

I've started work on my cantata. The younger son's aria is taking shape, the choir singing throughout ("O my God, I firmly resolve [...] to amend my life") but remaining firmly in the background while the soloist almost improvises his line around it. So far, he sings just about nothing but the word "Father" over and over again; the mood's all very contrite and humble.

The opening chorus is characterised by unlikely modulations. It starts with a pretty bare treatment of the words "in this life we cannot do great things" before blossoming when "we can only do small things" comes round. Then I'm inserting a quick bit of 1 Corinthians - "love beareth all things, believeth all things, hopeth all things, endureth all things" - before returning to Mother Theresa's words, this time set in a much warmer, more positive light. The idea of love as a healing balm is a theme which pervades the work as a whole, so it makes sense to dwell on it at the beginning.

Both of the pieces I've started with are very much reflective, so next up I'll be tackling the final chorus. Then I can work on the various recitatives which bind the whole thing together, before getting going with the thanksgiving chorus. I anticipate this being among the most difficult sections to write, as it has to carry on under the next recitative, which leads straight into the father's aria - the last part I'll write.

If you're wondering why I'm more or less decided as to what order I'll be writing everything in, it's all down to knowing how it all fits together. The recitatives, despite being secondary to the arias and choruses, are instrumental in creating a cohesive whole, so once the main numbers are done it's just a matter of binding it all together as one.

The prospects are good.

Overheard at the new job

2006-03-29T22:38:00.000+01:00

The phone system seemed to have taken against one of my colleagues today. After losing a call, she explained the situation thus:

"My jam just phoned."

The prodigal son: compiling the libretto

2006-03-28T23:42:00.000+01:00

Two Sundays ago, I think it was, the Gospel reading and sermon at the morning eucharist concerned the parable of the Prodigal Son. I felt a sudden attachment to him, the themes of forgiveness and a father/son reconciliation striking a particular chord with me. For what was probably the first time since my father's death last October, I found myself not evoking his memory in the prayers of intercession (the words "hear us as we remember those dear to us who have died in the faith of Christ" were always sure to set me off), as I'd been struck by the idea of setting the parable to music in the form of a cantata.

It's been a while since I wrote anything even remotely large-scale, and with something of this sort, it's essential I get the text right before getting going with the music. First off, I sought out my Bible (my father's copy, as it happens) and read the parable thoroughly, realising almost immediately that some cuts would be necessary. Given that this cantata is to encapsulate my reconciliation with my father (albeit posthumously), the elder son's angry tirade about his father's seeming favouritism would feel out of place. To my mind, the key moments are his brother's resolve to seek their father's forgiveness and the latter's joy at the safe return of his younger son.

Thus shorn, the plot looked like this: younger son demands his inheritance, scarpers and promptly spends it. Famine strikes and he finally comes to his senses - cue big aria. He sets off home, only his father sees him long before he's even got there, rushes out to meet him and immediately orders a big "welcome home" party. Later, big brother gets back from a hard day's work, sees what's going on and isn't best pleased - cue the father's turn to sing an aria about why he's so happy.

So far so good, but I wasn't entirely convinced by having great acres of plot narrated by a choir, so replaced them with another soloist (an alto, maybe a countertenor) and promptly regretted their absence (I'm a choral singer myself, I like having things to do). "Aha," I thought, "we need chorales!" - except finding several appropriate hymns would be pretty difficult, not to mention that in this day and age, I needn't follow Bach's example to the letter. How about prayers, which'd work equally well as a means of reflection?

This is where the internet came in useful. Nothing's finalised as yet, but I like the idea of starting the whole thing off with Mother Theresa's belief that "in this life we cannot do great things; we can only do small things with great love". For the very end, I can think of nothing to beat the post-communion prayer - let's face it, the words "when we were still far off you met us in your Son and brought us home" are too good to pass up. I still need to find a suitably celebratory text to depict the merry-making on the son's return, but have high hopes in the abilities of my various contacts.

I'm allowing myself one instance of copying the great JSB - well, I was rehearsing the St John Passion for a good deal of last week, you try escaping it! - in that the younger son's decision to return home is to be set against the choir singing different words, taken from James Gibbons' Act of contrition. That said, I may well leave out whatever instrumental accompaniment there is elsewhere (organ or strings, I've yet to decide) from this passage: besides providing a good contrast with the only other aria in the piece (the father's, which wouldn't involve the choir), I find unaccompanied voices a very moving medium, which would make it eminently suitable for the younger son's newly-discovered humility.

In other respects, however, I shall be taking a more modern view: for instance, it would make sense for the thanksgiving chorus still to be going on in the background when the story is taken up again with the elder son's reaction on returning from the field. Some parts will still be independent from what has gone before and what follows, but for the narrative to flow I plan to make an exception of these: where there is a clean break, it has to be for a reason.

One (admittedly very minor) point continues to bother me: the two male soloists are defined by their roles, so what of the alto? "Narrator" sounds incredibly glib and I can't very well call her an Evangelist as the words she sings are Christ's. I know I'm going against the grain by having the tale told by a high voice - settings of the New Testament traditionally cast a tenor as the Evangelist and a bass as Jesus - but just writing "solo alto" next to the part would be a bit weak ...

A puzzle

2006-03-19T01:12:00.000Z

I started my new job on Tuesday, and now, after a mere four days' work, I've received a new contract in the post for a permanent position. Out of the blue.

Now admittedly my deputy manager did ask me on Thursday if I'd be interested in staying on for the full six months (which I was) but was careful to say that she was seeing what she could do. I took this to mean that she'd have to justify the expense of keeping me on for longer to the financial department.

Even so, there's a world's difference between a temporary contract, be it for six weeks or six months, and a permanent one. While it's possible they wanted to give me a pleasant surprise, it still strikes me as odd by way of business practices. Not to mention that I've not even been there so much as a week and we've yet to start selling tickets. I shouldn't look a gift horse in the mouth, but can any employer tell much about new staff in the space of four days?

Now I will admit that two events at work speak very much in my favour: I've been asked to go accompany the deputy manager to go through the Festival programme at a nearly-housebound patron's house on Thursday (being stronger on the musical side than anyone else), and I'd also taken it upon myself to contact the various classical CD shops in the city centre to double-check how many copies of the brochure they'll be needing. Knowing I was only taken on for six weeks initially, there was no way I was going to let the chance to make a good impression slip me by - a question of making damn sure they'd miss me come the end of my contract.

