Well, Lulu Britton's surprise birthday party on Friday night ended in a bouncer powered exit from Bar Italia at 0330h Saturday morning - Joey Dreycott, Aviary and I being the last men and '10 year-old' standing... it wasn't big and it wasn't clever, but it WAS to do with a paper airoplane and a circular takeaway cup top or two...
Then Saturday, with Aviary to Lower Marsh in Waterloo and the Grumpy Cafe - ubercool! AND there's a resident cafe cat... pub with Rosanna and McDondle and finally, after a quick nap in the chair under the duvet, to band practise and supsups at the McInnesses...
THEN, Sunday morning, to Norbers for Organers (thanks for the lift Delores) and back to Brixton for brekker with the Rev Blackley and the Hotlips Gospel Singers - Cammie Day, Lulu and Aviary makes 3...
THEN, Sunday arvo, to HTCC for Connect rehearsal and service with Rev. Kit... Liked his praying with your ears thing and also the Five Finger prayer pointer - THUMBS UP: thanks for the good. Forefinger: point the way please Lord. Big strong middle finger: praying for those in power. Ring finger: pray for those you love. Weak little finger: pray for those in need.
THEN, home for delish smoked Haddock and lentils and singing practise in prep for todays shenanigans: Aviary, Nick the Bapvic and I met for Mass and prayer followed by brekker at Neros: then bumped into Lawrence (Rosanna's son), Dom (from Connect), had a hot drink at Puppet Planet Lesley's place, and headed to the basement of the dodgy massage parlour on Lavender Hill to try and release some of that back tension that's accumulated over the past 2 months since my visit to Dr Song and co. (Funnily enough, 'Dr Song and the Massage of Joy' is one of the most visited of my blog pages).
Moni put me through half an hour of skeleto-muscular pain but managed to sort things out to the extent that I was able to find my bottom A at the studio with Aaron - Emma Dain had forwarded me a link to the search for a singer able to sing a bottom E0, (it was on the ONE Show or something similar) so I managed - thanks to Aaron's Basstone kindness - to lay down a weird track or two of me singing EXTREMELY low. It's not big and it's not clever, but it does feature me singing the lowest 'note' (and I use the term advisedly) on the piano - E0 is 7 semitones higher. At last, a use for my spare octave of growl!
So it's been a quiet weekend at Lavender Cross...
Monday, 20 February 2012
Friday, 17 February 2012
Plucking and Clipping...
Sophie nee Parmenter very kindly invited the Harper up to the snowy Notts village of Car Colston. Last minute impulse pack at the Batt(ersea) cave being.... yes, you haven't guessed it... my toy harp.
Hey presto, on arrival at Rose Cottage a few hours plus tard, exhibit 1, looming large in the sitting room, a 3/4 size harp, as given to Sophs as a wedding present or similar by Mr and Mrs Parm.
Rather odd. She seemed grateful for the present of the 1/12th size toy version: I had no idea she played the harp.
Naynyhow, coincidences aside, I did my first harp recital that eve to Sam n Sophs and the critics agreed that it was a true rendition...
Which brings me to the subject of Nasal Hair Clippers.
No good home should be without them. 'Tusker' used to be my nickname among the dormitory corridors of Rigauds, but no more! Ever since purchasing my first pair of NHC's I have dispelled the dark clouds of nasal hair shame. I am free, free as a nostril, open to life, to love, to air...
Spotted the advert (see photo) in Jermyn street: sounds like one of those embarassing MP's expense items that the Telegraph dug up a couple of years ago...
'PM in £47 Nasal Hair Clipper scandal'
Hmmm. Got a sort of ring to it.
My dear friend Rob commented that it's a good job the ones shown are the luxury version. At that price I should flumping well hope so!)
Aviary locked herself out of her flat this morning and headed to Clapjunc for retail therapy diversion tactics. If she lived off Piccadilly do you think there's a chance that it would be Nasal Hair Clippers for Christmas?
