Snowdon 2020 with photos aplenty - Come as you are but be prepared

“I suppose this blog ought to have a musical theme. The current pandemic is wreaking havoc within an industry I love, and I have a huge amount of music to express but I can’t justify dedicating time to pursuing this expression at the moment. I have more pressing projects that are demanding my attention. This is my blog and I do love to write and perhaps reading it will take your mind off the everyday and inspire you to take to the hills or to find something that challenges you to the point of making you want to get up in the early hours because you have a mission to accomplish.
”

The pinnacle of my walking adventures

(The subtitle of this blog post refers to my feelings of inadequacy and subsequently acceptance before a significant walk)

At 6.59am last Friday 18th September I set off from the deserted car park in Llanberis opposite the tiny train station. I psyched myself up for a long hard climb, collecting my thoughts as I ate my banana meditatively and gulping the last of my now cold coffee.

Still life with fruit

It was looking like a beautiful day, the sky a promising shade of early morning pale blue with hardly a cloud in sight. I’d researched Snowdon a lot, and I mean a lot, looking longingly at dozens of exciting photos on the internet and social media, visualising each different route. No amount of homework could have prepared me for the full Snowdon experience. I’d waited for this moment for months.

This way please

I took a right off the mini roundabout, reassured when I saw a man sporting a backpack wearing walking boots in the distance and the two men I’d seen assembling mountain bikes next to me in the car park. The path I chose is somewhat misleadingly called the tourist path. If I was a tourist aiming to do a gentle tourist type stroll, this isn’t a route I would take. I’d take the train!

Tourist path

Bone white stones

The initial incline from Llanberis was very steep, an excellent warm up for my legs and lungs. I wanted to stop as little as possible but walking uphill for 4.5 miles on not quite enough sleep was tough so I had plenty of mini breaks, making the most of the awe inspiring scenery to take photos and regulate my breathing.

Post

bristling with coins embedded

I was alone for most of the ascent, passed by a few brave couples walking down, presumably having gone up in the dark to swoon at a spectacularly romantic sunrise. A couple of trail runners sauntered down effortlessly past me, their spindly legs carrying their lithe limber frames over weathered rocks and stones. I recognised that look in their eyes, one of gentle but complete focus. One false move…

After the first 20-30 minutes of any walk, I get into a zone. It’s a different time zone up a mountain anyway. Time seems to stand still and suddenly an hour has passed. And then another. My thoughts come and go. I wonder if I’ll ever make it, rounding a corner to see another intimidatingly steep slope. Be in the moment, don’t get ahead of yourself, I tell myself comfortingly. Remember all the other tough walks and hills.

The journey

It can be scary business walking up and down mountains and I always expect the unexpected. I kept my eyes peeled for Crib Goch just in case I took a wrong turn onto it. That perilous peak isn’t on my bucket list. I arrived at a small shuttered building, the halfway house. At two points on the tourist path with its twists and turns, the railway track crosses over the stony route.

Bridge with a view

Arriving at the second bridge, I was blown violently by a very strong gust of wind. Hood up! Brace! I had a moment of panic seeing clusters of clouds billowing around at the same level as me and I regretted leaving my waterproofs in the car. Thankfully the rain held off. I struggled to stand up straight, buffeted sideways by the unpredictable gusts. I hadn’t accounted for the wind. This made progress a bit slower but exciting. There’s a vertiginous drop after that second little bridge, a vivid reminder of how dangerous Snowdon can be. I hugged the boulders to my right, enlightened by a heightened awareness of my mortality. People die on Snowdon.

I checked my watch. 4 miles done. Only another half mile to go. I still couldn’t see the summit. I sucked hard on 3 sweets for fast energy. I got to this little rock:

A quiet time of day

and the trig point was in sight. I wanted to make this moment last, savouring the feeling of being above the clouds at the top of the highest mountain in Wales. It was windy and significantly cooler at the summit. Carefully choosing my moment, I arrived at the steps:

Stairway to…

and up I went. I saw two big long fingered black birds careering playfully around the trig point. Engaged in their daredevil winged dance, they fought to stay in the air current before giving in to the wind, letting themselves be blown backwards a hundred metres at lightning speed and, dear readers, I got scared, very scared. I got to the last step and couldn’t stand up for the wind! I sat down, put my walking poles away and braced myself. I just couldn’t do it! To my right was a drop so sheer and so dramatically steep I couldn’t bring myself to look.

Hair raising

hood raising gusts

A small group of men were whooping gleefully around the trig as I, on my hands and knees, looked on hopelessly, almost tearful with frustration. I asked a man in a stripy orange beanie hat if he would hold my hand and help me up but I still couldn’t do it. Down the steps I went, exasperated. I gathered all my strength and willpower for a few minutes and gave it another go. The wind seemed even stronger. I tried again and again but I couldn’t stand up. After a moment’s reflection, I decided to call it quits. Snowdon, you win. This time. I’ll be back.

The infamous Snowdon trig point

I’ll take on the trig another day, maybe next year. It really was enough for me to get to the top of Snowdon solo and see the views of all the surrounding mountains and lakes, and the sea in the distance, humbling reminders of my smallness and the magnitude of everything around me.

Disappointed much?