For all that, I've still niggling suspicions. For instance, it's odd that, according to my temporary contract, I'm required to give two weeks' notice before leaving, whereas in this permanent one, it's a mere week - surely it should be the other way round? I'd like to hope an organisation of this calibre is not capable of mistakes like this, so if you can think of another explanation, let's have it.

UPDATE (18:15, 20/03/2006) As my mother suggested, a case of the left hand not knowing what the right hand was up to. Turns out we'd all been sent a second contract, and Muggins here, with his ethics, just had to be the one to bring it up.

First day at the new job

2006-03-14T22:49:00.000Z

The Edinburgh International Festival box office clearly takes training very seriously. There is admittedly a lot to get through, but it appears all of this week is going to be spend getting us up to the standards they expect - which includes being taken round all the Festival venues so we can advise customers on visibility, ease of access, any issues which may be of concern to them when they're buying tickets. I'm seriously impressed.

Just as importantly, there's a relaxed working atmosphere in the building and I don't believe any of the six of us need have any concern about fitting in. The work already looks enjoyable and we've not even been let loose in the place.

Best of all, working on the computers has given us a sneak preview of this year's Festival programme. I'm not at liberty to divulge any of the details, but believe me, we're in for several treats.

More ch-ch-ch-changes

2006-03-13T20:01:00.000Z

I was going to leave this until the first anniversary of this blog (coming up next month, folks!) but why wait?

With reviews accounting for quite a proportion of my posts, I've decided to grant them a page of their very own. If you're looking for old reviews, they're all over at the new site, Edinburgh Arts.

Ch-ch-ch-changes

2006-03-13T01:37:00.000Z

Observant readers will not need me to point out that my name, as given at the bottom of this post, has changed. I got so fed up with people shortening Tony - itself a diminutive of the name my parents gave me - that I introduced myself as Anthony at the interview for my new job.

I've no objections to you continuing to address me as Tony, but have the temerity to shorten it and words will be had. I may even set the dog on you.

Blessed are the cheesemakers

2006-03-12T13:57:00.000Z

I've come to the realisation that I'm frequently unwilling to give my opinion on sensitive matters. A look back at my posts on here and comments on other people's blogs will show up the frequency of the words "seem", "appear" and heaps of conditionals in my writings, deliberately distancing myself from extreme views which sit uncomfortably with me - a defensive mechanism, if you will.

One things I've noticed I will do, when a delicate subject gives rise to a huge argument, is go to some effort to smooth over the troubled waters. An online gay community of which I'm a member recently saw a message thread concerning the inclusion (or otherwise) of straight people on the site get hopelessly out of hand, personal insults creeping in along the way with no sense of resolution in sight. While I did put forward a plea for tolerance (in all sorts of ways), my main aim was to draw out the deficiencies in both arguments, a post which unfortunately - though perhaps not unexpectedly - got lost in the crossfire. (How is it discussion threads are doomed to go round in circles or hopelessly off-topic?) It's not evident trying to calm everyone down.

The one time I will, and have, put my neck on the line is when someone I care about is unjustly attacked. I'm immensely protective of my friends, even of acquaintances with the potential to become friends. In this same online community, a new arrival struck up conversation with me and later, for reasons as yet unexplained - I think it's a simple misunderstanding masquerading as something infinitely more complex - found his profile suspended. Feeling a little responsible for what had happened (and no, I'm not going to go into the reasons) and fuelled by my own sense of ethics, I promptly took up his cause; although we're still waiting for a result, it's cemented this potential friendship.

This diplomacy thing is pretty difficult though: my interventions in cases involving only a limited number of people have thus far been fairly successful, but as my experience with larger-scale conflicts show, I've got a lot to learn before earning my CD plates!

UPDATE (10:32, 13/03/2006) A slight correction. A truly wonderful post on Gay Pride (and, by extension, gay pride) over at Andy's blog has brought about some very lively debate in which everyone has managed to remain civil. Until, that is, someone brought up the topic of same-sex adoption, putting forward their view that "if there is a homosexual couple that is equally functional in terms of stability to a heterosexual couple, the latter couple should be given priority." It was sorely tempting to let off steam in a string of expletives but I've demanded the person in question elaborates on this before I let loose. I hate to think what it's done to my blood pressure though ...

Ah, memories ...

2006-03-10T14:59:00.000Z

A new series of Counterpoint, BBC Radio 4's annual general knowledge music quiz, has just started. I've just listened to the first heat over the net (you can do so via the link) and it's brought back heaps of memories from the time I took part. So here, in the spirit of nostalgia, is what I wrote about the occasion in my diary - the date: 11th February 2003.

[Bit of general context to start off with: each heat sees three contestants compete for a place in the semi-final. There are three rounds: no. 1 sees everyone asked questions in turn with 2 points for a correct answer, 1 if you pick it up after the original contestant gets it wrong; no. 2 is a specialist round on subjects you're given no advance warning about; no. 3 is on the buzzers, 1 point for a correct answer, minus 1 for a wrong one. The programme is recorded in Manchester, so my parents and I met at the station (they'd come from London, I was living in Glasgow at the time), dropped off our overnight bags at the hotel and headed to the Royal Northern College of Music, the venue for the recording. We'd just arrived there when this extract begins.]

Paul Hardy [one of the producers] (in a vile purple shirt which seemed to be part of some uniform; at any rate there was a woman in a suit of the same colour) recognised me - presumably by voice and age, as I was conspicuously younger than any of the other contestants - and ushered me to one side, together with the other contestants in question, before leading the nine of us into the studio theatre for the preliminaries.

They were largely a matter of introducing the adjudication panel - Ned Sherrin [the show's host] himself, his producers (Pauls both), the scorer (a rather dishy man called Stephen) and "clever Mr Köchel" [a sort of adjudicator in case of disputes] who's taken the place of the late "young Grove" - reminding us of the rules and generally putting us at our ease. Two things could have served to make me really nervous, namely some of the others speaking of their playing on other game shows (one of the two women, who coincidentally shard their birthdays today, had been very secretive about her choice of show for today, leaving her family with the impression she was to go on Blind Date! [the British version of The dating game] and my noticing that one of the name boards for the contestants in the first heat had my name on it, but the atmosphere was pretty relaxed.