Non grazie!
Hey presto, on arrival at Rose Cottage a few hours plus tard, exhibit 1, looming large in the sitting room, a 3/4 size harp, as given to Sophs as a wedding present or similar by Mr and Mrs Parm.
Rather odd. She seemed grateful for the present of the 1/12th size toy version: I had no idea she played the harp.
Naynyhow, coincidences aside, I did my first harp recital that eve to Sam n Sophs and the critics agreed that it was a true rendition...
Which brings me to the subject of Nasal Hair Clippers.
No good home should be without them. 'Tusker' used to be my nickname among the dormitory corridors of Rigauds, but no more! Ever since purchasing my first pair of NHC's I have dispelled the dark clouds of nasal hair shame. I am free, free as a nostril, open to life, to love, to air...
Spotted the advert (see photo) in Jermyn street: sounds like one of those embarassing MP's expense items that the Telegraph dug up a couple of years ago...
'PM in £47 Nasal Hair Clipper scandal'
Hmmm. Got a sort of ring to it.
My dear friend Rob commented that it's a good job the ones shown are the luxury version. At that price I should flumping well hope so!)
Aviary locked herself out of her flat this morning and headed to Clapjunc for retail therapy diversion tactics. If she lived off Piccadilly do you think there's a chance that it would be Nasal Hair Clippers for Christmas?
Non grazie!
Thursday, 9 February 2012
Requiescat in Pace, dear Giles.
Folk from JCFL spent three hours at the Basstone studio yesterday laying down a version of Beautiful Flower, poem and piano by Peter Kingsley, music and singing by me, 12-string guitar playing by Robert Enoch. The Harper's early guitar track didn't survive the edit...
Well... the song survived the process and I still rather like it: not always the case when you're recording something. Peter's got the master copy for internet purps and I'm really looking forward to hearing it on the stereo at home - away from the over sensitive (and accurate!) speakers of Aaron's studio.
Beautiful Flower/Gentle and kind... Mother of God and Mother of mine...
Teach me the way to the Heart of your son... your way of compassion/till the battle is won
It sort of rocks backwards and forwards and it's quite lyrical and very melifluous.
Ah! Bless!
Funeral today for Giles Wintle of Liz and Giles fame from Medici Choir, an old Westminster, solicitor and a Mary Magdalene congra man for 40 years and much loved by his family and many friends. Very gentle, thoughtful man, and a wonderful husband. Of course, everyone had expected Liz to predecease him (she's got throat cancer and is wheel-chair bound) - death has this funny way of happening - one week someone's pushing his wife around at a City of London concert, the following month he's being carried out of the church with the Nunc Dimittis being sung.
Now lettest thou thy servant depart in peace.
How many of us would pray the following though...?
Lord, let me know mine end, and the number of my days
that I be made sure how long I have to live...
(Psalms? Ecclesiastes? Ecclesiasticus?)
I suppose the World ticks by, partly because - as a general rule - we don't plan the date of our death. We build for a future we almost always won't witness, pension pots we won't entirely use up, food in the cupboard that will still be there (rotting) when our Alsation nibbled corpse is found a few weeks overdue of the best before date of the milk in the fridge...
For some reason, a snippet of trivia that has come my way over the years is that dogs (Alsations? Jack Russell Harmer's?) will balk at eating a man's hands or feet... maybe they'll find Jack or Jack's successor looking fairly well fed at my flat one day and just a pair of hands on the piano keyboard, and a pair of surprisingly heavy shoes on the pedals and maybe a hollowed out set of clothes...
This is less than savoury - apols!
But the truth of the matter is that we have to learn to start dying daily. Dying to oneself is something we have to begin doing this side of the crematorium curtain...
Guess that means I should start doing some guitar practise now, not later!
Grazie!
Well... the song survived the process and I still rather like it: not always the case when you're recording something. Peter's got the master copy for internet purps and I'm really looking forward to hearing it on the stereo at home - away from the over sensitive (and accurate!) speakers of Aaron's studio.