Anticlimax. Look how many people there were by now. I bet there was a queue by the time i was brunching in Llanberis

The summit visitor centre and facilities were shut so I decided to head back down as I was getting cold and it was getting busier. I greeted fellow walkers with a cheerful “Bore da!” as I made my way down. There were a few Welsh walkers. Some smiled and said Hello. Some people ignored me. How rude, I thought. Perhaps they were so breathless they couldn’t speak. Other people wanted a bit of a chat. I stopped every mile or so, again imprinting the scenery in my memory. There’s no place quite like Snowdonia.

Back down at halfway house, now transformed into a modest snack shop, I had an interesting chat with the shopkeeper, a friendly Welsh lady from Llanberis. She was concerned about the young woman she’d just served who seemed very inexperienced who was enquiring about taking the train back down once she got to the summit. She’d told her she wasn’t sure that was possible. When I got back down to town, the trains were fully booked and there weren’t many running anyway. A mile from Llanberis, two quite unfit people greeted me and said “Please tell us the summit’s just round that corner?!!” “The summit’s just round that corner” I obliged optimistically. Then I shook my head and regretfully informed them it was a fair way again and suggested they aim for halfway house. I bet there were sore feet and muscles that night but you have to start somewhere.

A great slate gate post

My first serious long hill walk took place last September when I did a 9 mile circular walk around Stoodley Pike near Todmorden with my friends Gareth and Sue. It felt like an epic walk at the time. These days I feel hard done by unless I’m walking double figures and next year I’d like to go beyond 20 miles. There are so many mountains I’d like to discover, so many other peaks in Snowdonia not to mention Ben Nevis and Scafell Pike. Then there’s the Brecon Beacons, the Munros, the Wainwrights…

I bought myself a pair of trail running shoes for my birthday, and I wore them last Friday. I really love running downhill, so I couldn’t help but run a few of the smoother sections on Friday. That’s freedom and my idea of fun these days. That’s when I forget all my worries and problems.

Meditative contemplation

Back down in bustling Llanberis by midday, I saw a giant glossy plastic statue of a whipped ice cream and I celebrated walking and running 1,002 miles so far in 2020 with an ice cold crispy creamy 99 for brunch. It’s all about the food too you know! I won’t stop now either - a rolling stone... It’s only September and I’m looking forward to walking and running in more challenging weather conditions. I ran in rain on Wednesday night, it’s very good for the immune system!

I’ve never been sporty. I was always one of the last kids to be picked for a sport team at school and with good reason. I had an unpredictable right hand throw and I couldn’t run far or fast. I still don’t see myself as a walker or a runner but when I’m out, I forget all my worries and I have loads of energy and a fresh outlook on my problems as soon as I’m back.

I used to drive to picturesque places and sit in the car admiring the views, feeling a bit frustrated that I didn’t have the confidence to get out and walk, wishing someone would hold my hand and walk with me. So going up Snowdon solo really was a big deal.

Another world

I realise that walking has temporarily replaced music in my life. I don’t have a business for the time being. My playing work has probably all disappeared this year but I seem to be taking it in my stride. I’m as passionate about the great outdoors as I am about music, it’s just that the world of music seems less accessible to me for now. The outdoors? Well, it’s quite literally right on my doorstep!

Hiraethus

Climb Ev'ry Mountain

Imagine - above us only sky

September has been a very busy month so far. Not busy in a musical sense but I’m optimistic that the situation for us freelance musicians will improve in the coming months and into 2021. People NEED events and weddings and celebrations with live music and I’ve heard talk of the void left by the lack of cultural stimulation that was previously filled by theatres and live music venues. I consider myself extremely fortunate to have my part time job at my little local Sainsbury’s to fall back on - what would I have done without that?!!

With talk last week of another local lockdown here in Kirklees, I decided it was the perfect time to visit my family in North Wales and attempt to tick a big 2020 box - walking up Snowdon. I’ve never been up, not even on the little train (call the NSPCC!! I think my parents were very busy) and at the beginning of last week I had run and walked 980 miles so far in 2020. I mused that getting to 1,000 miles on Snowdon would be an appropriate way to celebrate my accomplishment and so the planning commenced. I’ve accumulated quite a lot of essential equipment since I started pursuing my outdoor activities more seriously so I knew my gear was good to go. I checked the weather forecast for Llanberis obsessively all week and by Thursday, it was looking like a damn fine day with near perfect conditions for September.

Well, I did it! What’s this got to do with music and the harp? You may well ask but I’d rather be up a big mountain than laid in bed bemoaning my situation or drowning my sorrows with alcohol. I’ve missed practicing regularly for specific performances but most of all I’ve missed playing for my own pleasure and I’ll be delving my fingers deep into those resonant strings regularly from this week.

My next post here will be all about my Snowdon adventure, including photos! Here’s a taster:

Mountains and sheep

I’m sure I gained a few greys by the time I got back down

The Lowry - a Photo blog post for readers that aren’t on Facebook

I saw some spectacular sights before work last night:

Imperial War Museum

from the Lowry

Those dark eyes

watching over me one last time

Imperial War Museum

with a flood of poppies

Those dark eyes again

Gotta take the rough with the smooth

Dusting off the Autumn cobwebs

Remembrance Day walk

The makings of a nest

Blue sky

Stony layers

Stream bank and autumn leaves

Upstream

A glimmer

Texture

Landscape

Life on Tour - week 2, Hull

I had a fantastic time in Hull and it certainly wasn’t dull. I love combining pleasure with business, even more so when it involves being near water. After a cold rainy start on Thursday and a smooth drive past Goole towers, Friday was glorious. Waking a bit later than usual meant rescheduling my intended trip to Withernsea beach. I settled instead for a bright brisk jolly welly yomp around Humber Bridge Country Park to dust off the cobwebs from travelling and quite an intense performance of Tosca on Thursday evening.