The audience were let in, Mother and Father managing to get themselves directly in my line of vision (the former told me afterwards she'd made an effort not to look at me, and luckily Father didn't look anywhere in particular as he tried to answer the questions or quietly conferred with Mother), and we got going with a dry run, rehearsing thethirdd round (on the buzzers) to get us used to the style of the thing. Then it all started - "three contestants from the North of England and Scotland" (guess who was the sole Scot?), all required to introduce ourselves with no prior warning. At the end of the recording we re-did the introductions, whereupon I described myself more correctly - though less interestingly - as working in retail and living in Glasgow.

The first round went reasonably, with me ending up second despite getting a number of my own questions wrong - I'm sure my technique of covering the buzzer with my right hand so the others couldn't see if I was planning to pick up a point as necessary, worked well. The woman supposedly on Blind Date did disappointingly, leaving my main bit of competition with a Mr M., who knew his non-classical questions better than Mrs C. and I. Then we heard the choices for the second round: in no particular order, the music of Richard Rodgers, swinging London, French opera and operetta, and classical music and sport. The look Father gave Mother said it all!

Mr M. went, unsurprisingly, for swinging London. My turn was next, but I asked Ned to read out the choices again: "you can't have swinging London," he started ,whereupon I retorted "good!" (got a laugh and a "you're too young to remember" from Ned, the only acknowledgment of my age there was [though the whole exchange was edited out of the broadcast]). Richard Rodgers I was going to be hopeless at, so it was between sport and French opera. I decided bluffing about the three tenors was going to be insufficient so went for French opera, as at least I could pronounce the names correctly (unlike my hesitation over Lady Macbeth of the Mtensk district in one of the other rounds) and promptly jotted down all the names of French opera composers I could think of, even as far as Rossini and Donizetti, some of whose works had, I recalled, been written in French.

There was nothing on the baroque composers despite my having noted Rameau, Charpentier and Lully, but they fitted in a question about Debussy which I got wrong (couldn't think of a French conductor who might have conducted Pelléas et Mélisande at Covent Garden, though as Father pointed out afterwards, I ought to have guessed the (correct) answer as being Boulez), one to which the answer was Prosper Mérimée (Carmen, by which one of the other contestants was most impressed, even when I told him why I knew that one) and another on the subject of Rossini's final opera, which got its first performance in Paris - William Tell - much to my smug pleasure. However, I missed Berlioz' Benvenuto Cellini (think I said The Trojans, the only opera of his I could think of as having anything to do with the ancient world) and at one point, unintentionally but auspiciously got Ned to reveal that a chorus I was listening to with a view to naming it and the ofrom fron which it came wasn't Berlioz, which meant I could say (Gounod's) Faust with some degree of confidence even if I didn't recognise it as the soldiers' chorus.

Mrs C. had caught up with me in her round on sports, which I was very glad not to have picked (though I'd've got Honegger's Rugby and Britten's diary on playing cricket at his school in Suffolk), but my score of 15 (I think) was no match for Mr M., who steamed on ahead, quite possibly with a clean slate, into the final round. If I was to get through to the semi-final, he was the one I'd have to beat.

It didn't help that my mind went blank on a question about glissandi on the piano [my father teased me about it ever afterwards], but I put up a fair fight all the same, getting Pictures at an ... fluffed but perfectly right (I'd risked waiting for confirmation that the orchestrators mentioned had worked on music by Mussorgsky, after falling foul of an incorrect answer when interrupting a question on Manon in the warm-up - not Puccini but Massenet) but even so there was no way I could catch up. Mr M. was declared the winner (Mrs C. had been left trailing by this stage) and that was that.

The aftermath was very peculiar: my father was left fuming about the increase in non-classical questions compared to previous years (to an extent that went a long way beyond merely showing family solidarity) and went on about it for quite some time afterwards. After the broadcast, I got a very peculiar email from one of my uncles (also a musician) stopping just short of blaming Mrs C. for my losing - apparently, if she'd known more about the non-classical side of things, that would have evened out the points a bit and enabled me to come out in the lead. We have a very strange sense of loyalty in my family!

What both my father and uncle failed to realise was that I had wanted to take part for the fun of it. It didn't matter whether I got through to the next round as long as I enjoyed the experience. I did - and may well enter the competition again sometime. Give it time ...

Mental origin of species

2006-03-10T09:47:00.000Z

(a sort of extended postscript)

I was about to comment on my own background and the issues arising from it in my original post, but it's all a bit complicated so warrants a post of its own.

Looking back at the specifics of where my family comes from, I'm a bit of muddle. Genetically, the vast majority of it is English, with a smattering of Scottish - from one of my great-grandfathers - and an even less significant bit of Irish. So far, so (relatively) simple.

Trouble is, there's a good deal more to one's cultural heritage than that. The place in which you were brought up, those in which you've lived for significant periods and the one you choose for your eventual home (if any) will all have a bearing on your cultural identity. Now in some cases these differentiations will be pretty negligible, and in a way I envy such people for having an easy time of it, particularly with regards to choosing a place to live. Essentially, unless you're happy with the life of a nomad, you want to end up in a place that's attuned to your needs, among people with a similar approach to life, and that's not always evident.

Much as I dread the question "where are you from?", I've pretty well let myself in for it here so may as well bite the bullet. I was born in the French Alps to British parents keen to have my brother and me grow up bilingual, which clearly meant spending some time in each country. For the first ten years of my life, the English bit consisted of little more than occasional visits to either set of grandparents, but in due course both of us were sent to school in England, not far from my father's parents. Thus, for the next eight years, I was constantly going between the two countries.

Then I decided to pursue my linguistic studies (French and German, though I ended up dropping the former to concentrate on the latter) in Scotland, which besides proving quite an eye-opener for the little Englander I had been up until then (a whole other post so I'll leave it for now) added another element to my cultural make-up as I remained a student there for seven years - and that's not counting the year I spent in Austria along the way. (Such a short period, proportionately speaking, may not appear to be of much significance, but anyone who's heard me rabbitting on about Vienna will understand.) At the end of my studies I took up a seemingly lucrative position at a hotel in Switzerland; I wasn't particularly happy, though it did serve to confirm my feelings about where I wanted to settle: back in Scotland. I'd first come here in 1993 and even as I left for Switzerland felt so attuned to the Scottish way of life that I could not see myself ending up living elsewhere.

