The Fellowship of the String keyboard department learnt an important lesson about preparing the song you're going to sing at our gig at The Half Moon pub on Friday. Good job the music stand was on stage - it was more the guitar chords played standing up that were my undoing, rather than anything at the ivories (the plastics?) - anyhow, the old musical confidence took a bit of a knock. Haven't felt that nervous during a concert for many a half moon...
Thursday's offering at Heythrop College with Joey Dreycott had gone fine, and La Indomitabila de Nordwall and I did a sort of double act of friends of the choir with poetry and song; The people that walked in darkness (from The Messiah) went down quite well and Indomitable did a couple of poems including Our Lady of the Pirates. She's quite a performer and a very good storyteller.
Saturday (post Half Moon) was encouragingly successful. Holy Trinity Clappers was hosted by the Sun pub and we presented about 50 mins of carol singing and poetry and Alpha invite. David Isherwood was amusing about a particular verse of Away in a Manger...
'Christian children all must be
mild obedient good as He'
"So no pressure kids then!"
I've never particularly noticed any under 12's buckling under the parental pressures of the theology of the Christmas carol, but still it is a bit Victorian... I remember James Odgers from Besom making similar comments about All things Bright and Beautiful - "the poor man in his castle, the rich man at his gate... He ordered their estate..." 'pish tish!!'
I know what he means - it does stick a bit in the throat, especially in this day and age, then again 'riches come from the Lord'. I suppose unjust political and economic systems come from other places (the culture of fear I have been reading about this morning), but the Lord is in charge. I suppose we have to do our bit for the rule of Heaven and that includes not accepting injustice especially if it's inherent in the law of the Landed.
Anyhow, back at the Sun, mulled wine was drunk and carols sung to an assembled crowd including Chris Macarthy and Whiting plus one that seemed appreciative - reassuring after Friday's debacle. HTCC have been asked to provide the same again please to The Falcon at Clapham North on Wednesday (7pm on.)
I spotted a Walrus across the Esca breakfast table this morning - Aviary had bilocated briefly and (yes she knows about this) a Walrus had merged with her DNA briefly as she portalled somewhere over the south Atlantic - such are the mysteries of the Lord: fortunately the confusion in the spacetime continuum was quickly healed by some guffawing prayers and vanity slaying merriment. (See picture - thanks for allowing me to put it up!)
Earlier in the Saturday, the Piano Inspector was on duty for his erstwhile one-time childhood sweethood Isobel (plus her two little munchkins and their grandmother). Long-time the manxome foe we sought (in Merton) until we arrived to the sounding of Tomtoms at Hanna Pianos. The charming Charlie showed us quickly away to the other showroom where the 'bargain' pianos under £3000 where stashed, a brace deep.
Fortunately for hubby Marcus' summer holiday plans, Isobel was persuaded to come in roughly in budget and the munchkin duo of Sophie and Lucy Grace are now booked for their Music Scholarship auditions in 2019 and 2021, retroversely.
Sunday was a long day - some poor chap (or even chappess I suppose) had ended up under a train so there was a bit of reroutage via Barnes Bridge which meant a lovely Priest Powered lift through wonderful Richmond Park, sparkling in the frostmorn. (Please God there is more fruit from their life than that slender yet wonderful redemption.) The trees in the park reminded me of the deer - something that had never occurred to me - think antlers! The deer were all busily foraging in the undergrowth. What a treat to see it all in the 930am-on-a–Sunday-morning quiet! Richmond always reminds me of Africa - the plains thing: not of course the flight-path-to–Heathrow–overhead planes thing.
After Mass, another Priest Powered lift to Number 121, and then after lunch chez JMB et al, to St Mary Magdalene's Wandsworth Common for our 3 hour marathon of a rehearsal and then 1 hour service. Candles; fairy lights; organ music; readings from the Nativity story by Anglicans in Robes; Beards and Bairds and Bairdian bairns with Medici Magsters singing going onto poetry plus open fires and mulled pies and minced wine: Yulemas doesn't get much better.
Father Christmas put in his usual trip to the Willow Nursery school of Wandsworth Road on Thursday morning. Ho Ho Ho! I chatted to a few folk 'in character' (Pat at the launderette didn't recogsantanize me - a master of disguise Watson; a master!) and generally nearly got run over by a decidedly Wintervalish bus driver. Ha ha ha.
This is another John Craven of a blog post I'm afraid - have been to busy to think much, despite what my facebook status says.
Grazia.
Monday, 19 December 2011
Wednesday, 14 December 2011
Rev Aviary of the Latter Day Spoon Balancers
Did anyone else in Cyberworld hear the thunderstorm yesterday morning in South Nodnol? I feared for the roof crashing in at St Mary's. There was a description of a couple in a Radio 4 play I heard once: they liked weather, that was how they'd got together. Didn't matter if it was a typhoon or a snowstorm, rain or wind, sunny day or solar storm, they liked weather. There was something also about how the worst days for them were literally grey days, when the heavens were quiet and dull.
I kind of like that understanding of the heavens as a sort of a Divine entertainment, free for all with the time to appreciate it and the inclination to enjoy such splendours. Nelson used to take readings of the weather twice a day for the whole of his life. Apparently that was the reason he won the battle of Trafalgar, having learnt the skills to predict the approaching storm and use it for strategic advantage. Something in there about discipline.
'Hold fast to discipline, never let her go, keep your eyes on her, she is your life.'
Proverbs 4, Jerusalem Bible
One translation refers to discipline as 'your salvation'.
Aviary has been pretty disciplined of late with her spoon balancing practise. Why, only today, she managed an unofficial Cappucino Spoon 3rd attempt (see photo), which has now been submitted to the Olympic Council for consideration for her application to the GB team.
After thunderstorms, Unc M and Aunty B plus one headed to Margate on the M2 for a lovely lunch in the Harbour Bar Cafe. The pleasures of the winter seaside are along the above weather appreciation type: I like Margate. Whether there's glories in the skies or in the seas, on the beach with Jack Russell Harmer, or round the dining table with Ma and Da or more. A town for all seasons. It does get pretty cold though. They say there's only Norfolk between you and the North Pole. That could well be true.
Home swiftly after post-prandial to teach at Clapham North and St John's Hill and then to Basstone to endure sitting through about 15 plus takes of dear Peter's song by Marcelo on first his guitar then mine, finally in tune, ma non troppo fortissimo. It's a good little song but I don't want to hear it again for the next 6 months.
What does that say about discipline or patience? Exercise gives pleasant side-effects of lovely positive chemicals and all that, plus all the other stuff - but Marcelo's wrestling with the click track and buzzing guitar strings was giving mostly unpleasant side-effects to his assembled audience to be brutally honest. That's the sharp end of the business I suppose, the hours of practice, and the drudgery it can be.
Jez had a word for me for this 5th decade about 'the joy of restraint' which I revelled in on receipt. About how much amateur decorators don't enjoy the preparation that the professional knows is essential to a carefully executed result. Guess you have to learn to enjoy the preparation or you'll never really enjoy decorating (or be very good at it!)
But the joy when you see the growth in skill, the corner turned, the passage mastered. Apparently, if careers were chosen according to the satisfaction received for the job, most folk would choose to be teachers.
Dat Deus Incrementum
Growth is the gift of God
(Me old school motto)
Aviary has been exercising her ministry of spoon growing for over 2 hours already and results just in show that the cutlery drawers of Peter Jones are already showing signs of upward mobility. If you touch the screen (and dial our toll free number to make your donation) she guarantees that a spoon near you will feel the blessing of the anna-ointing she is moving in.
We have Sky down in Margs and my secret late-night vice is flicking through the options that come up when you tune in to the satellite channels and press the Religion option.
Would be prepared to wager at least a decade of the rosary said for the intention of your choice, that should you do similarly on almost any day, after 1030pm, you will find a rather high percentage of the chat is about money. The P.G. tips you could call it - and I don't mean advice for or about paying guests.
Almost every time there has been an indulgence of this horrid tendency (we don't seem to receive EWTN), it seems that every other channnel is talking about the Prosperity Gospel. Is there a Bible translation by that name I wonder?