Beautiful Flower/Gentle and kind... Mother of God and Mother of mine...
Teach me the way to the Heart of your son... your way of compassion/till the battle is won
It sort of rocks backwards and forwards and it's quite lyrical and very melifluous.
Ah! Bless!
Funeral today for Giles Wintle of Liz and Giles fame from Medici Choir, an old Westminster, solicitor and a Mary Magdalene congra man for 40 years and much loved by his family and many friends. Very gentle, thoughtful man, and a wonderful husband. Of course, everyone had expected Liz to predecease him (she's got throat cancer and is wheel-chair bound) - death has this funny way of happening - one week someone's pushing his wife around at a City of London concert, the following month he's being carried out of the church with the Nunc Dimittis being sung.
Now lettest thou thy servant depart in peace.
How many of us would pray the following though...?
Lord, let me know mine end, and the number of my days
that I be made sure how long I have to live...
(Psalms? Ecclesiastes? Ecclesiasticus?)
I suppose the World ticks by, partly because - as a general rule - we don't plan the date of our death. We build for a future we almost always won't witness, pension pots we won't entirely use up, food in the cupboard that will still be there (rotting) when our Alsation nibbled corpse is found a few weeks overdue of the best before date of the milk in the fridge...
For some reason, a snippet of trivia that has come my way over the years is that dogs (Alsations? Jack Russell Harmer's?) will balk at eating a man's hands or feet... maybe they'll find Jack or Jack's successor looking fairly well fed at my flat one day and just a pair of hands on the piano keyboard, and a pair of surprisingly heavy shoes on the pedals and maybe a hollowed out set of clothes...
This is less than savoury - apols!
But the truth of the matter is that we have to learn to start dying daily. Dying to oneself is something we have to begin doing this side of the crematorium curtain...
Guess that means I should start doing some guitar practise now, not later!
Grazie!
Tuesday, 7 February 2012
Snowed up in the Organ loft...
Snow! Which meant that Saturday night's excursion to Deptford to see Stonecrabs Theatre's Playthings at the Albany ended in a 115am arrival back at the Batt(ersea) cave. Julia Maxfield's play was on the Thursday eve (which I wasn't able to see) but managed to get to Depters for Friday and Saturday eve.
Really loved the shows: Orton plus Dario Fo were the only playwrights featured that I'd heard of out of the 6 plays I saw, but a lot of the writing was excellent. Good acting too. Is that very over-simplistic? They were all drama school graduates - wasn't sure what to expect in that department but my memories of the Drama Barn at York University had not steeled me to expect excellence. It's a real skill; you get used to the high quality on film and T.V. (well, most film and some T.V.) and then there's the sort of standard you often get from less professional environments, so when you see high quality actors up-close it's very affecting. How do they make themselves cry??? That's always puzzled me...
Anyhow, the DLR came to our rescue on our way home, for Lauren, Julia and I, and, apart from the 15 mins walk from Slosqua to Chelsea Bridge before the Batt bus kicked in, our little adventure remained amusing and light-hearted (given the temperature and conditions under foot).
The other snowed effect ricocheting around the weekend for the Harper was that I ended up volunteering to play the organ at Mass at St Mary's Clapham Common on Sunday at the 12pm. MUCH fun! (Mass at Norbers had been scaled back).
I love these little opportunities for adventure that the good Lord sends one's way. Been practising the organ at Holy Trinity Clappers quite a bit of late - so gratifying to literally sense oneself getting better at something every half hour. This whole organ lark is hugely rewarding - I'm only 25 years behind with my practice... still I've picked up a few other skills along the way so I should be able to catch up in 20 years time maybe!
Respect to Ian Curror - retiring in April as Organist of the Royal Hospital, Chelsea, after 37 plus years.
And still a lovely chap!
Grazie.