Park art

Smile with your eyes

I always arrive early for a performance, especially at a new venue. I haven’t played at Hull New Theatre for at least fifteen years so I didn’t know what to expect. I couldn’t even find where to unload my harp so I called for assistance. Chris Ladds deserves a medal and is one of the many unsung heroes of Opera North. He’s the orchestral operations manager. I know he’s only a quick call away when I need to get my harp in, and he invariably has useful advice about parking and other inside information. Chris has quite a challenging job in that he has to satisfy the rehearsal and performance needs of sixty or so musicians, no mean feat when we want to do our jobs to the best of our ability.

Olde and new

The pub near the theatre. The modern building is Hull History Centre

Each pit presents a different set of problems and as I learnt, the Hull pit is no exception. The only position available for me was in front of the doors, at the business end of four horns. With a half hour seating rehearsal, a tentative panoply of options and scarcely enough time to settle in, I didn’t realise how loud it would get. I had earplugs and fingers for the louder moments and I was provided a screen. However, my main problems were my distance from refreshingly passionate and expressive Dutch conductor Antony Hermus, and having a much reduced sightline to him as I was on a lower level than the bulk of the orchestra. I played two short sections in the rehearsal, insufficient time to work out that it would be a difficult position and do something about it. It was an edgy performance and I was glad to have my Pilates mat with me and a bathtub to iron out the creases. I felt no guilt whatsoever at indulging in my hotel room pop up spa the following morning.

Room with a view

These days I tend choose quiet hotels with a bit of greenery whenever possible and Hull was no exception. Hessle is a hassle free fifteen minute drive from the city centre and a generous stone’s throw from the iconic Humber Bridge and its Country Park. I was in room 101 with bridge and tree views as well as wildlife.

Unexpected avians

Peacock plethora in the hotel gardens

Golden gateway

San Francisco? Nope, Hessle

Using my time wisely on tour can be tricky. Playing isn’t an option as my instrument can’t easily be moved from the pit and I feel uncomfortable about practising when there are technical rehearsals in the theatre. My harping wouldn’t be a welcome accompaniment. For this part of the tour I decided to get physical in the morning, so I got a brisk walk under my belt on Friday and a long Pilates session on Saturday. It seemed to work as I felt quite calm. Meditation is daily and non negotiable and helps with learning to manage anxiety.

Precarious

Sliding tree

On Saturday I met up with Patti from the wardrobe department. One of a set of triplets with an older sister, she’s a beautiful bohemian Basque woman from Bilbao and she lights up the corridor as she breezes by. She’s very passionate about her work and I could sense that after a year of living on the road without a base, she’s ready to settle down to pursue a stable job. She says touring and freelancing is very exciting but difficult and tiring at the same time.

Patti

Creative, quirky and funny

We met at Trinity Market over coffee and cannoli and chewed the fat freely. Quite literally in my case after Patti returned to her digs to do her own laundry. I brought enough healthy home cooked food for the first two days meaning I’d earned a bit of a Saturday splurge. I don’t often eat out and when I do I try to choose something I wouldn’t make at home. I went the whole hog, plumping for meltingly tender pork belly, black pudding, smoked egg yolk and sauerkraut coleslaw on flatbread with a side of chips. I didn’t eat the bread - double carbs?!! Within twenty minutes the somniferous food took effect and I headed to my car for my siesta.

Filthy

Saturday special treat

I love that warm open expressive freedom innate to many Mediterraneans and southern Europeans and I miss it from the time I spent in France. I feel uncomfortable around people with stiff upper lips and Patti and I were in agreement that we Brits can be difficult to decipher. Why can’t we just say what we mean? Why do we feel the need to sugar coat everything?

Running out of time and steam from our express conversation, I earmarked the Maritime Museum and the docks for my next visit to Hull. I love ports - the atmosphere and aromas there are intoxicating, a sweet vivid reminder of unforgettable childhood trips with my Dad when he worked on the ships.

The beauty of the beach

without having to get in my car and drive

After an emotional performance of Tosca, my get out was swift and smooth thanks again to Chris’s willingness to protect my harp from the sudden strong gusts of wind. Llwyd welcomed me home with open paws, well, open packets of food strewn across the doormat actually. It’s her favourite expression of protest at being left home alone other than getting herself temporarily rehomed.

Next week is Nottingham and it often snows on this leg of the tour at this time of year, so I’m having my winter tyres put on next week just to be on the safe side. I’m braced for what the season heralds. And I still haven’t met elusive Welsh truck driver Huw - is he hiding from me? Maybe next week at the Lowry…

Structure

Looks like a sci-fi elephant

Bruno Catalano - Les Voyageurs

Intention

It's a funny old thing intention, as I'm discovering.  At the end of last year, when I was starting to face some major changes I needed to make in my life, I set a few intentions out of curiosity, just as an experiment.  I was mildly cynical but willing to give anything a go.  At the time I was receiving some coaching around my business which blurred into my personal life too as I realised I had quite a few matters to address across the board.  The coaching helped immensely and my life started to take a more positive direction as I felt my empowerment surge upwards.  One of the intentions I set myself was to perform Tosca once in my life.  I was listening to a lot of music at the time which comforted and reassured me and helped with the deep sense of loneliness I felt.  I listened to a lot of Puccini, one of my favourite composers.  His harp parts are refined and carefully crafted with such intricate detail and he always writes beautifully for my instrument.  His music is a joy to study and any opportunity to plunge my fingers into his generous fistfuls of notes is a delight.  Puccini's score is vibrant with passion.  In it, he explores a full spectrum of emotions, the colours of which are exposed in his exquisite writing.  The pacing of Tosca, both musically and theatrically, guarantees a great night's entertainment for audience and performers alike.  