For out of the overflow of his heart his mouth speaks. (NIV Luke 6:45)
'Sell your possessions and give to the poor. Provide purses for yourselves that will not wear out, a treasure in heaven that will not be exhausted, where no thief comes near and no moth destroys. For where your treasure is, there your heart will be also.' (NIV Luke 12:32)
The Gospel of Immediate Profits: a non-gospel of unimpeded fiscal growth for the West in the 21st century (!!)
or
the Gospel of Eternal Dividends? A gospel of disciplines of heart and mouth and wallet. Disciplines of mind and eyes as well. We have to learn to love the practice - we are built to work that way; that's what Christianity says anyhow. The Christian is meant to run on God... 'Like a car running on petrol' (Jack)
What are you filling the tank with these days? thefellowshipofthestring.blogspot.com/?
Guess we have to enjoy the discipline of giving, the joy of giving, and the ultimate joy and pain of sacrificial giving.
Whatever the weather.
Grazia.
I kind of like that understanding of the heavens as a sort of a Divine entertainment, free for all with the time to appreciate it and the inclination to enjoy such splendours. Nelson used to take readings of the weather twice a day for the whole of his life. Apparently that was the reason he won the battle of Trafalgar, having learnt the skills to predict the approaching storm and use it for strategic advantage. Something in there about discipline.
'Hold fast to discipline, never let her go, keep your eyes on her, she is your life.'
Proverbs 4, Jerusalem Bible
One translation refers to discipline as 'your salvation'.
Aviary has been pretty disciplined of late with her spoon balancing practise. Why, only today, she managed an unofficial Cappucino Spoon 3rd attempt (see photo), which has now been submitted to the Olympic Council for consideration for her application to the GB team.
After thunderstorms, Unc M and Aunty B plus one headed to Margate on the M2 for a lovely lunch in the Harbour Bar Cafe. The pleasures of the winter seaside are along the above weather appreciation type: I like Margate. Whether there's glories in the skies or in the seas, on the beach with Jack Russell Harmer, or round the dining table with Ma and Da or more. A town for all seasons. It does get pretty cold though. They say there's only Norfolk between you and the North Pole. That could well be true.
Home swiftly after post-prandial to teach at Clapham North and St John's Hill and then to Basstone to endure sitting through about 15 plus takes of dear Peter's song by Marcelo on first his guitar then mine, finally in tune, ma non troppo fortissimo. It's a good little song but I don't want to hear it again for the next 6 months.
What does that say about discipline or patience? Exercise gives pleasant side-effects of lovely positive chemicals and all that, plus all the other stuff - but Marcelo's wrestling with the click track and buzzing guitar strings was giving mostly unpleasant side-effects to his assembled audience to be brutally honest. That's the sharp end of the business I suppose, the hours of practice, and the drudgery it can be.
Jez had a word for me for this 5th decade about 'the joy of restraint' which I revelled in on receipt. About how much amateur decorators don't enjoy the preparation that the professional knows is essential to a carefully executed result. Guess you have to learn to enjoy the preparation or you'll never really enjoy decorating (or be very good at it!)
But the joy when you see the growth in skill, the corner turned, the passage mastered. Apparently, if careers were chosen according to the satisfaction received for the job, most folk would choose to be teachers.
Dat Deus Incrementum
Growth is the gift of God
(Me old school motto)
Aviary has been exercising her ministry of spoon growing for over 2 hours already and results just in show that the cutlery drawers of Peter Jones are already showing signs of upward mobility. If you touch the screen (and dial our toll free number to make your donation) she guarantees that a spoon near you will feel the blessing of the anna-ointing she is moving in.
We have Sky down in Margs and my secret late-night vice is flicking through the options that come up when you tune in to the satellite channels and press the Religion option.
Would be prepared to wager at least a decade of the rosary said for the intention of your choice, that should you do similarly on almost any day, after 1030pm, you will find a rather high percentage of the chat is about money. The P.G. tips you could call it - and I don't mean advice for or about paying guests.
Almost every time there has been an indulgence of this horrid tendency (we don't seem to receive EWTN), it seems that every other channnel is talking about the Prosperity Gospel. Is there a Bible translation by that name I wonder?
For out of the overflow of his heart his mouth speaks. (NIV Luke 6:45)
'Sell your possessions and give to the poor. Provide purses for yourselves that will not wear out, a treasure in heaven that will not be exhausted, where no thief comes near and no moth destroys. For where your treasure is, there your heart will be also.' (NIV Luke 12:32)
The Gospel of Immediate Profits: a non-gospel of unimpeded fiscal growth for the West in the 21st century (!!)
or
the Gospel of Eternal Dividends? A gospel of disciplines of heart and mouth and wallet. Disciplines of mind and eyes as well. We have to learn to love the practice - we are built to work that way; that's what Christianity says anyhow. The Christian is meant to run on God... 'Like a car running on petrol' (Jack)
What are you filling the tank with these days? thefellowshipofthestring.blogspot.com/?
Guess we have to enjoy the discipline of giving, the joy of giving, and the ultimate joy and pain of sacrificial giving.
Whatever the weather.
Grazia.
Monday, 12 December 2011
Music and merrymaking
Mariaaaaaa and I headed to the Winter Wonderland at Hyde Park on Friday. I'm sure lots of people have been along but it was my first time and wish I'd been told about how wonderlandful it was and been along before. The trees and the lights, the night air and the ferris wheel, the Belgian fries and Lemon Crepes... sehr gemuchtlich (or however you spell the word 'cosy' auf Deutsch.)
We walked from Knightsbridge through the park and Wonderland and up Piccadilly, trying to use the powder rooms of the Ritz but reconvening at Fortnum's and then to meet Carson and Cammie at Chantage's beautiful concert at St James' Piccadilly, invited by Lucy Britton.The pianissimo's were just ravishing! Well done Lulu and all of you. Really some of the most beautiful choral singing I've ever heard. What a pivilege for us audience.
Carson, Mariaaaaaa and I tried to find repast and repose in Waterstones 5th Floor but sadly just caught the view and not last orders or the time to savour either. One to keep for the future though. The little pub round the corner saw us neck a tomatofruit juice and head home on the buses.
Saturday: well, despite thick cold in head and usual singers excuses, was quite pleased with how it went. Two videos are on youtube, one of which is linked to the blog. Baird was pleased. Jane and Jane and Julia and Father M plus Delores and Rosemary and Sarah came to support, and also Cammie who I'd invited the previous eve. Bless you all for coming along!
The B minor Mass in the choruses sounded fantastic, although it was hard to hear the other Basses apart from David Montagu.Very nice being nested near 2nd Sops and Tenors with Altos within easy hearing. Sensed the inner parts of the music much more than ever previously.
Julmax and I headed for refreshments (thanks J) past the encampment outside St Paul's. Gosh! A bit like Greenbelt really except with more buildings. It was cold. Really cold. They had their tents up on fork lift truck crates, you know, the sort of warehouse crates that you see stuff on. There didn't seem to be an endorsement from a crate company...
"Eazeecrate... official suppliers of Occupy London: serving the alternative lifestyle since 2011"
Is that irreverent? Maybe so; I sense those souls in the cold with the didgereedoo's and candles and dred -locks are beautiful in a way. Certainly more beautiful than selfish greed... however it manifests itself. After typing that, I had a hunt for a quote, vaguely remembered from George MacDonald - something about how those who are poor may also be slaves to the desire for money. Can't find it for the mo.
'Whoever loves money, never has money enough; whoever loves wealth is never satisfied with his income.' Ecclesiastes 5:10
Sunday morning was beautifully restful as Barnarnaby had cancelled and a lot of gentle pottering and clearing up got done. Mum arrived about an hour before Uncle M and Aunty B, flown in from the States via two days in Rekjavyk. -15 degrees apparently. They're sitting here flicking TV channels as I type. Very good to have them here and it seems like only yesterday since they were here before - 4 years ago.
Stuart and Mary Reed invited me to play for their Christmas party down in Balham on Sunday, which was great fun and the piano playing seemed to go down well. Have you ever read the lyrics of Frosty the Snowman? Now resist the urge.