Really loved the shows: Orton plus Dario Fo were the only playwrights featured that I'd heard of out of the 6 plays I saw, but a lot of the writing was excellent. Good acting too. Is that very over-simplistic? They were all drama school graduates - wasn't sure what to expect in that department but my memories of the Drama Barn at York University had not steeled me to expect excellence. It's a real skill; you get used to the high quality on film and T.V. (well, most film and some T.V.) and then there's the sort of standard you often get from less professional environments, so when you see high quality actors up-close it's very affecting. How do they make themselves cry??? That's always puzzled me...
Anyhow, the DLR came to our rescue on our way home, for Lauren, Julia and I, and, apart from the 15 mins walk from Slosqua to Chelsea Bridge before the Batt bus kicked in, our little adventure remained amusing and light-hearted (given the temperature and conditions under foot).
The other snowed effect ricocheting around the weekend for the Harper was that I ended up volunteering to play the organ at Mass at St Mary's Clapham Common on Sunday at the 12pm. MUCH fun! (Mass at Norbers had been scaled back).
I love these little opportunities for adventure that the good Lord sends one's way. Been practising the organ at Holy Trinity Clappers quite a bit of late - so gratifying to literally sense oneself getting better at something every half hour. This whole organ lark is hugely rewarding - I'm only 25 years behind with my practice... still I've picked up a few other skills along the way so I should be able to catch up in 20 years time maybe!
Respect to Ian Curror - retiring in April as Organist of the Royal Hospital, Chelsea, after 37 plus years.
And still a lovely chap!
Grazie.
Friday, 3 February 2012
What word sums up your life?
It being Valentine's time of year and all that, the Harper ventured across the portals of the Scribbler Card shop in Victoria Station. Didn't really know what to expect (and I suppose I shouldn't have been surprised) but there was almost unmitigated filth shouting its underhand-wares from the counter tops... the business is built around the word "muck" (and its less happy friends...)
The pleasant young man behind the counter said that, apparently, that "muck" is good for business. Interesting if you think about the heart being attracted by what it finds that it feeds on most: the word 'beauty' in Greek is 'kalein' - to call. Kinship being that which attracts, I'm not sure if most people would wish to own up to kinship with the sort of thing/word that was used on the front of the large majority of the cards at the shop - wouldn't you clean that sort of thing off the bathroom floor!!!???
Please, if you are so minded, do go and have a look - and maybe a complain - for yourself. I toyed with taking a photo of the display for blog purposes, but thought rather not.
Nick the Bapvic and I were talking about the moral issues involved for the businessperson who owns the chain. Should they be making money/creating jobs/paying tax and exploring their talent to do so whatever the cost? Or should they be seeking something other than the 'mucky dollar' first? Maybe even seeking the Kingdom...
What one word sums up your life? It's a good question I think. I've once or twice thought I liked the word 'Hope' as a sort of watchword: Hopeful is a character in Pilgrim's Progress as some may remember.
If I had to express an opinion about it, I'd probably vote against allowing cards of 50's housewives plus four letter word/euphemistic caption to be sold. One on its own doesn't look so offensive but multiply it by a few hundred and it begins to get pretty aggressive...
FOUR LETTER WORD EUPHEMISM INUENDO SEXUAL CONNOTATION KNOWING COMMENT SARCASTIC ASIDE DEMEANING PHRASE SUBTLE PUTDOWN GRAPHIC IMAGE OF INTERCOURSE WORD REFERRING TO EFFLUENT WORD SUGGESTING ONANISM BODY PART OF MAN SLANG FOR GENITALS IMPLICATION FOR BODY PART OF WOMAN PERSON CONSIDERED ONLY ON GROUNDS OF POTENTIAL SEXUAL GRATIFICATION PERSON REFERRED TO BY THEIR SEXUAL ATTRACTIVENESS AND WITH NO OTHER REGARD FOR THEIR PERSON SIZE OF GENITALS HINTED AT SLANG WORD FOR HOMOSEXUAL TOURETTES DISEASE MOCKED BECAUSE OF ITS ASSOCIATION WITH VULGAR LANGUAGE SWEAR WORD BLASPHEMOUS REFERENCE TO CHRIST MOCKING REFERENCE TO PERSON OR PERSONS OF PARTICULAR SEXUAL ORIENTATION.......