Powerful imagery

Those dark eyes from the Opera North brochure

I've been invited to play in the offstage band for a season of performances of Tosca with Opera North starting this month.  I've played this role before, about ten years ago.  It's a sweet simple Gavotte for flute, viola and harp which comes at the beginning of Act 2, soon after the soberingly spiritual Te Deum which closes Act 1.  It's a lovely moment that vanishes like the twinkling of a star.  In so many ways it's a great gig as there's no need to tune my entire harp, which I do anyway because of the resonance, and I don't need to put my orchestral blacks on.  I don't even need to wear make up as I'll be invisible to the audience.  In theory, when you play in the pit, you're invisible too but I always feel there's something missing unless I've got a slick of lipstick or some eyeshadow to bolster my confidence.  After a minute or so playing, I pack up quietly and leave.  I always felt musically deprived and hungry for more when making my exit from the backstage area to those delicious sounds that continued without me.  An unfamiliar Puccini heroine, I'm looking forward to getting to know Tosca intimately.

You can imagine my bemusement at realising that I'm about to fulfil one of the intentions I set myself at the end of 2017, and far sooner than I imagined.  I've been invited to perform the pit part for two performances of Tosca in Hull in November.  Hmmm.  Interesting.  I'm seeing there's a lot to be said for intention.  I'd better go and wash my dishes.  I've given myself this morning off before continuing to cram - my first rehearsal has been moved forward to tomorrow.  Six hours of Puccini on a Monday.  What a great start to the week!

Treading Water

I've got Aquafit after lunch today, my third visit to the pool this week.  I've decided, or rather my body has decided, that four bouts of 45-60 minutes exercise a week is the way forward.  A problem I felt last week though is that everyone seems to want the best spot in the pool.  Funny that.  I don't want to punch-kick someone or be punch-kicked.  So today, in the interests of pushing my boundaries and remaining unbruised, I'm going to try the deep end.  I've done some research and asked my questions and apparently you just have to engage your core a bit more.  Well, I've got a core now so I'm going to ask for a bit of help getting the float you have to wear round your middle on.  I've looked over at the handful of floaters in the deep end from my usual position and none of them seem to be flailing around or sinking to the bottom.  There's always a lifeguard on duty too so I reckon I'll be ok.  

I don't know if it's my increased physical activity or a temporary surge of brain power but after a slow start to my note learning, my brain seems to be assimilating a lot more information faster than it has for a long time.  Maybe it's out of necessity and simply setting myself some targets.  I've even almost got some pieces memorised, something I haven't managed for quite some time.  It's very reassuring to realise I've still got it.  A bit like Aquafit, it's about making myself go to the unknown side, which could translate as taking the sheet music away.  That void feels quite terrifying but ultimately liberating.

I had three proper coffees today and no nap.  At least, I planned not to nap, but straight after my third coffee I felt an overwhelming urge to sleep and I did.  For almost two hours.  I don't get that.  How can I have a strong stimulant and sleep so solidly?  Maybe it's a gift?  I'm sure some people would love to have my slumber skills.  Perhaps I'm just super relaxed at the moment?  To be on the safe side, I've got an appointment with my GP for my MOT tomorrow.  Needles, urgh.  

I've never been a frequent visitor at the doctor's.  I'm not a believer in throwing medication at a problem until it goes away, within reason.  There are times though when it's the only option.  In 2000 I became depressed.  Faced with some seemingly insurmountable challenges arising from my work in South Africa coming to an end, and some repercussions from the death of my Dad the year before this, I was prescribed an anti depressant which I took for a year and a half.  For 18 months I felt nothing much.  Eventually I got fed up with the numbness and came off them and started to feel alive again.  I haven't taken an anti depressant since.  My state of nothingness probably gave me some sort of platform on which to stand, a base from where the only way was up and out, but the only thing I found that actually helped was talking with a carefully chosen objective professional who was emotionally distanced from my situation.  I'd had a first wonderfully positive experience of therapy in Cape Town immediately after Dad's death in 1999.  Thinking I was "normal" and didn't need to look at issues in my life (what issues?) I started a long journey of unravelling some complex stories I'd created for myself.  Distraught isn't a strong enough word to describe how I felt about Dad's death.  It was like losing a very strong, lively, funny, sensitive part of my self.  

Daddy Cool

I LOVED that raccoon sweater

My first therapist Janet, a beautiful South African woman with smiling eyes, helped me start looking at the parts of me I didn't want to see and in the initial silent trauma following Dad's death, when my longing for him was unbearable, she hypnotised me which offered momentary solace to my distress which proved to be priceless.  I still remember the warm feeling of being taken back to when I was a blissfully happy four year old, a feeling that helped me so much during the days of darkness that followed when I had to just put a brave face on and mimic being alive.