Afterwards, nice to see Simon Nelson in the band of Holy Trinity Clapham Common. Also, what another lovely chap was the Prison Chaplain from H.M.P.Wandsworth.
No Aviary this morning, but spirulina and cookies at Bullet Bang and Lesley from Puppet Planet plus Aviary this afters. Rare treats all round.
This has been a bit of a News cast round up, and my apologies for the lists of stuff as opposed to any reflection or insight. It was a wonderful weekend though and my thanks to all the 'idiosyncraticness' of everyone involved. The Computer says 'no' to how I have spelt that word. Who should I blame?
TV is talking about 'moral critique of Capitalism' and the Occupy movement. The Chinese blessing: 'may you live in interesting times' seems a bit strong in the light of the past 12 months.
We walked from Knightsbridge through the park and Wonderland and up Piccadilly, trying to use the powder rooms of the Ritz but reconvening at Fortnum's and then to meet Carson and Cammie at Chantage's beautiful concert at St James' Piccadilly, invited by Lucy Britton.The pianissimo's were just ravishing! Well done Lulu and all of you. Really some of the most beautiful choral singing I've ever heard. What a pivilege for us audience.
Carson, Mariaaaaaa and I tried to find repast and repose in Waterstones 5th Floor but sadly just caught the view and not last orders or the time to savour either. One to keep for the future though. The little pub round the corner saw us neck a tomatofruit juice and head home on the buses.
Saturday: well, despite thick cold in head and usual singers excuses, was quite pleased with how it went. Two videos are on youtube, one of which is linked to the blog. Baird was pleased. Jane and Jane and Julia and Father M plus Delores and Rosemary and Sarah came to support, and also Cammie who I'd invited the previous eve. Bless you all for coming along!
The B minor Mass in the choruses sounded fantastic, although it was hard to hear the other Basses apart from David Montagu.Very nice being nested near 2nd Sops and Tenors with Altos within easy hearing. Sensed the inner parts of the music much more than ever previously.
Julmax and I headed for refreshments (thanks J) past the encampment outside St Paul's. Gosh! A bit like Greenbelt really except with more buildings. It was cold. Really cold. They had their tents up on fork lift truck crates, you know, the sort of warehouse crates that you see stuff on. There didn't seem to be an endorsement from a crate company...
"Eazeecrate... official suppliers of Occupy London: serving the alternative lifestyle since 2011"
Is that irreverent? Maybe so; I sense those souls in the cold with the didgereedoo's and candles and dred -locks are beautiful in a way. Certainly more beautiful than selfish greed... however it manifests itself. After typing that, I had a hunt for a quote, vaguely remembered from George MacDonald - something about how those who are poor may also be slaves to the desire for money. Can't find it for the mo.
'Whoever loves money, never has money enough; whoever loves wealth is never satisfied with his income.' Ecclesiastes 5:10
Sunday morning was beautifully restful as Barnarnaby had cancelled and a lot of gentle pottering and clearing up got done. Mum arrived about an hour before Uncle M and Aunty B, flown in from the States via two days in Rekjavyk. -15 degrees apparently. They're sitting here flicking TV channels as I type. Very good to have them here and it seems like only yesterday since they were here before - 4 years ago.
Stuart and Mary Reed invited me to play for their Christmas party down in Balham on Sunday, which was great fun and the piano playing seemed to go down well. Have you ever read the lyrics of Frosty the Snowman? Now resist the urge.
Afterwards, nice to see Simon Nelson in the band of Holy Trinity Clapham Common. Also, what another lovely chap was the Prison Chaplain from H.M.P.Wandsworth.
No Aviary this morning, but spirulina and cookies at Bullet Bang and Lesley from Puppet Planet plus Aviary this afters. Rare treats all round.
This has been a bit of a News cast round up, and my apologies for the lists of stuff as opposed to any reflection or insight. It was a wonderful weekend though and my thanks to all the 'idiosyncraticness' of everyone involved. The Computer says 'no' to how I have spelt that word. Who should I blame?
TV is talking about 'moral critique of Capitalism' and the Occupy movement. The Chinese blessing: 'may you live in interesting times' seems a bit strong in the light of the past 12 months.
Sunday, 11 December 2011
Friday, 9 December 2011
The price of love...
Starberns here in Green Park/New James Bonders is buzzing with security passes and business persons. Bernstar Zovaro has paused amid the working day to join the Harpster (as some do call me) for a hot water and 'azelnuts - I've been here listening to various recordings of Bach on youtube and abusing the hotspotality of the generous Seattle hosts.
Funeral this morn was very grim. He was a 53 year old security guard and the occasion was more distraught than I've ever seen at any service - excepting infant Baptisms. A child pours it's very heart and soul into it's cries and for them the universe has sundered when they're grabbed by a stranger in front of other strangers and strange things are done them involving water and oil. How did you like it? "Today's" relatives struggled but managed to keep a slipping grip.
I'm not in any way trying to be irreverent about what was obviously (the funeral) horrific, just commenting about the church being the place people go to or not at these transitional moments; when stuff happens, people either run away from the Lord or run towards Him. An ex-monk I met once (at a Baptism) was unconvinced by Jack's "GOD'S MEGAPHONE!" understanding of the problem of pain. It's a clever expression and neatly Lewinian; I suppose we do moostly muddle about and then stuff hits us and whatever we can see first or find first or blame first gets the fallout or captures us in our emptiness and the falling into it that happens to us all. Do children blame their mum or dad if the nasty dog/pavement/door/splinter/ or tummyache snaps at them etc? I don't know myself, only being a godfather, but mostly I see the munchkins running to pappy and mammy when puppy gets snappy.
"If we shout into the void loud enough, God answers us back" (Kuba?)
Jack Russell Harmer nearly booked himself a trip to the pound when he snapped at the small child who was being very annoying at the time back in the summer. Praise the Leader no damage was done or drawn as it would have broken my elderly dad's heart had poor Jack met an... I shall not write the words. Father Michael commented in the car a la Norbers ce matin 'I don't do anyone any harm, I only harm myself'. How little did Jack think (?) those jaws were dicing with death when he merely obdogged his doggy nature (and protected his eyes from prodding fingers.) Still, ask me again when I'm a parent. Anyhow, kiddywink concerned ran straight to his ma and pa. Anecdotal evidence, but then again most is.
But apparently we over 12's are pretty much all recovering from puberesence for the next 50 years, until we're too old to make a noise other than the words 'pension' and 'regrets, I've had a few'. Maybe my as-I'm-typing abuse of the aforementioned hotspotality of the free 'leccy chez Starberns is going to be a contributing factor to the fact of the fact that the facts about pensions in this country, factually speaking, are not factastic. It's quite a deal though, the several hours of free workspace at the Coffice Shop, actually on the canteen face, in exchange for a mere £plus or minus.
With the culture of death's malevolence (never heard the expression? - think abortion on demand and eugenicide, theodicide, and moralicide,) we shall probably all be celebrated for our goodness to the taxpayer in choosing to be a shufflin' off the cortal mile before our allotted course is spent.
"He could have spent a lifetime malingering in coffee shops, but no! s/he was the kind of godfather/mother who knew their prayers would increase in efficacy if they were closer to the King than was presently possible in Starbucks."
Cue rejoicing with heart and wallet by the assembled tax payers.
Mere relatives and friends will be paying the price of love:... tears.
Afterwards - will people think more about the price of funeral baked Scotch buffet delicacies than the answer to the riddle of the one about the chicken and the egg? Surely they can taste the difference between mere theory and practise?
If there is a God, I hear me say, (and He was here well before any poultry or dairy products) the crying I heard today means a life means more than a 45 minute newscast round-up; more than staring at the buffet in the church hall with a bunch of almost strangers. It means that in our grief, as in other moments of crisis, we are obeying some law that is our human version of the doggy nature - nobler though - and that law of love is written into the fabric of the bits of stardust to which we return.
It means we are more precious than many sparrows.
Or Jack Russells.
Funeral this morn was very grim. He was a 53 year old security guard and the occasion was more distraught than I've ever seen at any service - excepting infant Baptisms. A child pours it's very heart and soul into it's cries and for them the universe has sundered when they're grabbed by a stranger in front of other strangers and strange things are done them involving water and oil. How did you like it? "Today's" relatives struggled but managed to keep a slipping grip.