If pushed, therefore, I would identify myself as a Scot by adoption and otherwise a European. What I've written so far may suggest the European bit doesn't stretch beyond France, Britain and Austria, but my childhood was spent in that part of France which is very close to the Italian and Swiss borders, to say nothing of my mother's fluent Spanish taking us frequently on the other side of the Pyrenees.

Which leads me conveniently on to my last point: these influences are more often than not peculiar to individuals. Languages spoken by members of one's immediate family may contribute something to one's childhood, but otherwise only someone keen to explore every facet of a close one's background will be affected by it. For instance, there's a distinct colonial flavour to my father's family - his father was a tea-grower in what was then Ceylon, his mother (who was born in Australia) had been evacuated to South Africa at the time of his birth, and he himself had a fascination for all things Chinese - but none of this has really come to bear on me.

Yet. It took me a while to figure things out where I was concerned, which isn't to say I'll ignore what has gone before. After all, it's sure to prove culturally enriching, so why stop at one continent?

The pressure's off, sort of

2006-03-09T11:06:00.000Z

I've got a job with the Festival box office, starting on Tuesday. Unfortunately it's only for six weeks (to the end of April), but it does mean I can afford to relax a little. For all that, I'm still vaguely disappointed as I had hoped for the six month contract ...

On the plus side, the end of my contract will coincide nicely with my mother and brother coming over in the first week of May. Hoping I have another job to go to by then, I can tell my next employer I won't be able to start until the 8th.

Bush's cinema

2006-03-08T22:51:00.000Z

According to the IMDB, High noon "has been screened more times at the White House than any other" film. It's a great shame the bits of trivia listed under each title aren't dated, because something tells me this pacifist masterpiece doesn't get much of a look-in under the current regime.

It's probably about as popular as The crucible or Good night, and good luck.

Let everything that hath breath praise the Lord (South African version)

2006-03-08T21:29:00.000Z

It's getting on for a week late, but I've just come across the service sheet from the World Day of Prayer service at which I accompanied the hymns. Among the choir, some of us find it very difficult to keep a straight face during some of the psalms, the words of which can sometimes be difficult to take entirely seriously, but this took the biscuit. (Thankfully there was no-one else from the choir there, otherwise I would have creased up with laughter.)

All you big things, praise the Lord: Drakensberg and Table Mountain, Indian and Atlantic Oceans, yellow-wood, oak and baobab trees, praise the Lord and bless His name.
All you tiny things, praise the Lord: busy red ants and lurking ticks, wriggling tadpoles and pestering mosquitoes, praise the Lord and bless His name.
All you sharp things, praise the Lord: cactus thorns and prickly pears, aloe leaves and high-heeled shoes, praise the Lord and bless His name.
All you soft things, praise the Lord: golden ripe mangoes, sponges and moss, babies' skin, cuddly toys and porridge, praise the Lord and bless His name.
All you sweet things, praise the Lord: apples, peaches and blueberry jam, young people's dreams and old people's good wishes, praise the Lord and bless His name.
All you swift things, praise the Lord: lightning and swallows flit through the sky, traffic on highways and speeding ambulances, praise the Lord and bless His name.
All you slow things, praise the Lord: huge big elephants and bony old cows, tortoises, snails and patients on crutches, praise the Lord and bless His name.
All you loud things, praise the Lord: thunder, midnight drums and taxis, hail and rain on aluminium roofs, praise the Lord and bless His name.
All you quiet things, praise the Lord: a gentle breeze in the midday heat, sleeping babies and fish in the sea, women who care and suffer and weep, praise the Lord and bless His name.
All you spiritual things, praise the Lord: uplifting music and singing psalms, Bible studies and gospel praise, preaching the Word and receiving God's gifts, praise the Lord and bless His name.
All you created things, praise the Lord: our planet Earth and its orbiting moon, our galaxy with its systems of suns, all the universe, both known and unknown, praise the Lord and bless His name.

Now a good deal of that is worthy stuff, if unexpected at times, but "huge big elephants and bony old cows"? Try saying that one, in the middle of a service, with a straight face ...

Oh, boo hoo ...

2006-03-06T13:35:00.000Z

So Heath Ledger didn't get Best Actor and Brokeback mountain wasn't Best Film. Big deal.

What matters here is that everyone involved in the making of the film know they were doing something good; validation in the form of awards should be secondary to that knowledge. I won't argue that recognition from the industry as a whole is a bad thing, but I'm still amazed at the perceived significance of the Oscar. By the time that particular ceremony comes around, there's been so many other awards heaped upon the best of the year's films that I find it difficult to care - it's no longer the apotheosis, more like a final attempt to squeeze some more money out of the punters.

Add to that the amount of networking and general marketing that is supposed to go on (Miramax has previously come in for a lot of criticism for its aggressive manner in this regard) and it devalues the whole occasion anyway. If the voters aren't so much swayed by the content of the films as that of a gift hamper, say, then the only people deserving of an award are the promoters.

Job search update

2006-03-02T00:58:00.000Z

First up, I got a rejection letter from the Scottish Chamber Orchestra, the second time they've declined to interview me.

Today I popped into the church converted into the Festival box office to check they'd received my application. The man behind the desk recognised my name immediately and spoke to his manager, who prompty came to make arrangements to interview me next Tuesday morning. The reaction I got meant I left feeling pretty positive.

A whole load of other arts vacancies of potential interest have come up, which I'll look into in more detail come the morning.

A cornucopia of St Anthonys

2006-03-01T01:22:00.000Z

The subject of saints' days has come up in a post of Richard's. Recalling that there are more than just one St Anthony, I decided to look into the matter further and have found that I actually have 34 to choose from!

I'm not going to go into details here, save to say that an inordinate number of them were Japanese martyrs, put to death in the late 16th/early 17th century in a variety of ways (burning alive seems to have been a favourite), invariably in Nagasaki. A few more Asians crop up (Vietnam and Korea both figure), but otherwise it's mostly Italian clerics with a smattering of Englishmen, interestingly enough (martyrs of the Tudor period), and founders of various minor orders.

There are two particularly memorable St Anthonys: the Franciscan monk from Padua known to have preached to the fishes when the heretics would not listen to him and St Anthony the Abbot, the Egyptian who followed Matthew 19:21 to the letter - go and sell that thou hast, and give to the poor, and thou shalt have treasure in heaven; and come and follow me. Known for his reverence towards God rather than any writings or wisdom, he nonetheless founded two monasteries on the Nile but increasingly shunned society as he grew older. The last years of his long life (he died in 356, aged 105) were spent in the desert, essentially living the life of a hermit.