Cute

and irritating

So, back in Wales, jobless and living with my Mum, I resumed my therapeutic journey and followed an interesting path of experimentation.  I was stuck in a rut.  I was so grateful for my experience with Janet which offered an excellent barometer for who I could work with.  One of the first UK counsellors I met took my Mum's side so she was ditched quite quickly.   I found a counsellor I clicked with who instinctively gently pushed and challenged me, and I got back on my road to recovery.  It led to a new and more satisfying phase in my working life, taking me back to the RNCM in Manchester as a mature student.  I had this unquenchable thirst to perform and share my music.  I still do, but as I get older it's getting a bit harder.  I still feel I've got something to say from behind my harp.  It's complicated and quite difficult to explain, and I'm still working it out.  Like Aquafit, I might need to try another approach, a different unfamiliar part of the pool.

Holiday Snaps 3

My old stomping ground - a quick jaunt down memory lane

Tower of Hillary's Church

From the castle car park.  The Clwydian Range in the background

Easing myself gently back into work mode, my holiday ended with a night at my Mum's and a visit to my harp teacher when I was in secondary school.  Here are some photographic highlights.  I do miss Wales and I equally love being in Yorkshire.  There are many parallels, though one glaringly big difference is that any sea is far from where I live now.

Château Denbigh

The impressive ruins of the 13th century castle.  They don't make them like they used to

Windows

that have seen a lot of action

Peaceful

Probably not so peaceful in its heyday

A brief visit to Denbigh Castle yesterday brought back many sweet memories of times when I used to hang out there with my friends.  It's an amazing site drenched in history, and an evocative reminder of what life could have looked like way back in the 13th century.

Looking up

The kind of rugged landscape that was on my doorstep as a kid

On our walk last week, we snaffled a few remaining wimberries.  A holiday highlight when my sister and I were kids was a picnic at Llyn Brenig and wimberry eating and picking on Denbigh moors on our way home.  Mam made a damn fine tart with the fruits of our precious haul.  She also made elderflower cordial which I didn't like much as it was packed with such a generous quantity of sugar I couldn't taste the fruit.  Being told it was good for me seemed to intensify my aversion.

Swan like, aged 22

Fancy having to wear a sleeveless dress in December!  She told me she was absolutely freezing and her feet were in agony.  

Happy day

 I loved dressing up in her dark pink bridesmaid frock and I remember how the coarse net material felt

Food was quite simple when I was growing up.  Dad was the cook actually, and he collected some exotic recipes on his work travels at sea.  What I wouldn't give to have another taste of the chicken he used to prepare smothered in a moist spice rub so fiery my young tastebuds couldn't handle the burn so I removed the skin.  There'd be none of that now.  An enthusiastic passionate cook, Dad's food was always delicious and meticulously prepared.  I've asked Mam for the recipe but it's been lost in transit.  As for Mam, well she keeps it simple and is a very good cook when she puts her mind to it.  She makes the best chips in Denbighshire.  She's recently discovered the joys of the sweet potato and I hope she'll get some in her chip pan.

The apple doesn't fall far from the tree

Hard to tell if she's eyeing up the bride or the huge cake

Demure

I recognise that twinkle in her eye, and that posture actually

Crinoline ladies

My beautiful new to me plates.  The reassuring china clatter they make reminds me of my grandmother preparing us a little something to eat

Storks perhaps?

I wonder what cruel fate befell their long elegant bills

Pleasing curves

I just LOVE a nice clean harp part

I have been taught and mentored by some exceptional teachers and I always love catching up with my second harp teacher, Ceinwen.  She was hugely influential on my journey into the harp and music and I'm indebted to her for inspiring and encouraging me.  I remember looking forward to the car journeys to her home for my lesson and being fascinated by the photos, books and harp memorabilia that adorned her teaching room, not to mention her stories about her harp adventures and experiences.  Only on very rare occasion did I shy away from practice, usually if it was an exam piece I didn't like.  We share a similar mindset and approach to work and its ethic.  It was lovely to see her and her husband Tim looking so well and the ideal way to get myself in the mood for the harp.  It was great to be away and it's good to be back, but when's my next holiday?

Holiday Snaps 2

UFO

Blissful late evening stroll

It's the second full day of my break in North Wales and I'm having a fabulous time.  The weather was fairly poor yesterday but it didn't dampen my spirits.  My day started with a long stroll on the beach which was quite brisk to combat the cool August morning chill.  I spotted some fine specimens.

Jelly cake

Fascinating transparency

Tranquillity

Spot the heron, oystercatchers too

Beach life

Wobbly alien

I got back to base camp where we did a group Qigong session which helped me feel calm, stretchy and centred.  As with all the best breaks, my trip revolved around food and I could get used to not having to think about what meal to prepare next (well, maybe not that one), washing dishes and where to eat out.  Yes, I ate out and it was a real feast in terms of flavour, quality and service.

A snooze became a 2.5 hour deep sleep and after a slightly grumpy reawakening, my mood lifted as we hit the sights of Conwy where I succumbed to all sorts of holiday temptations.  Chocolatier Baravelli's was like walking into a miniature chocolate wonderland.  A shrine to the magnificent cocoa bean, I had to limit myself to the most intriguing sounding flavour combinations with their mind boggling array of truffles, amongst them mango and black onion, and black olive and rosemary, both of which won my vote.  I got away with some 100% chocolate which I can't wait to try, and the roughly textured shards of dark chocolate bark with ground coffee was earthy with just a hint of caffeine so my deep slumber was undisturbed last night. 

