Choir

Although I've not sung for many years, except in the shower, I have intended to take it up again for a combination of social and fun reasons. Doing so was one of my NewYear's resolutions in January. Following a conversation between Moonface and an ex-colleague of hers during the Trowbridge weekend, I finally got around to it.

I eventually went to a choir practice. It's a small choir, with only a dozen people attending last night, but usually about double that number. Moonface's & my mate Stuart went along as well - he's been singing for the last four years, both in folk bands and in musicals. I couldn't judge, but he reckons the group last night were quite good, and he'll definitely go again. So will I, as I enjoyed it in spite of my incompetence, and the choristers seemed like a nice bunch of (mainly) middle-aged people.

Oh, yes. And it's a socialist choir, as well. I don't know whether that's a good thing or not; but as it's the first offer of a choir that I've had, it's a really good start. We finished the session with the Internationale which must mean something, and there was a long talk session to start with and in the interval: I suppose that comes with the political territory.

:0)

Trowbridge Festival

Hmm, interesting,

I went because I'd been asked, and I'm pleased that I did.



I can't quite explain, however, why I don't enjoy festivals now, whereas I used to do so, and both Moonface and Rio do, as well. Upon my arrival there (the first time!) as I pointlessly walked up the hill overlooking the entrance to the site, I felt a profound sinking of my heart. I just didn't feel as if I was part of the proceedings; I couldn't quite become part of the crowd. I've no idea why, as the demographics of the goers mean that they're similar people to me, and I get on with the people I know. Is it the crowds? The length of time that one needs to spend there? The nature of the gee-gaws and baubles upon sale? The music's fine, but somehow I was semi-detached. It's me, I reckon. There was something that put me slightly on edge, and prevented me from fully enjoying even great bands that would normally have me enthusing and jiggling about on my feet.

On the plus side, I know that if I hadn't been along last night, I would have weakened and gone along with Moonface to a full festival somewhere, next year. That way, I'd have pissed her off for the best part of a week. This way, it was only a day or so.

:o(

Furious

Disclaimer: What I wrote below was in the heat, both literal and metaphorical, of Sunday afternoon, before we sorted out my visit to Trowbridge; after which I cooled off considerably.

Although I enjoy many forms of music, and enjoy it both recorded and (preferably) live concerts, I don't enjoy festivals; there's something about the unrelenting humanity and the atmosphere which oppresses me. After attending both Glastonbury and Trowbridge a couple of years ago, I decided to stop going, as I didn't enjoy them much.

Moonface, however, likes them and has been to both for the last few years. She asked me to come along to Trowbridge for at least a day this year, and I agreed to keep her happy. She knew I would go if the weather was half-decent, as she took some spare clothes for me, and knew that I'd declined other invitations.

Then early on Saturday afternoon she phoned to check that I was coming, and at my request, confirmed that there would be tickets available, as the online booking had closed. She forgot to mention that there weren't many tickets left. So, in the absence of a car, I cycled for nearly three hours to get there. Then, she gave me duff directions to the van, so I was hot, sweaty and fuming when I found her & Stuart. It took me a while to cool down & change, and then - what a surprise - the Festival had sold out of tickets. Moonface hadn't bothered checking how they were selling in the interim, or trying to reserve one on the grounds that I was cycling and couldn't return easily. So, as the only other choice was to sulk in my tent like Ajax for six hours, I returned home.

I arrived back knackered, too late to go out in the evening, and too angry to go to bed.
On Sunday, I was too tired to go out on the pre-arranged bike ride, which I would have gone on if I had been fresh, and hadn't attempted to go to Trowbridge.

So - what a wasted weekend.
No music.
No other social activities - cancelled because I was trying to please Moonface.
Exhausted.
Slept badly
Wasted most of Sunday because I was too tired.

God I am furious.


:o(
:o(

Postscript:

After a trip to the Lake for a calming cooling swim, I called Moonface to see if she still wanted me there. After some prevarication, I tootled off to Trowbridge by train, and spent a late afternoon and evening trying hard to enjoy myself. I didn't, that much, but I enjoyed her company and was pleased that I went. Upon our return to Bristol on Monday morning, I'd calmed down and was ready to face the world of commerce again.

Perhaps I was angry just because I missed her?

:o)

Swifts

I know it's high summer when the swifts are screaming overhead in the evening, with a blue cloudless sky and a warm sun beating down upon me. In the garden today, I stood outside staring up into the azure void, the black cut crescents of the bitter chittering birds cutting the sky as they call to each other and warm my heart.

But...it was the swifts that I remember most from the garden during that harsh weekend in France a year ago; possibly the most emotional weekend I've had for years from a purely personal perspective. There were so many then, that the sky seemed alive with their constant screams.


:o{

Slow

It's a few months since I have been out in the woods cycling with the "boys". I use the push-bikes frequently, either around town or by myself in Leigh Woods etc, but not with the gang that I used to see frequently. Since I have signed myself us for the Exmoor Explorer in week or so, I thought that it was time that I got in some serious practice so I headed for the Tuesday night two hours with the Tuesboyz. (Mostly in their late 40's). I'm still slow, still the last on the climbs, but I can usually keep up on the downhills and more technical twisty stuff.

Waiting at the bridge, I noticed how slim all the cyclists are, compared with the general populace. I know that I've put on about 7kg since 2003 after my illness, but all these guys looked whippet-thin and long legged. It must be the exercise.