On a lighter note, my grandmother would have been thrilled to know he is the patron saint of swineherds (pigs were a favourite animal of hers), even if the association - he intervened in the treatment of skin conditions, for which pork fat was commonly used - is now recognised as somewhat spurious.

Origin of species

2006-02-28T09:38:00.001Z

I have a question for all the Americans out there. Why, when speaking about your nationality, is it invariably in a double-barrelled form?

It suggests to me a form of validation, suggesting that being American alone is insufficient. Being able to trace your ancestors back to another country may well make for interesting genealogy, but with each successive generation the individual culture brought over all those years ago is distilled, to the extent that any pretence of being from Greece, for instance, gradually becomes a mockery, one dependent upon the very basics. The limited availability of Greek foods, to take one example, leaves the self-proclaimed Greek-American family clutching at straws, taking the little they can find, with the result that the original culture boils down into stereotypes. It's said that none are so English as the English abroad, usually with reference to holidaymakers, but it applies equally to emigrants.

Somewhere along the line, I suspect, the pride with which the immigrant boasted his origins - "America's my adopted home but I'm from Ireland", that sort of thing - turns into a formulaic expression, so that some years down the line, it's bereft of any power. I recall hearing about Matt LeBlanc complaining, when required to keep a trim figure for Joey, that "I'm Italian and in my thirties". I'm sorry, that's not fooling anyone: we all struggle to keep our weight down, so by this stage, it's become little more an excuse.

That said, the worst of it has been, predictably enough, on the internet, a place where shorthand is rife. Confusion abounds when, in a chatroom, I greet someone who tells me they're German with the words "wie geht's?' and they don't understand a word of it, and don't get me on to the person from Jersey who'd not even heard of the Channel Islands ...

Don't get me wrong here: I'm not saying that any attempt to maintain so much as a semblance of another culture in America is a sham: it's just inevitable that in a melting-pot society, the finer points of what makes up a specific culture do tend to get lost.

To finish on a more positive note, I wonder if a subconscious desire for liberal America to place a distance between themselves and the country as a whole hasn't come into the equation, as a means of showing that the America is not united behind Bush. This system of dual cultures is not so recent as to have evolved from the current political climate, but it'd be heartening to think it's resulted in increased cultural awareness.

Hammering the point home

2006-02-26T22:43:00.000Z

If the readings at evensong today are anything to go by, Biblical characters would have been superb in the modern age, showing something of a knack for composing algorithms.

(Abram and Lot's living conditions have become a tad cramped; when their herdsmen have a difference of opinion, Abram divines the following solution.) Separate thyself, I pray thee, from me: If thou wilt take the left hand, then I will go to the right; or if thou depart to the right hand, then I will go to the left. (Genesis 13:9)

(Jesus, in the third chapter of the Sermon on the Mount, is spelling things out in words of mostly one syllable.) Even so every good tree bringeth forth good fruit: but a corrupt tree bringeth forth evil fruit. A good tree cannot bring forth evil fruit, neither can a corrupt tree bring forth good fruit. (Matthew 7:17-18)

Eleanor, sitting in front of me, suggested the readings were a bit predictable. Personally, I was all for adding the following passage:

(God ensures St Attila is in no doubt about the correct deployment of what would subsequently become an Holy Relic.) First shalt thou take out the Holy Pin. Then shalt thou count to three: no more, no less. Three shall be the number thou shalt count, and the number of the counting shall be three. Four shalt thou not count, neither count thou two, excepting that thou then proceed to three; five is right out. Once the number three, being the third number, be reached, then lobbest thou thy Holy Hand Grenade of Antioch towards thy foe, who, being naughty in my sight, shall snuff it. (Armaments 2:17-21)

The bee currently residing in my bonnet

2006-02-23T10:03:00.001Z

In my days in CD retail I'd frequently get irritated by customers coming in and telling me about this song they were after. Now do correct me if I'm wrong, but by my understanding, a song is a piece of music which is, by definition, sung - in other words, there has to be a human voice involved. Why then refer to any musical composition as a song?

Last night I saw pretty conclusive evidence of this being a wide-spread problem. I tend to sit through the end credits of most films and last night was no exception, having recognised a lot of the music in Casanova as Rameau and being curious to see whether there'd be confirmation of this. I'm still a little bemused over this preference for French baroque music considering the richness of Venetian music of the time, but was even more aghast to see the list of music used come under the heading "songs", despite vocal compositions only accounting for one or two of the forty or so pieces credited.

Now I realise that the vast majority of popular music (in the broadest meaning of the term) is vocal, but even those rare tracks which do not involve singing are referred to as instrumentals. (I'm not sure if this is meant as an adjectival noun or whether there is an implied, unspoken noun which follows.) For all that, no-one in their right mind could say that the word "song" and its various derivatives are beyond the comprehension of the average native English-speaker.

It's another case of lazy English, and if it's crept into film credits, I suspect this particular (ab)use of the language will prove very difficult, if not impossible, to correct. Oh well, more proof that I'm old-fashioned and pedantic ... as if you didn't know.

The choir party

2006-02-17T00:11:00.000Z

I had meant to write about this soon after the event but never got round to it, but given the quality of this year's vintage I do want to make a point of commemorating it, even at this late stage, so here goes ...

A bit of background to start off with: there's a choir dinner every December, a more-or-less formal event held at one of the private golf clubs, attended by current and retired members of the choir, along with the clergy. The choir party, which usually takes place in late January, is an altogether more relaxed affair hosted by the rector and his family. His wife, who sings soprano in the choir, takes it upon herself to cook a choice of main courses, while members of the choir share out responsibility for salads, desserts and the like (I contributed a tartiflette and a Sachertorte this year). The other thing to point out is that the evening culminates in a cabaret put on by various members of the choir: a chance for us all to let our hair down, so to speak.

On the culinary front, it was a superb occasion: Claire outdid herself in the kitchen and there was a delicious choice of salads. The dessert buffet was as good as ever, with the highlight proving to be by far the simplest dish: raspberries in redcurrant jelly, just sharp enough to set off the richness of the other dishes.