Baravelli Truffles

Works of art - mango and black onion, violet cream, lavender cream, geranium cream, black olive and rosemary

Next up was Isaac Simeon, artisan patissier extraordinaire.  Disappointed that I wanted to photograph him at the end of the day, his shelves depleted and eyelids heavy, I might have to return again this morning to buy a loaf or three just to keep us both happy.  He'd been up since 4 and, running his business single handed while his wife and business partner lovingly fulfils her maternal calling, he is clearly a man with a lot on his plate.

Isaac Simeon

with a small selection of his edible masterpieces.  If I worked here, I would have eaten the profits

I limited myself to three small exquisite concoctions to be shared and sampled with decaf coffee later and I felt relieved his bread had sold out, probably quite some time earlier.  Shutting shop at 5pm, his final ports of call were a couple of restaurants to deposit some of his fine wares.  Originally from Spain, his eyes ablaze with passion, I think he's going to be very busy again after his annual leave.  His patisserie beautifully boasts flavour profiles that are defined with expert clarity and it's so very moreish.  I've never seen or tasted meringues like his - not overly sweet, the amalgam of light-as-you -like buttery melting pastry, airy peaks of floaty foamy meringue, and mouth tingling zingy curd that almost made me pull my citrus face had me in raptures.

Cosmopolitan

Alluring shop front

Having seen the delightful name displayed throughout Conwy, my next visit was to Parisella's ice cream parlour.  My friend was heavily engrossed in books at the library and I was getting a bit peckish.  I had resisted temptation, walking past the busy shop with ease first time so as not to be late for our meeting.  Even my ploy to find a cashpoint was foiled in my attempts to miss last orders.  I was glad I could only fit two of their umpteen varieties, both imaginative and familiar, into my dark brown wafer cone and gladder still that my friend had the decency not to take my photo as we walked along the harbour past the crab and lobster pots.  In my haste to escape the crowded parlour, I forgot to pick up the handful of serviettes I needed to preserve my dignity.  I couldn't have cared less with my chocolate and pistachio moustache and beard and sticky chocolate smeared right hand.  I even managed to dribble some on the bottom of my jeans.  The pistachio was outstanding, dotted with precious small green nuggets, and it wasn't in the same ballpark as even the most prestigious supermarket brands.  Cone envy soon had passers by asking where I'd sourced my cool comforting bounty.

Scene from the Middle Ages

A bevy of swans

A brief brew at base camp before we finally decided on our dinner destination on a Friday night in peak season led to a new discovery, East in Llandudno.  Tucked away near the station opposite a tattoo parlour, it was a real find.  All our food needs were catered for with grace and ease and our myriad questions answered with gentle authority.  I'm clueless when it comes to ordering oriental food so I was delighted that my companions were well schooled.   The only thing I had to decide was whether to have soup and which one to have.  A Cantonese restaurant with a twist of Japanese, the menu was varied and intriguing.  It was packed before 7pm, a good litmus test for the quality of what we experienced.  The bold flavours were put together with an expert lightness of touch, and the freshness of their produce made for a very satisfying evening.  My personal favourites were the beef sizzler with black bean sauce and the sea bass.

Captive audience

Noh Japanese theatre masks at East restaurant

Back at HQ again, after a brief and slightly ridiculous dressing up session, my heart continued to sink as it was decided that we would watch telly.  More a fan of conversation and board games, I was swiftly drawn in with utter fascination as I watched what must be one of the most loving touching tributes from a daughter to her parents I've witnessed.  The fruit of ten years' loving labour, the short film she made is a painstakingly heart wrought reenactment of my friend's parents' days of youth, including their wedding day.  Every tiny prop and minuscule personage had been hand crafted from an imaginative selection of materials, then photographed, and assembled with stop animation before being edited and embellished by the addition of a soundtrack.  Most of this labour of love took place in the kitchen of a flat in Manchester.  I've known my friend since we were so high and I marvelled with nostalgia as I remembered people and places from what almost feels like a past life.  I felt a bit embarrassed as I recognised my own playing as part of the track.  Honoured to be included in such a personal dedication, I feel privileged to be gifted some seriously talented creative people in my life.

Gorgeous gorse

and so many heather hues

This evening I head off to see my Mum before normal service resumes next week.  Have I missed my harps and music?  I've hardly had time to think about them and the more I think about them, the more I look forward to my binge next week.  It's going to be a very busy, challenging, interesting few months and I'm feeling focused and ready - bring it on.

Beautiful

dark dahlia

Polar opposite

blooming beautiful dahlia

The blues

Holiday Snaps 1

Resonant

A quote from an interview with conductor Marin Alsop about listening to music, or not, in her free time. Writing seems to fill some of the gaps for me

We all loathe looking at other people's holiday photos don't we?  So here we go, this is my blog and I can put up what I like.  This album is a record for me, a few glimpses, reminders of good times and things that piqued my curiosity and took my fancy.  We no longer have those huge folders with their stiff sticky filmed cardboard leaves taking up so much space and gathering dust.  I put up the equivalent of an out of office announcement on my Facebook page yesterday and the effect was interesting - it helped me commit to actually being in holiday mode.  By Christmas (sorry) I'm going to see if I can manage to set that up for my email account.

Works really well

with strong decaf for a bit of a boost - don't most people want to lie on a hot beach under a coconut tree?