I'm not in any way trying to be irreverent about what was obviously (the funeral) horrific, just commenting about the church being the place people go to or not at these transitional moments; when stuff happens, people either run away from the Lord or run towards Him. An ex-monk I met once (at a Baptism) was unconvinced by Jack's "GOD'S MEGAPHONE!" understanding of the problem of pain. It's a clever expression and neatly Lewinian; I suppose we do moostly muddle about and then stuff hits us and whatever we can see first or find first or blame first gets the fallout or captures us in our emptiness and the falling into it that happens to us all. Do children blame their mum or dad if the nasty dog/pavement/door/splinter/ or tummyache snaps at them etc? I don't know myself, only being a godfather, but mostly I see the munchkins running to pappy and mammy when puppy gets snappy.
"If we shout into the void loud enough, God answers us back" (Kuba?)
Jack Russell Harmer nearly booked himself a trip to the pound when he snapped at the small child who was being very annoying at the time back in the summer. Praise the Leader no damage was done or drawn as it would have broken my elderly dad's heart had poor Jack met an... I shall not write the words. Father Michael commented in the car a la Norbers ce matin 'I don't do anyone any harm, I only harm myself'. How little did Jack think (?) those jaws were dicing with death when he merely obdogged his doggy nature (and protected his eyes from prodding fingers.) Still, ask me again when I'm a parent. Anyhow, kiddywink concerned ran straight to his ma and pa. Anecdotal evidence, but then again most is.
But apparently we over 12's are pretty much all recovering from puberesence for the next 50 years, until we're too old to make a noise other than the words 'pension' and 'regrets, I've had a few'. Maybe my as-I'm-typing abuse of the aforementioned hotspotality of the free 'leccy chez Starberns is going to be a contributing factor to the fact of the fact that the facts about pensions in this country, factually speaking, are not factastic. It's quite a deal though, the several hours of free workspace at the Coffice Shop, actually on the canteen face, in exchange for a mere £plus or minus.
With the culture of death's malevolence (never heard the expression? - think abortion on demand and eugenicide, theodicide, and moralicide,) we shall probably all be celebrated for our goodness to the taxpayer in choosing to be a shufflin' off the cortal mile before our allotted course is spent.
"He could have spent a lifetime malingering in coffee shops, but no! s/he was the kind of godfather/mother who knew their prayers would increase in efficacy if they were closer to the King than was presently possible in Starbucks."
Cue rejoicing with heart and wallet by the assembled tax payers.
Mere relatives and friends will be paying the price of love:... tears.
Afterwards - will people think more about the price of funeral baked Scotch buffet delicacies than the answer to the riddle of the one about the chicken and the egg? Surely they can taste the difference between mere theory and practise?
If there is a God, I hear me say, (and He was here well before any poultry or dairy products) the crying I heard today means a life means more than a 45 minute newscast round-up; more than staring at the buffet in the church hall with a bunch of almost strangers. It means that in our grief, as in other moments of crisis, we are obeying some law that is our human version of the doggy nature - nobler though - and that law of love is written into the fabric of the bits of stardust to which we return.
It means we are more precious than many sparrows.
Or Jack Russells.
Englandshire, Britainsville: In a league of her own...
It is the wee small hour of 5 something here in the cloisters of St Anthony's Harpertage and the bell has just rung for prime. Brother Richard is leading the homily this morning (ok, it's Radio 4 thought for the day) and the gossip of the refectory is that the bendy buses are banished from the streets of Nodnol...
"Father, let us not be shackled by the mistakes and errors of the past"
Manflu day 3 hath begun.
Rehearsing last night with Medici and JMB and Luci Briginshaw. What a lovely voice she has - really looking forward to tomorrow. Dear Sheri Bankes of the Peter Kerswell Fanclub (Christmas Card branch) emailed last night very kindly to say she had a prior. Now; Sheri sends Christmas Cards. That's almost all I know about her. This year's is another triumph, the first card to arrive at the Harpertage. I'm not sure whether it's a Christmas Card or a Xmas card - they're certainly in a league of their own... (see photo)
The chatter of the postulants on the transistor is saying there's a food shortage on the Isle of Man. They have their own Parliament and Manxness and I understand that it's a major financial centre. How easy it is for us to think that island identity is weird and not perceive our own oddness. I have a vague theory that the English character (whatever that means - probably identified by red trousers and brown leather loafers, navy blue Blazers, thermosk flasks, panicking about the weather, chip shop culture, talking disproreasonably about schools one went to 30 plus years ago, Carols from King's College Cambridge and sporting events) is an impossible thing; the jolliness of Merrie England starved of the reason and joy of the substance of the sacraments of the feast and pained into Protestant workaholism by King, empire building vainglory and climate, with our churches full of music 'about' God, but without God in the tabernacle. Our Lady's dear separated dowry. Dear Brother Humphrey is perpetuating and embedulating this weirdness on the crystal, with it's particular BBC slant of Heifferford Univarsities: "A definitive study has shown that there is no impact from abortion upon the mental health of the women involved." Pie Jesu, have mercy! Mater dei, ora pro nobis!
Funeral this morning at St Ann's and an early one at that (in every sense) - the bane of organists everywhere has been requested - forgive me liebe Schubert and dear Lady, but Ave Maria is rather less than playable I find, especially for those of us with limited practise feetling time. Not something that Stephen Cleobury ever had to worry about.
For the first time in writing memory I turned over two pages at once when singing my little (!) solo in the Mass. NOW, that may seem, gentle reader, about as exciting as turning up to the opening of an envelope (or tin can), but there was a lesson in there about knowing the music one is singing. About meaning the meaning. Long shall I remember Father Alan Fudge's newsletter comment that the word 'sincere' derived from sine cere, without wax, as in without the wax masks that the classical actors of ancient Reece and Grome would wear. How many classical musicians understand or mean the meaning of what they say? - many will not know what is engraved over the accidentally turned over page. Here in England, we are not culturally allowed to see the mistakes of the past for what they were, so we have little knowledge of how this part of the story ends - even though none of us know what is over the very next page. We imagine maybe that plucky little David Cameron will bring Etonianism to the 'working classes' and Briton's will never, Ever, EVER, SHALL BE SLAVES!!
"What good is it to make a sweet sound, and remain proud."
Few there are in the perilled pews of Anglicharagelicalism who know that the verse of Ye Watchers and ye holy ones which goes (ahem)
"Oh higher than the seraphim
more glorious than the cherubim
raise the glad strain, Hallelujah!
Thou bearer of the eternal word
Most Gracious, magnify the Lord!"
is about the Lady of Our Lord.
Brother Humphrey is still chatting away, and neither he nor I know what is engraved over the next page, much as we might guess, although some do say they know how the next chapter begins.
"May we not be shackled theologically by the mistakes of our past."
Whether England sends a Christmas Card or an Xmas card to her future generations we're certainly in a league of our own...
And so to Matins.
"Father, let us not be shackled by the mistakes and errors of the past"
Manflu day 3 hath begun.
Rehearsing last night with Medici and JMB and Luci Briginshaw. What a lovely voice she has - really looking forward to tomorrow. Dear Sheri Bankes of the Peter Kerswell Fanclub (Christmas Card branch) emailed last night very kindly to say she had a prior. Now; Sheri sends Christmas Cards. That's almost all I know about her. This year's is another triumph, the first card to arrive at the Harpertage. I'm not sure whether it's a Christmas Card or a Xmas card - they're certainly in a league of their own... (see photo)
The chatter of the postulants on the transistor is saying there's a food shortage on the Isle of Man. They have their own Parliament and Manxness and I understand that it's a major financial centre. How easy it is for us to think that island identity is weird and not perceive our own oddness. I have a vague theory that the English character (whatever that means - probably identified by red trousers and brown leather loafers, navy blue Blazers, thermosk flasks, panicking about the weather, chip shop culture, talking disproreasonably about schools one went to 30 plus years ago, Carols from King's College Cambridge and sporting events) is an impossible thing; the jolliness of Merrie England starved of the reason and joy of the substance of the sacraments of the feast and pained into Protestant workaholism by King, empire building vainglory and climate, with our churches full of music 'about' God, but without God in the tabernacle. Our Lady's dear separated dowry. Dear Brother Humphrey is perpetuating and embedulating this weirdness on the crystal, with it's particular BBC slant of Heifferford Univarsities: "A definitive study has shown that there is no impact from abortion upon the mental health of the women involved." Pie Jesu, have mercy! Mater dei, ora pro nobis!