I was also invited out by another crew on Wednesday, so in spite of my sore muscles from the day before, I decided to repeat the abuse. The difference in the rides was instructive. Whereas the Tuesboyz include a moderate amount of twisty singletrack in their routes, with a lot of bridleways, fire roads and tarmac; the Wednesday crowd (who start a useful hour earlier in the evening) ride almost exclusively through parts os Leigh Woods into which I had never ventured, finding nasty drop-offs and rooty, twisty trails that I would have never tried unless I was in company. So it was a much more technical and tricky ride, but I felt less left behind. It also helps that the age range was in the 50's rather than mainly in the 40s, I suppose.

And I found that my bike was falling apart, again, with a flexy fork and dubious back brakes. I need to do some serious kit modifications to get myself ready for Exmoor.

:0)

Bob Antell

Last Friday night, Moonface and I went to Bob & Sharon's anniversary party, which was a relaxed and conversational evening by the time we arrived. (Rather late, I'm afraid. Sorry, Bob.) We've known them for years and like them lots, although they are one of the couples whom we see only rarely. Bob used to be a graphic artist, and now also produces simple and pleasing pastels, some of which were on his walls.





The next day I called into a print and frame-maker's shop to buy a couple of greetings cards, and after choosing the one above I was surprised to find that it was one of Bob's. Then I looked around, to find that the shop's walls was displaying many of his A3 size prints . They're rather good: mainly showing very ordinary scenes of holidays or people working on allotments, plus a couple of nudes. We really ought to buy a print or picture from him.

St Andrew's Park. Sledging before School.


Have a look: His website gallery,

:o)

Tools

I've just spent twenty minutes looking vainly through the tool cupboard for a specific pair of pliers, but I couldn't find it. We've got too many tools, scattered throughout the house in unlikely places.

Since Moonface and I moved in here in 1981, I've been accumulating tools steadily. When we bought the house, it needed renovating and since we weren't rich and at that time there was an ethos of do-it-yourself, we did it ourselves. It helped that at that time, I had a job which had a large element of mechanical and electrical craft, with plumbing and pipefitting thrown in, so I was competent but not expert in most forms of household alterations and maintenance.

Every task had its own particular set of tools which were needed to do the job properly, so we bought them, and gave them a home in the cupboard. Over the years we've not thrown them out and have accumulated more and more through various means, and the cupboard is full to bursting point. This means that we sometimes can't find tools, so we may need to buy a second one for the same function, so the process of accumulation goes on. And tools are by their nature, useful objects, so we can't throw them out, as we never know when they'll be needed. The right tool for the job makes all the difference, as we found out several times by bodging work.

I must admit, we hardly do any work ourselves these days, probably because the house is functional, and because we're older, tireder, and can't be bothered. We're less willing to leave something in a half-finished state for weeks while we "get around to it", preferring to pay a professional. But, if we needed them, out tools are all there for us to get on with it.

The only work that I do regularly, is fiddling with bicycles. As this is a pleasure and not a necessity, I don't find it stressful and indeed it's a extremely mentally relaxing way of spending a couple of hours. This assumes, however, that I can find the right tools and parts for the job, finding them in their hiding places somewhere in the house.


:o)

Plain Soul

Plain Soul

On that vast plain where the cold south wind plays,
Where in the long, dark nights the weather-cock grows hoarse,
My soul spreads wide its raven wings
More easily than in the warm springtide.


************

:)

Paul Heaton

We trundled down to the Thekla again last night, to see Paul Heaton. He's a Northern Poet of a rock god, distinctly working class and ordinary in appearance. He's been a great songwriter for decades, since he was the driving force in both the Housemartins and the Beautiful South before touring under his own name. The Beautiful South used to be one of Moonface's favourite bands for many years, so we have plenty of records kicking around the house.

Heaton's style hasn't changed. He still puts crafted words to simple music to make songs that are memorable and full of emotion. Somehow he celebrates the life of ordinary people in a way that other artists don't: his is a very domestic style that approaches folk music in its subject matter. He knows that he's getting older, so his patter between songs reflected this, as did numbers such as "A Red Rooster" and "A Pub".

His appearance was a blast from the past. He came on in his trademark Adidas top which made him look like an escapee from the Madchester scene of 1988, and Black Grape's little brother.

Unfortunately the gig itself wasn't the best. It was more a matter of the mixing than the music, as Paul's voice was overwhelmed by the noise of the guitars. As he sang mostly songs from his new album, no-one knew the words, so although his audience was receptive and positive, there wasn't the opportunity to sing along which is always enjoyed so much.

We weren't complaining too much. Our mate Lou had put us onto the guest list (thank you, Lou) so it was a freeby apart from the drinks we bought. And it was a fun night out. After a day of oppressive rain we had taken the chance to walk to the Thekla and were rewarded by a dry evening and some welcome exercise.


:o)

Magic sauce

I've not been motivated to cook properly and slowly over the last few days, but instead I have relied upon the magic ingredient of creme fraiche to add thickness, wetness and texture to food.

Creme fraiche seems to have been a fairly recent addition to supermarket shelves; at any rate, I cannot remember using it except in the last five or six years. This week, I have used it as follows:
In a lemon chicken with rice, with seafood and tagliatelle to add texture and richness, on gingercake instead of cream, and upon a hot banana. It's all good, easy stuff, and the creme fraiche makes the food that much better.

Yum.

:o)

Dorota again

I've been remiss, and not mentioned Dorota's second book. So, if you have an interest in Indian miniature paintings and their depiction of women, and you understand Polish, please buy it.
Dorota is now working on her third book on Indian art, but still cannot obtain tenure in a suitable university post.

She is admirable, having worked like stink to support herself through university, her PhD, and now teaching and lecturing and writing, for not much reward. It's about time that we met again, as it's many years since she lived in England.




:o)