This is day 2 of my caffeine detox hence the manifold meaning of the title of this post.  What can I give up next?  Perhaps exercise the way things are going - I've committed to four classes this week in an attempt to stay awake and keep my energy levels up and my mood buoyant, and not eat anybody or punch them in the face.  With my customary sense of commitment, I've bought a box of decaf tea and ordered some highly recommended coffee beans as the ready ground stuff isn't cutting it in terms of either flavour or process.  We'll see how I go.  The mornings are tough as I'm awake at 5 and soon gagging for a proper brew.  There's the mid morning slump followed by the post lunch slump and the late afternoon one to look forward to, and the day wouldn't be complete without an après supper sag.

Balance Balance

Balance Balance

It makes me think of a sign at my friend's house where I'm going for a bit of a break at the end of the week which reads "drink coffee - do stupid things faster with more energy".  I did get a lot done in two days and probably more calmly than if I'd had my fix, but my fuse has been short and my mood foul when alone or when the slightest challenge arises.  I would say I'm able to deal with issues more calmly though, so that can't be bad.  I've felt a lot of neck and shoulder tension today but that could be down to having a session on the hedgehog in Pilates last night.

Pilates hedgehog

Not an instrument of torture, it really gets into the pressure points, especially when I stand on it or position it at the base of my neck or lower back

Tomorrow morning's big job is cleaning the oven, guaranteed to have me cursing and ranting although I'm never happier than when it's done and it will be clean enough to eat my dinner out of.  It will be detox day 3 and as yet I haven't managed a single page of the book I have lined up as my holiday read.  I feel it will be a case of all or nothing again.  Getting an extra 2 hours' sleep won over reading today and I could have slept on. And on. 

YSP deer shelter

With my lovely nephew engaged in chat in my favourite corner, the stone benches warmed by recent sunlight,

One of my nephews came to stay last weekend, at first for one night and he ended up staying for three.  I started switching to holiday mode when I met my sister, her husband and one of my two other nephews at Huddersfield leisure centre.  Sharing the company of minors gave me the excuse to put on my swimwear and join them on the huge and slightly terrifying slides.  Morgan and I would have kept going had our collective hunger not stopped play.  

Morgan

with his new best mate. Llwyd is very picky about the company she keeps and Morgan's gentle chilled energy led to her sleeping at his feet all night

It was interesting having company in my house.  As low maintenance as they get, Morgan's easy going presence felt like a soothing accompaniment to my life.  All he wanted was plenty of sleep, some light entertainment and a bit of food.  And a lift home to Wales.  He can come again.

Enormous old cedar

Tiny young nephew

We got our dose of culture and fresh air visiting two of the wonders of the Yorkshire Sculpture Triangle, the Hepworth and YSP.  Accompanied by two friends, it was a hilariously educational trip for all concerned.

Unidentified objets d'art

Stimulating company

Hypnotised

by Shiota's work yet again

My domestic chores ticked off the list, all that's left to do is pack my bags, make a few calls, paint my toenails, pay a visit to my lovely seamstress Pola, and get to Aquafit by 2.  Once I'm on that beautiful coastal road to somewhere, the A55, I'll know I'm nearly there.  I'll be lightly packed too.  No harp, no pillow, just a small suitcase and a bag.  Everything I need is already there.

Surreal gift

Pink and red, one of my favourite colour combinations. I had to tear myself away from the Dali replica Aphrodisiac telephone in the gallery shop

Location

Wakefield Rapids. The heron can't have been feeling photogenic as he'd just heaved himself up into the air

On vacation

Back on duty 20/8/18

My Favourite Things

Birthday card

Very me

During one of my visits to Leeds this week, I was taken by surprise by a new experience.  A busker's playing stopped me in my tracks, so much so that I got my wallet out and gave him not enough money considering the quality of his playing.  A sensually dulcet toned saxophonist, I can well imagine him gracing the stage of a city centre jazz club that evening.  If not, why not?  I'd love to find out who he is.  The title of this blog post is what he was playing without a hint of Julie Andrews on a grassy mountain top.  There was so much soul and beauty in his playing.  Another thing that took me by surprise was finally spotting an elusive pair of peregrines, one with a fresh pigeon in its talons.  After some urgent screeching, there they were soaring elegantly and effortlessly through the skies towards a high rise building.  Excited, I looked around for any fellow twitchers but nobody noticed. 

2/8/2018 is an auspicious sounding date isn't it?  It's going to be an interesting year and one of change, I can feel it coming.  It was my birthday, a funny number one too and I had a great day during a fun filled busy week.  Here are some photos of the highlights:

Dad

My favourite home baked breakfast from the freezer with coffee from my favourite mug

Sweet treat

Linton's home baked brownie with all the trimmings from last Sunday.  Hot chocolate cake and only a few spoonfuls of two other ice cream varieties went down easily on my birthday...

Leeds Art Gallery

Cuckoo mouth wallpaper.  Geometrically pleasing - does it come in pink?

Doing coffee before doing lunch

My lovely mate John, his equally lovely other half Alison beside me

New favourite

Smells amazing and great branding 

Great to be working

at an extravagant wedding at one of my favourite venues, Wortley Hall

My gorgeous favourite harp

and I love my happy dress from my favourite shop.  I love my hair colour too courtesy of my favourite hairdressers.  My head feels lighter.  Somewhat appropriately there's a hint of purple rinse though you can't tell from the photo

Unexpected gift

from Amy, yesterday's beautiful bride.  How did she know about me and pink?