Funeral this morning at St Ann's and an early one at that (in every sense) - the bane of organists everywhere has been requested - forgive me liebe Schubert and dear Lady, but Ave Maria is rather less than playable I find, especially for those of us with limited practise feetling time. Not something that Stephen Cleobury ever had to worry about.
For the first time in writing memory I turned over two pages at once when singing my little (!) solo in the Mass. NOW, that may seem, gentle reader, about as exciting as turning up to the opening of an envelope (or tin can), but there was a lesson in there about knowing the music one is singing. About meaning the meaning. Long shall I remember Father Alan Fudge's newsletter comment that the word 'sincere' derived from sine cere, without wax, as in without the wax masks that the classical actors of ancient Reece and Grome would wear. How many classical musicians understand or mean the meaning of what they say? - many will not know what is engraved over the accidentally turned over page. Here in England, we are not culturally allowed to see the mistakes of the past for what they were, so we have little knowledge of how this part of the story ends - even though none of us know what is over the very next page. We imagine maybe that plucky little David Cameron will bring Etonianism to the 'working classes' and Briton's will never, Ever, EVER, SHALL BE SLAVES!!
"What good is it to make a sweet sound, and remain proud."
Few there are in the perilled pews of Anglicharagelicalism who know that the verse of Ye Watchers and ye holy ones which goes (ahem)
"Oh higher than the seraphim
more glorious than the cherubim
raise the glad strain, Hallelujah!
Thou bearer of the eternal word
Most Gracious, magnify the Lord!"
is about the Lady of Our Lord.
Brother Humphrey is still chatting away, and neither he nor I know what is engraved over the next page, much as we might guess, although some do say they know how the next chapter begins.
"May we not be shackled theologically by the mistakes of our past."
Whether England sends a Christmas Card or an Xmas card to her future generations we're certainly in a league of our own...
And so to Matins.
Thursday, 8 December 2011
URGENT CASE OF MANFLU! COBRA IS GO! REPEAT: COBRA IS GO!
The Willow Christmas Nativity has been and gone; the little baby Jesus has safely been born and Shepherds and Kings/Magi made their scheduled flight plans and arrived at Beth'lem. Innkeepers were reassuringly full (the busy season, best time of the year) and stable room was found for the Saviour of the world.
Speaking of which, I'm always mildly tickled when I see Heman's names amidst the Psalms and I canna be the only one...
There were an awful lot of cameras amidst the assembled Willow parents this morning. I remember mum and Jane used to share one back in the '70's.
'Do not say, "Why were the old days better than these?" For it is not wise to ask such questions.' Ecclesiastes 7:10
We Mediciers had a thought at the Covgar Hostelry last night: an amusing TV programme might be a sort of reverse 'Life on Mars': some sort of story line with a back drop of folk in 21st century teeny London, smoking on tube carriages and buses and in pubs/cinemas/theatres while going to Les Arcs Jaune (Macdonalds) and being asked if they'd reserved a table, then being shown to a white linen laid table for two, silver service, then the soup course is served etc etc, using luncheon vouchers to pay for their meal or maybe signing cheque... a sort of '70's meets 2011's, with the architectural backdrop of Nodnol as we know it today, cars, products, shops, places. I don't know what sort of storyline you'd use though and that would have to be worked out... hey! This idea is copyright to me!
The rehearsing went well for the Christmas Oratorio last night. Thwoo my germy fug the choir seemed pretty accurate and JMB very graciously gave a 'to door' lift service back from ze pub; I'd fallen asleep somewhere around Vauxhall a la Citroen. Sloe Solutions final waft of 2009 product got an airing, laced with ginger and chemicals of a cold ministering to kind. Parp!
'Urgent case of Manflu... convene Cobra! I want the PM aware of every development, it's a dangerous strain and we could go viral... go to Defcon 3, the nation's running out of tissues... critical paracetamol levels'
There's probably an advert in there for Vicks or some other product.
No-one had man flu in the '70's....
Speaking of which, I'm always mildly tickled when I see Heman's names amidst the Psalms and I canna be the only one...
There were an awful lot of cameras amidst the assembled Willow parents this morning. I remember mum and Jane used to share one back in the '70's.
'Do not say, "Why were the old days better than these?" For it is not wise to ask such questions.' Ecclesiastes 7:10
We Mediciers had a thought at the Covgar Hostelry last night: an amusing TV programme might be a sort of reverse 'Life on Mars': some sort of story line with a back drop of folk in 21st century teeny London, smoking on tube carriages and buses and in pubs/cinemas/theatres while going to Les Arcs Jaune (Macdonalds) and being asked if they'd reserved a table, then being shown to a white linen laid table for two, silver service, then the soup course is served etc etc, using luncheon vouchers to pay for their meal or maybe signing cheque... a sort of '70's meets 2011's, with the architectural backdrop of Nodnol as we know it today, cars, products, shops, places. I don't know what sort of storyline you'd use though and that would have to be worked out... hey! This idea is copyright to me!
The rehearsing went well for the Christmas Oratorio last night. Thwoo my germy fug the choir seemed pretty accurate and JMB very graciously gave a 'to door' lift service back from ze pub; I'd fallen asleep somewhere around Vauxhall a la Citroen. Sloe Solutions final waft of 2009 product got an airing, laced with ginger and chemicals of a cold ministering to kind. Parp!
'Urgent case of Manflu... convene Cobra! I want the PM aware of every development, it's a dangerous strain and we could go viral... go to Defcon 3, the nation's running out of tissues... critical paracetamol levels'
There's probably an advert in there for Vicks or some other product.
No-one had man flu in the '70's....
Wednesday, 7 December 2011
"I can do everything through him who gives me strength" Philippians 4:13
Aviary and I are seated at 'our' table and she's saying 'life's so fun' and tapping away on her 'phone (I derive horrible pleasure from that subtle abbreviative indication: forgive me!) - now she's studying or fiddling with her A.M. big hair... the Whiting has passed among us like the wind of the Spirit and blessed us with a breakfast beneficence and we must now unravel the gold of the secret policeman's gospel into the metalwork of wisdom...
Hoist by my own guitar: the library yesterday - the scene, computer user in residence is quietly tapping
away at the Sibelius programme on the first floor in his secret HQ (Buck Pal Rd), and zap! the power goes down for some mysterious guitar-resting-on-the-plug reason... the first time I've fallen prey to the curse of the disappearing data-bytes: is there a home, an after cyber-space life where these translocated works exist in sunny, upland, elysian Microsoft fields, where Steve Jobs plucketh the harp and Bill's Gates are forever open to the blessed and elect...? Oh! yes, one other small occasion of late: the several hundred telephone numbers locked in Blackberry curve purgatory on my dining table.
"Lift up your head, oh ye Bill Gates
and be ye lifted up, ye everlasting doors
and the King of Microsoft comes in..."
I don't know whether I may have mentioned my suspicion that various writings in the final book of the bible, about "giving life to the image of the beast" may have something to do with Artificial Intelligence... presumably, if Apple corp. are involved and still churning out their produits at some future date unknown to all mortal men, it would be called, in hideous parody...
'i-am...'
Isn't there something about the false prophet causing men 'to worship the image of the beast...'???
Anyhow, as I tap away on my Apple (garden of Esca) that all seems dim and distant.
Not to worry you of course!
Uncle M and Aunty B are probably in Iceland at ze moment, due to arrive Nodnol Sunday morning: my heart skipped a beat when I overheard the words "did you hear about the volcano?" as I went to the bus stop after teaching yesterday... knowing dear Uncle M's propensity for natural disasters I would have been unsurprised if something with a name from Hell's dictionary had erupted all over his flight plans, vis. Los Angeles earthquakes and Florida hurricanes and oil slicks...