As for the cabaret, it was fabulous. Last year's consisted almost entirely of musical items, most of them sung, but this time round we had clarsach (Scottish harp) music, a trombone duet, a thoroughly idiomatic recitation of Burns' Tam O'Shanter in addition to all the singing. My main contribution was a rendition of the Méditation from Massenet's Thaïs (which had been performed at the Fringe concert we sang in last year), only with a twist: not being a violinist, I shared soloist duties with Eleanor, turning it into a tribute to I'm sorry, I haven't a clue. Yes, we played it on kazoo and swanee-whistle - it was a hoot. Mother, who'd arrived in Edinburgh that afternoon, demanded to know afterwards why no-one recorded these things ...

(If you're unfortunate enough not to know ISIHAC, here's some information on it; I can also recommend listening to a recent broadcast - click on "Comedy & Quizzes" and scroll down the alphabetical list.)

As it happened, the day of the choir party was also Luke's 30th. I'd spoken to him during the afternoon - before he'd got a chance to get horribly drunk - and am glad to say he was delighted with the present I got him: the full score of Così fan tutte, a mutual favourite which we'd seen at ENO three years ago in a sparkling production. We're now busy working out when one of us can visit the other again ...

An update on work, or the lack thereof

2006-02-16T16:21:00.000Z

The three positions I applied for before leaving my last job all came back negative and there's been absolutely nothing of interest in the papers since. Thankfully two other interesting vacancies have come my way: box office staff for the Edinburgh Festival (a six-month contract, nothing too far removed from CD retail) and PA/librarian for the Scottish Chamber Orchestra, which sounds fascinating. I'll report on progress as and when ...

Winding down at work

2006-02-08T07:40:00.000Z

I've been playing host again - my mother's been over for a short visit and seen three films in as many days, not to mention going to the ballet last night. She's leaving this morning so I'll be catching up with my usual round of reviews tonight.

For my part, I've got a whole two shifts (that's 15 hours) left before my career in retail, such as it is/was, comes to an end. I've had quite a few of my regulars pop round this week, one of whom caught me completely off-guard by producing a leaving gift for me: a bottle of champagne, no less!

An air of desparation seems to have crept in among the bosses, who are struggling to find someone to take over; on the one hand their disorganisation is not my concern, but on the other it's very unfortunate that I don't get to show my successor the ropes, so to speak, thus ensuring a sense of continuity. As it is, it looks very likely there'll be a couple of weeks in which my colleagues from DVD will be covering in the classical department, which isn't exactly fair on them. It's all very well the bosses wanting to get the right person for the job, but there are limits.

Two rejection letters have come my way, from the gallery and the Fringe Festival, meaning there's only one answer I'm still waiting to receive at the time being, about which I can't say I'm all that optimistic as they require one year's experience in arts marketing, which isn't my case. In the meantime, another position has come up for grabs with one of the local orchestras: they're after a PA/librarian. Never mind the experience I've got from my current job: given how meticulous I am about my own CD collection (I've even got a database, for pity's sake), I'd like to hope I'm in with a chance.

Four years in retail: a look back

2006-02-03T09:35:00.001Z

I've written about my stranger customers before, but this isn't the purpose of this post. While I'll miss some (and be glad to be shot of others), I'm wondering more about the withdrawal symptoms, if you will, from no longer working in CD retail.

Speak to any one of my colleagues and they will tell you it's become second nature, when seeing an untidy CD rack, to put some order into it - pushing CDs back upright, filling gaps, that sort of thing. Many of us in fact find it difficult to restrain ourselves even in other CD shops; you really have to make an effort to keep your hands away from the CDs, to restrain yourself. As of Friday, I won't be required to do any of this, anywhere, but I expect it'll be a while before I can tame this automatic gesture.

I've also become very used to offering recommendations on available recordings of any given piece, even outside work - the sort of thing that arises in conversation, where my opinion is (for better or worse) seen as being of some value. Again, it'll probably prove difficult not to do this, especially as I can imagine some of my friends and acquaintances may take some time to understand that I'm no longer bang up-to-date with new recordings.

One of my supervisors, back when I'd just started in CD retail - working for the competition, in London - asked me if I'd done this before as I'd taken to it like a duck to water (quite a compliment, considering my lack of experience). I put it down more to my polite disposition, making an effort to treat all queries with the same courtesy, no matter what I may think of the customer's tastes. While I don't imagine that'll change for a moment, I've noticed that I'm apt to be over-polite as a customer in other shops, stepping out of someone's way with the words "excuse me", more often than not followed by "Sir" or "Madam", which is taking it a little far. Thankfully this is something I seem to have picked up only recently so I trust I can ditch it with relative ease.

That said, having to be courteous to complete scumbags, who would never get away with such ill-mannered behaviour elsewhere, is not something I'll miss. One of my previous supervisors often said that we should have "honest Thursdays", maybe once a month or thereabouts, days on which we could let rip, or at least tell customers when they are being unreasonable/rude/irreconcilably stupid (feel free to add to this list).

I'm sort of wondering if I shouldn't go down that route, maybe gradually over the next week, in an effort to minimise the likely withdrawal symptoms. It's bound to be a lot of fun, allowing myself to tell people that the compilation they want to get (Chilled out classics or the like) is a load of bollocks, that Russell Watson is a dreadful singer or that Bond may be a string quartet but that doesn't mean they play classical music. It needn't even be restricted to all the crossover repertoire, as I could come out with a few choice remarks concerning the more serious side: Simon Rattle's umpteen recordings with the Berlin Philharmoniker aren't anywhere near as good as they ought to be, or Cecilia Bartoli's voice, once gorgeously rich, now verges on the screechy. Oh, and you know that recommendation I gave you on Bruckner's 9th you're always going on about? Complete bluff, mate, I've never even heard the piece (at least, not knowingly) and as it happens, you misread my enthusiasm: Bruckner does sod-all for me ...

Who knows, I might yet come out with a line I've wanted to say for years. (I've nothing against the piece in question but the pun's there for the picking, so ...) "Carmina burana? Carl Orff - as in 'bugger'."

Sheep!

2006-02-01T07:56:00.000Z

I am often to be found stalking the streets of Edinburgh muttering this word to myself, usually after crossing a road having fought through a vast concord of my fellow pedestrians just standing there waiting for the light to change.