You get the picture?
If that 'merry list' is unpleasant enough to read in the format used, imagine it without the little drapery above and in the direct form. And that's good for business???!!!
'Whatever is true, whatever is noble, whatever is right, whatever is pure, whatever is lovely, whatever is admirable - if anything is excellent or praiseworthy - think about such things.'
Philippians 3:8
Sow an action reap a habit; sow a habit reap a character; sow a character reap a destiny.
Meanwhile, I've got to be careful of 'casting first stones...' but there's a war on, and people at Scribbler don't seem to realise the fighting is taking place right over their shop counter, and they're the victims...!
Shocked of Battersea.
Grazie!
The pleasant young man behind the counter said that, apparently, that "muck" is good for business. Interesting if you think about the heart being attracted by what it finds that it feeds on most: the word 'beauty' in Greek is 'kalein' - to call. Kinship being that which attracts, I'm not sure if most people would wish to own up to kinship with the sort of thing/word that was used on the front of the large majority of the cards at the shop - wouldn't you clean that sort of thing off the bathroom floor!!!???
Please, if you are so minded, do go and have a look - and maybe a complain - for yourself. I toyed with taking a photo of the display for blog purposes, but thought rather not.
Nick the Bapvic and I were talking about the moral issues involved for the businessperson who owns the chain. Should they be making money/creating jobs/paying tax and exploring their talent to do so whatever the cost? Or should they be seeking something other than the 'mucky dollar' first? Maybe even seeking the Kingdom...
What one word sums up your life? It's a good question I think. I've once or twice thought I liked the word 'Hope' as a sort of watchword: Hopeful is a character in Pilgrim's Progress as some may remember.
If I had to express an opinion about it, I'd probably vote against allowing cards of 50's housewives plus four letter word/euphemistic caption to be sold. One on its own doesn't look so offensive but multiply it by a few hundred and it begins to get pretty aggressive...
FOUR LETTER WORD EUPHEMISM INUENDO SEXUAL CONNOTATION KNOWING COMMENT SARCASTIC ASIDE DEMEANING PHRASE SUBTLE PUTDOWN GRAPHIC IMAGE OF INTERCOURSE WORD REFERRING TO EFFLUENT WORD SUGGESTING ONANISM BODY PART OF MAN SLANG FOR GENITALS IMPLICATION FOR BODY PART OF WOMAN PERSON CONSIDERED ONLY ON GROUNDS OF POTENTIAL SEXUAL GRATIFICATION PERSON REFERRED TO BY THEIR SEXUAL ATTRACTIVENESS AND WITH NO OTHER REGARD FOR THEIR PERSON SIZE OF GENITALS HINTED AT SLANG WORD FOR HOMOSEXUAL TOURETTES DISEASE MOCKED BECAUSE OF ITS ASSOCIATION WITH VULGAR LANGUAGE SWEAR WORD BLASPHEMOUS REFERENCE TO CHRIST MOCKING REFERENCE TO PERSON OR PERSONS OF PARTICULAR SEXUAL ORIENTATION.......
You get the picture?
If that 'merry list' is unpleasant enough to read in the format used, imagine it without the little drapery above and in the direct form. And that's good for business???!!!
'Whatever is true, whatever is noble, whatever is right, whatever is pure, whatever is lovely, whatever is admirable - if anything is excellent or praiseworthy - think about such things.'
Philippians 3:8
Sow an action reap a habit; sow a habit reap a character; sow a character reap a destiny.
Meanwhile, I've got to be careful of 'casting first stones...' but there's a war on, and people at Scribbler don't seem to realise the fighting is taking place right over their shop counter, and they're the victims...!
Shocked of Battersea.
Grazie!
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