Good meeting with Rev D.I. from HTCC yesterafter: he's requested two poems for next Saturday's singalong at the Sun.
'They had lamb at the first Christmas
Lamb tender and yet unslaughtered
and greeted by parsnip kings with all the trimmings.
Potato-headed innkeepers said they had no room for them,
the dining mother and father, feeding as we all must feed,
on joy and love and peace between the three...'
He liked the Dove on the Cradle which I also sang for Jane Susle and Mum, Dad, Ran, Jack n Bumble yestereve. They also managed a slice of the Turkey Messiah which was a bit undercooked although should be better when with a strange crowd...
Aviary is still writing away and I've got to get off to my secret Library HQ in Victoria Buck Pal Rd, so I'll leave it there...
Who is good for praying about colds (esbeshially when you've a concert in three days time!!!)?
"I can do everything through him who gives me strength..." even answer the phone...
Hoist by my own guitar: the library yesterday - the scene, computer user in residence is quietly tapping
away at the Sibelius programme on the first floor in his secret HQ (Buck Pal Rd), and zap! the power goes down for some mysterious guitar-resting-on-the-plug reason... the first time I've fallen prey to the curse of the disappearing data-bytes: is there a home, an after cyber-space life where these translocated works exist in sunny, upland, elysian Microsoft fields, where Steve Jobs plucketh the harp and Bill's Gates are forever open to the blessed and elect...? Oh! yes, one other small occasion of late: the several hundred telephone numbers locked in Blackberry curve purgatory on my dining table.
"Lift up your head, oh ye Bill Gates
and be ye lifted up, ye everlasting doors
and the King of Microsoft comes in..."
I don't know whether I may have mentioned my suspicion that various writings in the final book of the bible, about "giving life to the image of the beast" may have something to do with Artificial Intelligence... presumably, if Apple corp. are involved and still churning out their produits at some future date unknown to all mortal men, it would be called, in hideous parody...
'i-am...'
Isn't there something about the false prophet causing men 'to worship the image of the beast...'???
Anyhow, as I tap away on my Apple (garden of Esca) that all seems dim and distant.
Not to worry you of course!
Uncle M and Aunty B are probably in Iceland at ze moment, due to arrive Nodnol Sunday morning: my heart skipped a beat when I overheard the words "did you hear about the volcano?" as I went to the bus stop after teaching yesterday... knowing dear Uncle M's propensity for natural disasters I would have been unsurprised if something with a name from Hell's dictionary had erupted all over his flight plans, vis. Los Angeles earthquakes and Florida hurricanes and oil slicks...
Good meeting with Rev D.I. from HTCC yesterafter: he's requested two poems for next Saturday's singalong at the Sun.
'They had lamb at the first Christmas
Lamb tender and yet unslaughtered
and greeted by parsnip kings with all the trimmings.
Potato-headed innkeepers said they had no room for them,
the dining mother and father, feeding as we all must feed,
on joy and love and peace between the three...'
He liked the Dove on the Cradle which I also sang for Jane Susle and Mum, Dad, Ran, Jack n Bumble yestereve. They also managed a slice of the Turkey Messiah which was a bit undercooked although should be better when with a strange crowd...
Aviary is still writing away and I've got to get off to my secret Library HQ in Victoria Buck Pal Rd, so I'll leave it there...
Who is good for praying about colds (esbeshially when you've a concert in three days time!!!)?
"I can do everything through him who gives me strength..." even answer the phone...
Monday, 5 December 2011
How do I know him? Well; my mum used to do his laundry...
...that was Geoffrey Reed's excuse anyhow - he really needs to change his punchlines/straplines/hairdye/spell check...
we met up at The Castle Pub in Farringdon for Bob's birthday. Funny, that winter thing: you know, cold and the like, jugs of ale and misted up windows. Convincing LOTR Elf impressions were done by Alison and cheeses warmed in the fug of the snug to waft amidst the assembled company. Bob and Helen were off to parts foreign the next morn. A valedictory Hupdy Bufdy was sung.
Geoffrey Reed gatecrashed the party and managed to slip past the bouncers and disable his electronic tag. I've told him before about his under-age drinking and laying off the vodka red bulls, but will he listen: NO! Maybe he should be working in retail...
My young pupil E.T. managed 130 out of 150 in his grade 3 piano exam: distinction! Huzzah! and thoroughly deserved. An adolescent lifetime spent sitting in practise rooms awaits him.
Barnarnarby arrived Saturday morning after I scooted home from seeing Aviary for breakfast (having muddled my Mass times): B and I serenaded the neighbours and the tape machine and slurped coffee and chocs before wending our ways - he to his eyrie in Pimlico and me to Waterloo East and thence to Stonegate (near Rumtumbridge Wells) for the Jackson-Matthews Christmas party, plus carol books and geeetar. The Yamaha grand was sounding well tuned and the Yuletide merriment seemed to be enjoyed by one and all. Unc P and I duetted a bit and I improvised the "We three kings of orient are kosher" that a version of has made it's way by camel-computer-train onto youtube. Really fun afternoon. Chestnuts roasting on the open fires and mistletoe and wine.
Fast drive by fair Cos and Aunt to Buxted, and a home to Battersea by 930pm. Fingers gearing up for Barn's and mine guitar fest next week.
Sunday morning service went well and we were Paula plus Cally, Rosemary and Tina in the St Ann's Choir. Father Michael cooked a delicious Asdapasta and chats of ecclesiology and chats of the importance of openness.
I LOVE staying home on Saturday afternoons and just pottering between computer and piano and guitar. Managed to wrestle with the Laptop and emerged with a few videos on youtube of stuff that I'd recorded last week - things written over the past year mostly. Also heard a lovely song 'The Crow on the Cradle' (a traditional tune) in a version by Mary Black. Very haunting! and magical too. I did a poem/lyrics to the same tune called 'The Dove on the Cradle.'
A wedding at Beth'lem, twixt heaven and earth
the Child of God's promise that men have long searched
And Herod and soldiers: Jerusalem's fear
deceived in their cunning by obedience of seers
and the Dove flown from the cradle
Do google the Mary Black version and you'll get an idea of what is intended with this one.
Michael C cycled over for minced and brewed about 9pm and talk of mine and thine. He's hoping to make our pub gig. Need to press on with invites for that one. I see that my former pupil Ed Sayeed is on the bill as well - that was a really nice surprise!
Aviary and I met for brekker again this morn and I'm sitting at 'our' table in Esca and it's pretty chillsville outside, colder at 815am than it seemed to be at 645am for some reason... mystery!
And so the week beginneth: learnt my aria from Christmas Oratorio this morning 'Grosser Herr und starker Konig' (there are umlauts etc missing from that title but I can't figure out how to find them for the mo on the keyboard). Speaking of German music and musicians, Julmax and I chatted of Beethoven and his spiritual development (there's a slim paperback from the 70's I'm reading by that title). The Missa Solemnis awaits me some sunny Sunday afternoon at St Anthony's Harpertage. I couldn't take med or hail of it on first listening but aim to maybe get a score and sit down for an hour or two. Oh the sweetness of music and God, divinely combined.
'for Music is but three parts plied and multiplied'
(George Herbert)
Father - rhythm
Son - melody
Spirit - harmony
(texture/colour?)
Must be careful not to over analogise. NB.
we met up at The Castle Pub in Farringdon for Bob's birthday. Funny, that winter thing: you know, cold and the like, jugs of ale and misted up windows. Convincing LOTR Elf impressions were done by Alison and cheeses warmed in the fug of the snug to waft amidst the assembled company. Bob and Helen were off to parts foreign the next morn. A valedictory Hupdy Bufdy was sung.
Geoffrey Reed gatecrashed the party and managed to slip past the bouncers and disable his electronic tag. I've told him before about his under-age drinking and laying off the vodka red bulls, but will he listen: NO! Maybe he should be working in retail...
My young pupil E.T. managed 130 out of 150 in his grade 3 piano exam: distinction! Huzzah! and thoroughly deserved. An adolescent lifetime spent sitting in practise rooms awaits him.