My father, over the last ten years or so, grew increasingly disillusioned with driving in Britain, stating that British drivers lacked in initiative, being perfectly content to trundle along behind another car, making no attempt to overtake despite being under the speed limit. Regrettably this attitude seems to have spread to pedestrians as well, people meandering all over the pavements with no obvious purpose, seemingly unaware of there being anyone else around them, still less of others' attempts to get past them. I've even got to the stage of keeping a lookout for any fast-approaching shadows coming up behind me so I can move out of the way of someone in a greater hurry than me.

I abhor crowds at the best of times, which is part of the reason for my having enjoyed working in retail for the last four years. When you're stuck behind the counter on a busy Saturday afternoon, you're not having to negociate the crowds of shoppers yourself. True, if the shop itself is heaving with people, it can be like an ever-evolving obstacle course, but it still beats only having the weekend in which to do your shopping. (There are other things I will miss about retail, but that's for another post.)

So to a certain extent, I can put up with it indoors. I've nothing - well, not much - against people milling around in shops or the like as long as they don't clog up the pavements. As far as I'm concerned, pavements are to pedestrians what roads are to drivers: a means of getting from A to B, not a tourist spot. Wander around once you've reached your destination if you must, but not on your way there. But at all times, please, please realise that there are other people around you. Pay attention. Don't be oblivious to your surroundings.

Four things

2006-01-27T16:22:00.000Z

(or, Another of these meme thingies ..., courtesy of Richard)

Four jobs I've had (how appropriate!)
- house staff on a children's orchestra course
- English language assistant (in Austria)
- waiter, inevitably
- customer services assistant (to end in two weeks' time)

Four films I can watch over and over again
- Shooting fish
- Le fabuleux destin d'Amélie Poulain, to give it its proper title
- Sleepy Hollow
- A.I. - Artificial Intelligence

Four places I have lived
- Aix-les-Bains (France)
- Vienna (du Stadt meiner Träume ...)
- Neuchâtel (Switzerland)
- four places in Scotland, but I'll go with Paisley for its abbey

Four TV programmes I enjoy watching
- Frasier
- Shameless
- Buffy the vampire slayer (yes, I have my geeky moments!)
- not so much "enjoy watching" but "feel a social obligation to watch": Crimewatch UK

Four foods I like
- cranberry and pine nut bread (God bless bread makers)
- really good scrambled eggs
- tomato and mint salad with a baguette to mop up the juice
- Sachertorte or some other disgustingly rich chocolate cake

Four websites I visit daily
see the links to the right

Four things I want to do before I die
- adopt a child
- get some of my choral music published
- learn to ride a horse (something I should have done as a child)
- get ballroom dancing lessons

Four places I'd rather be right now
Usually I'd say Vienna, but today? Even I can have enough of Mozart, so it's back to the drawing board.
- on holiday in Thailand, doing something cultural with the prospect of lying on the beach come the evening to look forward to
- with my mother, walking the dog in the snow (can my brother be there too?)
- at a performance of Così fan tutte; I can always close my eyes if the production isn't to my tastes
- just for a split second (and to bring this full circle), in the boss' office at one of those moments when he's panicking about finding someone to take over my job

Four people I'm tagging
- Andy
- Spencer
- Chris and Martyn
- completely at random (hitting the "next blog" button and waiting for one in a language I understand): Whit at Observanda

Too little, too late?

2006-01-23T22:05:00.000Z

The boss finally spoke to me today, ten days after my resignation, to ask if there was anything he could do to convince me to stay.

I was seriously tempted to point out he was a bit late in asking, all the more so as it was back in August I'd first had thoughts of leaving. He's suggested they can be more flexible with giving me occasional Saturdays off (for concerts and the like), but as I pointed out, as long as the shop is too short-staffed to allow me the time off, it's still likely to prove too restrictive.

He obviously wants me to stay - not least because I suspect they're having some difficulty finding someone to take over the department - and while I have doubts about the wisdom of leaving without another job to go to, I'm still inclined to make a clean break. Withdrawing my notice is backing down, making my resignation an empty threat, a trump card which loses its effectiveness every time it's produced.

As I'm already mentally prepared for leaving, I suspect it's best I stick to my guns. Not that I care much about the company besmirching its reputation with its employees, but I'd sooner be left with some semblance of an honourable character.

Another breed

2006-01-19T22:46:00.000Z

Strange people, bosses. My previous one took my resignation so personally it was a week before he spoke to me (having avoided me in the interim), and even then wasn't keen to let me help check my prospective replacements' knowledge of classical music on the ground that I was going to work for the competition. He also came out with some ridiculous line about employees having been sacked on the spot and escorted from the premises the moment they'd accepted a position with the competition. At head office, maybe, but what sort of sensitive information is the lowest of the low going to pass on?

My current boss has yet to speak a word to me since I gave him notice. He's still coming through the department as usual, though in a way that makes his attitude ruder. Considering my floor manager came to speak to me immediately he heard the news and the regional manager made a point of having a chat with me today - both of them wanting to know more about the reasons for my departure - the store manager's behaviour is really a bit pathetic ...

Please tell me bosses outside retail are more mature.

Overheard at work

2006-01-16T13:40:00.000Z

An old lady came in this morning, came out with the by-now standard remark about being unable to hear yourself think downstairs and asked me if we had a recording of Mozart's 20th piano concerto which she was getting for a friend. I got her a couple of recordings and she decided to ring her friend to check which one she'd rather.

So she dials the number on her mobile and, while waiting for the friend to pick up the phone, makes the following alarming announcement:

"... and if she tells me she wants to think about this I'll kill her!"

Wedding music

2006-01-15T22:16:00.000Z

Not my own - Alison and Jim were round this afternoon to discuss what I'll be playing at their wedding (in three weeks and 6 days, not that they're keeping count!). Ten minutes' worth of music before the ceremony, starting off with the sarabande from Grieg's Holberg suite, followed by a Scarlatti sonata. Depending on time, I'll then play an Aria and variations in E flat by Haydn, as many as are necessary before striking up Wichtige Begebenheit from Schumann's Kinderszenen, which marks the beginning of the ceremony.

At some stage during the ceremony itself, I'll be accompanying another friend of theirs in Bright is the ring of words (from Vaughan Williams' Songs of travel) and As time goes by. Then, come the end, they're keen to get everyone to the party upstairs so we're going with a short, upbeat number: Children's games, from a set of (supposedly) "easy pieces" by Prokofiev.

