Missa Solemnis

The weekend's been cold; never quite down to freezing but consistently just above it with an icy strong wind that chills to the marrow. After a Saturday spent mainly in the open air I really didn't fancy going out to listen to music but since I had the ticket I was too mean to stay at home and slob out.

And I'm pleased that I did so.
The concert [note- not a gig] was run by the Bristol Choral Society at the Colston Hall, a good half-hour walk from home. The Choral Society was supported by four excellent soloists, the City of Birmingham Choir and the B'ham Symphony Orchestra. The hall was almost full, deservedly so. I quickly lost myself in the music and even fell asleep a couple of times. The combination of powerful chorale and a full orchestra was unbeatable for sending me into an absolute reverie, with the complexities having an almost hypnotic effect.

Somehow the experience stimulates very different parts from our usual choice of music, and I don't have the knowledge or the vocabulary to explain exactly how. Generally, classical music seems to make me think hard and act dreamily; whereas our more usual concert-going is foot-tapping dancin' tunes, prompting a feeling of togetherness with the band and the audience which contrasts with the individuality and isolation I get from classical. I don't mean isolation in a bad sense; just that it seems to be something that affects me in a very intellectual way. perhaps isolation is correct as well, however, as this was the first time for many months or years where I have attended a concert on my own. I noticed that there were many other single people there as well. At pop or indie concerts, nearly everyone except Dancing Jeff goes with friends, as the atmosphere is usually much more communal.

:o)

Health and Safety

Thinking back to France again, on our brief walking break, I was impressed by the lack of health & safety provisions which typically blight interesting locations in Britain. There were no warning signs over sheer drops, crumbling fortifications were unmended, railways unfenced: overall there seemed to be a general concensus that it's an individual's responsibility to act sensibly and to take care.


(Moonface and the Cow's Arsehole)


A case in point was the cave near Meailles. In the Mendips there are many limestone caves and potholes, all of which are carefully closed off by locked steel shutters to prevent the unwary or inquisitive from entering them. Two hours walk into the hills from Meailles, it's a different story. The Grotte de Meailles is 400m long, and descends for over 100 slippery muddy metres into the hillside. And it's completely open to anyone, so Moonface and I investigated it. Locally, it's known as the "Cul de Boeuf". It was a great experience, descending steeply along the sticky clayey boulders inside the cavern. We had two torches, so light wasn't a problem, but there were potholes in the floor of the grotte which we had to look out for. It's the first proper cave I've been in unaccompanied and without guides, since I went into Kirkdale cave as a lad. It was cool, it was sticky, it was wonderful. I only wish that we had spent more time there, but we had a last train to catch from Meailles back to Entrevaux. We saw no other walkers that day, only a solitary woman mushroom-picker in the morning.



:o)

Porker

I weighed myself this morning, which was a big mistake.
Somehow, I'm 2kg heavier than I was a month ago: perhaps it's the result of more than two weeks of living on restaurant and hotel food over the last month or so. That, and no exercise to speak of, due to being away on business and the weather in Britain being so poor.

I/m the heaviest I've been since '03, when I lost 13-14 kg in a sort of illness in which I was debilitated for most of the time, with no obvious cause except a poor driving position. I don't want a repeat of that, thanks.

It's time for a diet and more exercise, whatever the weather. December isn't the time for that, though.

:0)

Bloodaxe

Eddie's back in town.

Since he moved to Bridgwater we've only seen him sporadically, usually when he calls in unexpectedly to home during my working hours. He's wirier than ever, thin and haunted-looking, and living -sort of - in Bristol. He says that he's sold his house in Bridgwater and bought a boat, a 48-ft ketch called Bloodaxe. And certainly, it was moored where he said it would be, when I push-biked down to the docks to have a look for it. Eddie was on board too, so it must be his. What's more, it's moored in the most prestigious place in Bristol: bang in front of the Lloyd's building where everyone can see it. Eddie says that it'll be moved on soon, but still.

I'm never quite sure about Eddie. I'm really fond of him, yet wary about anything he tells us: he has wild ideas that are almost fantasies, and stories which are almost true, but not quite. I worry about his health, too. Still, his genes are moving on. He has (he tells us) five children by three women, and he still has the gift of the golden voice and an eye for girls. Most recently he has been associated with a Latvian woman less than half his age. I must learn how he does it......

I'd like to learn to sail, too. It's the first yacht that has made me feel that way. Racing boats don't, but Bloodaxe looks livable; and ketches are easy to sail, so they say.

:o)