Barnarnarby arrived Saturday morning after I scooted home from seeing Aviary for breakfast (having muddled my Mass times): B and I serenaded the neighbours and the tape machine and slurped coffee and chocs before wending our ways - he to his eyrie in Pimlico and me to Waterloo East and thence to Stonegate (near Rumtumbridge Wells) for the Jackson-Matthews Christmas party, plus carol books and geeetar. The Yamaha grand was sounding well tuned and the Yuletide merriment seemed to be enjoyed by one and all. Unc P and I duetted a bit and I improvised the "We three kings of orient are kosher" that a version of has made it's way by camel-computer-train onto youtube. Really fun afternoon. Chestnuts roasting on the open fires and mistletoe and wine.
Fast drive by fair Cos and Aunt to Buxted, and a home to Battersea by 930pm. Fingers gearing up for Barn's and mine guitar fest next week.
Sunday morning service went well and we were Paula plus Cally, Rosemary and Tina in the St Ann's Choir. Father Michael cooked a delicious Asdapasta and chats of ecclesiology and chats of the importance of openness.
I LOVE staying home on Saturday afternoons and just pottering between computer and piano and guitar. Managed to wrestle with the Laptop and emerged with a few videos on youtube of stuff that I'd recorded last week - things written over the past year mostly. Also heard a lovely song 'The Crow on the Cradle' (a traditional tune) in a version by Mary Black. Very haunting! and magical too. I did a poem/lyrics to the same tune called 'The Dove on the Cradle.'
A wedding at Beth'lem, twixt heaven and earth
the Child of God's promise that men have long searched
And Herod and soldiers: Jerusalem's fear
deceived in their cunning by obedience of seers
and the Dove flown from the cradle
Do google the Mary Black version and you'll get an idea of what is intended with this one.
Michael C cycled over for minced and brewed about 9pm and talk of mine and thine. He's hoping to make our pub gig. Need to press on with invites for that one. I see that my former pupil Ed Sayeed is on the bill as well - that was a really nice surprise!
Aviary and I met for brekker again this morn and I'm sitting at 'our' table in Esca and it's pretty chillsville outside, colder at 815am than it seemed to be at 645am for some reason... mystery!
And so the week beginneth: learnt my aria from Christmas Oratorio this morning 'Grosser Herr und starker Konig' (there are umlauts etc missing from that title but I can't figure out how to find them for the mo on the keyboard). Speaking of German music and musicians, Julmax and I chatted of Beethoven and his spiritual development (there's a slim paperback from the 70's I'm reading by that title). The Missa Solemnis awaits me some sunny Sunday afternoon at St Anthony's Harpertage. I couldn't take med or hail of it on first listening but aim to maybe get a score and sit down for an hour or two. Oh the sweetness of music and God, divinely combined.
'for Music is but three parts plied and multiplied'
(George Herbert)
Father - rhythm
Son - melody
Spirit - harmony
(texture/colour?)
Must be careful not to over analogise. NB.
Friday, 2 December 2011
Advertised events up to March 2012, updated January 13th
January 2012
Two new events as at 13th January 2012:
Fundraising song auction: Friday 20th January 2012
Barclays Bank, Deptford High Street 11am-2pm
Harper Harmer (plus keys)
and various other artists entertain and fundraise for Julia Maxfield's and 8 other
directors' forthcoming plays with multi-award winning Stonecrabs Theatre Company, namely:
PlayThings at the Albany 2nd to 4th February
7.30pm £5 per show, £10 per evening
9 shows over three evenings.
www.stonecrabs.co.uk
www.thealbany.org.uk
@Play_Things
Also
Medici Choir with the Brandenburg Sinfonia
Conducted by John Baird
at St Martin in the Fields, Thursday 22nd March 2012, 7.45pm
Programme to include Haydn, "Nelson" Mass and Allegri, Miserere, and Baird, the Sonnet.
Soloists are students from the Royal Schools of Music.
December 2011
New events are Carol Singing at The Falcon Pub, Wednesday 21st December, 7pm, Harper on keys and reading poetry, hosted by Holy Trinity Clapham Common. Around the corner to Clapham North Tube.
Midnight Mass at 2315h, 24th December St Mary Magdalene's Wandsworth Common: in addition to Midnight Mass on the same day at St Ann's Kingston Hill at 1900h.
Kitsch Lounge Riot at the Cafe de Paris: Tuesday 20th December, 9pm on. If you'd like to go you can contact Cafe direct and book a ticket. House band and special guests. I think that Banbury Cross the burlesque act will Not be playing; repeat, Not be playing.
The choir of Heythrop College conducted by Joey Draycott, will be busking Christmas Carols and collecting funds for various charities at Knightsbridge Tube station on Saturday 3rd December at about 2pm onwards.
Their Advent Solemn Vespers is on Thursday15th December at 6.30pm in the College Chapel, Heythrop College, Kensington Square, W8 5HN. We're trying to work out a solo to do. There's entertainment afterwards with mulled and minced.
Medici Choir 60th anniversary concert, 7pm Saturday 10th December: Music from Mass in B minor and Christmas Oratorio and carols for all, mulled and minced after. St Sepulchre-without-Newgate 10 Giltspur Street, City of London, EC1A 9DE. John Baird and David Gostick conducting. Luci Briginshaw - Soprano, Georgina Murray - Mezzo Soprano, Justin Harmer - Bass. Brandenburg Baroque Soloists. www.medicichoir.org/
Sunday 11th December, Holy Trinity Clapham Common Connect service, 6pm for 630pm. Clapham Common.
Friday 16th December, The Half Moon Pub, Herne Hill, Barnaby Hughes and Justin Harmer playing a few home grown songs for about 20 minutes as part of an evening's music at this live music venue. 8pm ish.
Saturday 17th December, The Sun Pub, Clapham Common, 6pm on: Carol singing and the premier of 'The Clapham Christ'. All welcome: organised by Holy Trinity Clapham Common.
Sunday 18th December, St Mary Magdalene's Wandsworth Common, Christmas Carol Sevice, 5pm. Rev Nick Peacock preaching.
I will be playing at Sunday services at St Ann's Kingston Hill on 4th, 18th and 25th December. Also on Christmas Eve at Midnight Mass.
Two new events as at 13th January 2012:
Fundraising song auction: Friday 20th January 2012
Barclays Bank, Deptford High Street 11am-2pm
Harper Harmer (plus keys)
and various other artists entertain and fundraise for Julia Maxfield's and 8 other
directors' forthcoming plays with multi-award winning Stonecrabs Theatre Company, namely:
PlayThings at the Albany 2nd to 4th February
7.30pm £5 per show, £10 per evening
9 shows over three evenings.
www.stonecrabs.co.uk
www.thealbany.org.uk
@Play_Things
Also
Medici Choir with the Brandenburg Sinfonia
Conducted by John Baird
at St Martin in the Fields, Thursday 22nd March 2012, 7.45pm
Programme to include Haydn, "Nelson" Mass and Allegri, Miserere, and Baird, the Sonnet.
Soloists are students from the Royal Schools of Music.
December 2011
New events are Carol Singing at The Falcon Pub, Wednesday 21st December, 7pm, Harper on keys and reading poetry, hosted by Holy Trinity Clapham Common. Around the corner to Clapham North Tube.
Midnight Mass at 2315h, 24th December St Mary Magdalene's Wandsworth Common: in addition to Midnight Mass on the same day at St Ann's Kingston Hill at 1900h.
Kitsch Lounge Riot at the Cafe de Paris: Tuesday 20th December, 9pm on. If you'd like to go you can contact Cafe direct and book a ticket. House band and special guests. I think that Banbury Cross the burlesque act will Not be playing; repeat, Not be playing.
The choir of Heythrop College conducted by Joey Draycott, will be busking Christmas Carols and collecting funds for various charities at Knightsbridge Tube station on Saturday 3rd December at about 2pm onwards.
Their Advent Solemn Vespers is on Thursday15th December at 6.30pm in the College Chapel, Heythrop College, Kensington Square, W8 5HN. We're trying to work out a solo to do. There's entertainment afterwards with mulled and minced.