The moment they left I ran out to find a tall vase. Alison had given me the most gorgeous bouquet of lilies and there was no way I wasn't going to display them to best advantage. They're now adorning the chest below the living room window. Utterly, utterly gorgeous.

GO!

2006-01-14T15:34:00.000Z

I am.

Four years' employment in retail come to an end on Friday, 10th February.

On your marks, get set ...

2006-01-13T20:14:00.000Z

My resignation letter is printed, signed and sealed, ready for the morning.

You'll have gathered I'm not very optimistic about this.

About this close to resigning

2006-01-12T21:39:00.000Z

In July, the boss wouldn't let me go to rehearsals for a concert I was very keen to participate in. Last month I ended up working a 16 hour shift, overnight, just before flying out to Switzerland for our first family Christmas without my father.

Now it's very likely my plants for early February will be shot to smithereens. It was my intention to travel to London for the weekend of the 4th to celebrate Luke's 30th, after which I'd accompany my mother to Norfolk to see my uncle, aunt and cousins, returning in time to play at Alison and Jim's wedding on the 11th.

So I asked the boss this afternoon, with a month's notice, if my holiday plans could be rearranged. He took one look at the calendar on the wall and said no - which I didn't mind so much as his attitude. No apology, no asking why I was requesting that week, in short no interest whatsoever.

Now I can always arrange to see my relations at some other time, and while it'd be a great pity to miss Luke's birthday celebrations and the opportunity to see my mother (I'm now looking into the possibility of going to London for the day on Sunday the 5th), the wedding ... If I were singing as part of a choir, I'd be expendable, but I'm to play the piano, solo, at the bride's request.

I've asked my floor manager to look seriously into the matter. If, when I go back to work on Saturday, I don't have the day of the wedding off, I'm handing in my notice. I've had enough.

Spot the mistake

2006-01-10T19:32:00.000Z

The following comes from my employer's website, describing a forthcoming CD:

The ultimate Mozart album to celebrate Mozart's 250th Birthday - A celebration of the world's most popular composer with recordings from Katherine Jenkins, Bryn Terfel, Emma Johnson, Renee Fleming and many more.
The German composer Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart (1756-1791) was not only a musical genius, but was also one of the pre-eminent geniuses of the Western world.
He defined in his music a system of musical thought and an entire state of mind that were unlike any previously experienced. A true child prodigy, he began composing at age 5 and rapidly developed his unmistakable style; by 18 he was composing works capable of altering the mind-states of entire civilizations.

Anyone else want a sick bucket?

Racism vs. homophobia

2006-01-08T23:33:00.000Z

Andy's comments on my last post, in which he expresses a sincere hope that same-sex couples may one day be as easily accepted in film as mixed-race ones, got me thinking.

Much as I hate to say it, I have a suspicion it is a lot easier for society to come to terms with what is it forced to see every day than anything intangible. To my mind, the days of segregated buses and congregations (one skin colour per side) were never made to last as the peaceful elements of both sides of the divide were bound, one day, to join forces in an effort to fight the prevailing prejudices. Being repeatedly confronted by something visible to the naked eye is sure to make one gradually used to its presence.

What lies beneath is, I fear, another matter altogether. True, society at large has made much headway in its attitudes towards homosexuality, but the fact remains that a person's sexuality is not always immediately obvious, so any progress is necessarily slower. We are at a stage when, in the West at least (I cannot speak for other parts of the world), the existence of other sexualities is more-or-less acknowledged across the board, but this should not be mistaken for acceptance. (As for celebrating such diversity ... The wider gay community holds Pride marches to this end, but we can't very well expect the rest of the world to jump on the bandwagon just like that.)

That said, the idealist in me believes there is some common ground: after all, if apartheid was finally overcome by (largely) peaceful means, why should homophobia be any different?

The next big thing in themed parties

2006-01-07T21:18:00.000Z

I held a gin and muffins party last night.

Okay, it wasn't just on a whim: when I got back from Switzerland after Christmas, it was with a new bottle of gin (Hendricks) to join the Bombay Sapphire and two bottles of Tanqueray (Export Strength and T10) I already had on the shelves. When a number of my friends were unable to make my New Year's Day party, the opportunity to have a gin party was too good to pass up.

I'd also just got the oven repaired, so after celebrating with a tartiflette* (a traditional dish from the Savoy region of France) on New Year's Day, I thought muffins would be a suitable way of soaking up all that alcohol. I therefore produced a dozen each of date and walnut, carrot and a disappointing cranberry (I realised belatedly I should have added some dried fruit to the sauce).

*I've looked around for a tartiflette recipe on the internet and failed to find one meeting my exacting standards, so here's the one my parents passed me in time for last year's New Year's Day party.

Ingredients for 6 people: 2lbs (1kg) potatoes, 2 large onions, a large knob of butter, 1 reblochon cheese, ½ pt single cream, seasoning.
Peel the potatoes if desired, then cube and boil under tender. Preheat the oven at 200°C/400°F (gas mark 6). Melt the butter in a large pan and fry the onions, then add the potatoes and cream. Season and mix well, then place in an oven dish and cover with the sliced reblochon (do not remove the rind). Bake for 30 minutes and serve piping hot.
Depending on personal taste, any one of the following may be added to the mixture before baking: slivers of fried bacon. finely sliced smoked salmon, wholegrain mustard, roast cumin.

If you're not familiar with reblochon, read this if you understand French, or this if you'd rather an introduction in English.

A period of transition

2006-01-03T22:36:00.000Z

I met my friend Morag for lunch today, at which she mentioned her concerns for her father's health. Tonight I was out with other friends, including Rob, who has also started keeping a closer eye on his father after the latter had a major operation. I need hardly say I'm making every effort to be sure my mother is well ...

All three of us are in our early thirties, at a stage when it appears the parent/child relationship begins to change. While our parents remain perfectly capable of looking after themselves, they are reaching late middle age and the possibility of their mental or physical faculties letting them down is beginning to register with those they had brought up. The balance is starting to shift.

From the parent's perspective, it must be phenominally difficult to reliquish this sort of control. For the child, there's the fear of not being up to the task. Thoughts which lead me to conclude this prayer, usually associated with the elderly, to be equally valid for younger generations:

Grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change, courage to change the things I can and wisdom to know the difference.