Medici Choir 60th anniversary concert, 7pm Saturday 10th December: Music from Mass in B minor and Christmas Oratorio and carols for all, mulled and minced after. St Sepulchre-without-Newgate 10 Giltspur Street, City of London, EC1A 9DE. John Baird and David Gostick conducting. Luci Briginshaw - Soprano, Georgina Murray - Mezzo Soprano, Justin Harmer - Bass. Brandenburg Baroque Soloists. www.medicichoir.org/
Sunday 11th December, Holy Trinity Clapham Common Connect service, 6pm for 630pm. Clapham Common.
Friday 16th December, The Half Moon Pub, Herne Hill, Barnaby Hughes and Justin Harmer playing a few home grown songs for about 20 minutes as part of an evening's music at this live music venue. 8pm ish.
Saturday 17th December, The Sun Pub, Clapham Common, 6pm on: Carol singing and the premier of 'The Clapham Christ'. All welcome: organised by Holy Trinity Clapham Common.
Sunday 18th December, St Mary Magdalene's Wandsworth Common, Christmas Carol Sevice, 5pm. Rev Nick Peacock preaching.
I will be playing at Sunday services at St Ann's Kingston Hill on 4th, 18th and 25th December. Also on Christmas Eve at Midnight Mass.
Thursday, 1 December 2011
Mama says you're pretty tonight...
So Stacey Jackson my close personal rocker-mum friend text-mails up and invites me over to write with her plus her close personal pop-star friend, then reveals it's a lady called Plavka - yeah, there's not many by that name, certainly in SW7 or 3 - well I'm guessing there's a few more in Croatia anyway.
Google disclosed a few snippets when I put her name in.
Plavka is married to a friend of Rupert de Borchgrave, and I'd met the husband dahn the Phoenix last summer, when he was sharing a pint with Henry Jackson and I was drinking with Rupert: WHO'S 40th BIRTHDAY IT WAS YESTERDAY WHEN WE WERE COMPOSING!
Ok, that's not entirely impossible or improbable, importable or improssible, but it was kind of weird... ANYHOW!... Stace, Plavka and I tried a few things out and came up with something that made 2 of my pupils (and their mother) down in Wandsworth Common, come running back into the room after their lessons with excitement when I started playing it. Admittedly Mum didn't come running, but they all asked for me to play it again, and it's been buzzing around my head and guitar strings for the past 24 hours.
Stace and I buzzed a few lyrics suggestions back and forth, but I've been composing a spoof version based on comments from Wandsworth Common pupils...
"I don't know if I wrote this song
but if you think you like it then please sing along
Even if it's Britney, it wouldn't be wrong
But Mama says I'm singing tonight..
"I don't know how the chord structure goes...
(then something about powdering noses and
the producer having a couple a couple of guys that he knows...)
"So Mama says I'm singing tonight!"
I hope it's a hit. I might do a version of the spoof (ie. the lyrics above!) onto youtube, anyhow...
Funeral yesterday for young father (57 ish) at St Ann's. Took the attached photo of the Organ loft Cross in the morning sunlight.
A lot of tuesday was spent wrestling with computer gear and recording various youtube offerings which I plan to drip feed to the t'web (when I get a chance). Tried hard to get my broken camera replaced at Jessops but the Manager (a hot coal blessing upon you madam and your products) wasn't shifting. I was placated by nice young man called Justin who actually knew what he was talking about. (Not me... repeat: not me.) Looks like Santa Nicholas will be visiting the camera shop. Again.
Ended up buying from Graham at Drumshack (honestly: I needed it!) a new-to-me electro acoustic classical guitar with electric pick ups. Oh, yes, and a rainbow guitar strap. And a keyboard case. IT WAS A TENNER AND NEW THEY'RE £60! The keyboard case that is.
(How could I resist...)
Well, the truth is the whole point of having a portable keyboard is that I can take it places and it's already got a date up the road at the Sun pub for poeming and carol singing, and any future Literary Lunches will take on a new character if we're with keys. I'm told that, as a musician, I'm allowed to buy these sorts of things.
Mr Whit joined Aviary and I for a post-church breakfast at Esca this morn. Ramuna, the waitress muse, who's name means Daisy in Lithuanian (I think) and who told us why she's called as much, was looking very museful. Milo dropped in for supper last night (well, a selection of greens that is and some iron) and we wrestled with the Apple and memory sticks. Indomitable and I chatted.
It's Medici Choir shortly, and I'm orf to Covgar to rehearse our B minor and Christmas Oratorio offerings for the 60th Anniversary concert on the 10th December. (At St Sepulchre without Newgate at 7pm.)
Mum and Dad's wedding anniversary is today; wisdom suggests I should refrain from saying the number, but it's a good figure...
We had a pre-anniversary celebration dinner on Tuesday joined by Rindle McDindle and the cast of Eastenders and Holby (Hmmm.) Jack Russell Harmer got a special 2nd walk. Bless.
Google disclosed a few snippets when I put her name in.
Plavka is married to a friend of Rupert de Borchgrave, and I'd met the husband dahn the Phoenix last summer, when he was sharing a pint with Henry Jackson and I was drinking with Rupert: WHO'S 40th BIRTHDAY IT WAS YESTERDAY WHEN WE WERE COMPOSING!
Ok, that's not entirely impossible or improbable, importable or improssible, but it was kind of weird... ANYHOW!... Stace, Plavka and I tried a few things out and came up with something that made 2 of my pupils (and their mother) down in Wandsworth Common, come running back into the room after their lessons with excitement when I started playing it. Admittedly Mum didn't come running, but they all asked for me to play it again, and it's been buzzing around my head and guitar strings for the past 24 hours.
Stace and I buzzed a few lyrics suggestions back and forth, but I've been composing a spoof version based on comments from Wandsworth Common pupils...
"I don't know if I wrote this song
but if you think you like it then please sing along
Even if it's Britney, it wouldn't be wrong
But Mama says I'm singing tonight..
"I don't know how the chord structure goes...
(then something about powdering noses and
the producer having a couple a couple of guys that he knows...)
"So Mama says I'm singing tonight!"
I hope it's a hit. I might do a version of the spoof (ie. the lyrics above!) onto youtube, anyhow...
Funeral yesterday for young father (57 ish) at St Ann's. Took the attached photo of the Organ loft Cross in the morning sunlight.
A lot of tuesday was spent wrestling with computer gear and recording various youtube offerings which I plan to drip feed to the t'web (when I get a chance). Tried hard to get my broken camera replaced at Jessops but the Manager (a hot coal blessing upon you madam and your products) wasn't shifting. I was placated by nice young man called Justin who actually knew what he was talking about. (Not me... repeat: not me.) Looks like Santa Nicholas will be visiting the camera shop. Again.
Ended up buying from Graham at Drumshack (honestly: I needed it!) a new-to-me electro acoustic classical guitar with electric pick ups. Oh, yes, and a rainbow guitar strap. And a keyboard case. IT WAS A TENNER AND NEW THEY'RE £60! The keyboard case that is.
(How could I resist...)
Well, the truth is the whole point of having a portable keyboard is that I can take it places and it's already got a date up the road at the Sun pub for poeming and carol singing, and any future Literary Lunches will take on a new character if we're with keys. I'm told that, as a musician, I'm allowed to buy these sorts of things.
Mr Whit joined Aviary and I for a post-church breakfast at Esca this morn. Ramuna, the waitress muse, who's name means Daisy in Lithuanian (I think) and who told us why she's called as much, was looking very museful. Milo dropped in for supper last night (well, a selection of greens that is and some iron) and we wrestled with the Apple and memory sticks. Indomitable and I chatted.
It's Medici Choir shortly, and I'm orf to Covgar to rehearse our B minor and Christmas Oratorio offerings for the 60th Anniversary concert on the 10th December. (At St Sepulchre without Newgate at 7pm.)
Mum and Dad's wedding anniversary is today; wisdom suggests I should refrain from saying the number, but it's a good figure...
We had a pre-anniversary celebration dinner on Tuesday joined by Rindle McDindle and the cast of Eastenders and Holby (Hmmm.) Jack Russell Harmer got a special 2nd walk. Bless.
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