Time pieces

Growing up.  Why wait for fifty to get a "ladies watch"?  Dad had a Seiko Kinetic which fascinated me as a kid.  After much research I found this solar powered beauty. It feels strong and weighty and grounding even though it's small and feminine.  I love that modernity coupled with the Roman numerals though I'll miss the colourfulness of my old Swatch

Getting lippy

Fuchsia Flood in textured tube

Take out

Best Thai in town.  The complexity of the flavours made my eyes go funny

Clonter Opera

Clonter

Rose Garden

I'm enjoying a fantastic busy fortnight working at Clonter Opera in deepest darkest sunniest Cheshire.  I remember hearing the name Clonter with some fascination as an undergraduate student at the RNCM and I do have a strong sense of déjà-vu, although my memory won't stretch quite that far back.  Hailed by some as the Glyndebourne of the North, Clonter is a fantastic endeavour for singers seeking to gain experience of some of the core operatic repertoire and it boasts strong links with the RNCM.  If it wasn't for the signage you would be forgiven for mistaking Clonter for just another Cheshire dairy farm.  My drive to work past droves of cows lolling along their well-hooved path from pasture to parlour with bovine discipline is proof of the terrain.  In effect, it is an opera theatre in a barn.  How cool is that?  You can find out more about Clonter's fascinating creator Jeffery Lockett and his brainchild by copying this into your browser: https://www.clonter.org/about-clonter/jeffery-lockett/

Workplace welcome

The tree lined driveway and its neighbouring maize fields.  Not a parking meter in sight

I arrived bright and early last Saturday morning and had a quick car catnap in the quietest car park you could ever imagine before polishing off my breakfast, having been warmly greeted by Chief Executive Isabella and her faithful companion Cedar the spaniel who, in her tenth year, seems to be something of a Clonter legend.  Isabella is a legend in her own right of course.   One of three Lockett daughters, she ensures the smooth running of the Clonter Farm Music Trust along with her siblings.  I unloaded my harp after being shown the best route into the pit (what, no lift?!) and was helped by another stalwart Clonter personage who goes more than the extra mile to ease all things backstage, the lovely Mel.  A natural multitasker, she assumes her role as Production Manager and Stage Manager with the greatest of ease, and I remember her from my more recent RNCM postgrad days.  As my colleagues arrived, I felt reassured to see some familiar faces and the new ones proved very friendly - there's a genuine sense of camaraderie in the pit.

With three consecutive six hour rehearsal days kicking off at 10am, and to break down the driving, I stayed over one night at one of the nicest most peaceful hotels I've ever experienced!  I slept like one of the trunks outside my window.  Everything about Cheshire screams bucolic idyll.

Room with a view

over woodland and a stream

In keeping with my healthy eating plan, I took my own food most days but on Sunday night, I enjoyed the luxury of a naughty chocolatey indulgence.  I'm sure I play better when I've had my cocoa fix:

Sunday

Naughtily virtuous supper treat, it was really good and luckily still fresh

I've played in quite a few productions of La Bohème and this is an interesting experience in that it's the chamber version scored for just thirteen lucky players.  Unsure what to expect, I wasn't disappointed - the luscious plenitude and delicate intimacy of Puccini's delicious timeless score remains the feast it was the first time I savoured it some twenty years ago.   

Vibrato!

First page of my well thumbed beloved Bohème part

I'm one of the luckiest - some of my colleagues have never played Bohème before and devoid of a bigger section of the same instrument playing the same part, I marvel at their skill in managing the negotiation of such a difficult score overflowing with vertiginously tricky corners that just has to be known by heart.  How would you explain the broad spacious freedom that is key to Puccini's music?  Performing with guts, gusto and increasing swagger, the band sounds impressive in spite of, or possibly due to its reduced forces.  It feels great to be unofficially part of a section and I'm perched next to the cello with bass behind just to my left and violins directly in front, and the woodwinds and percussion are facing us on the opposite side for a change.  It works.  I'm so used to hearing the winds that it's great to hear the string parts with such clarity.  That's one of the best things about a lengthier project like this.  We've already had 18 hours rehearsal and both dress rehearsal and opening night are now behind us.  It's been way too long since I relished the indulgence of a long sequence of rehearsals - every time I get into that pit I hear something new as I start to feel more relaxed about my part in the whole process.  I love that, when I get to that stage where I feel so comfortable with it.  I'm not quite there yet and I will always have a bit of practice to do to deepen my knowledge of and refamiliarise myself with a part that is so well written that it falls easily and comfortably under the feet and fingers.  It's like meeting up with an intimate old friend again after quite a few years.  I'm probably the oldest one in the pit except our seasoned conductor, Clive.  He has over forty performances of Bohème under his belt and thus a very clear idea of what he wants.  In guiding the full voiced exceptionally talented budding cast past the pitfalls of what can be a treacherous piece, he can be a hard task master in what is clearly a beloved work.  He certainly kept us on our toes in rehearsal!

Intimate

Great to be beside the woodburning stove again

I do have a very soft spot for opera and one of the things I enjoy most is walking in through the backstage area past an enviable array of intriguing props and equipment.  Cue Mel and her team.  The oysters look toxically tasty and there will be snow in July.  As for the beverages, I'm not giving anything away.  Designer Grace Venning has conceived an imaginative atmospheric sepia hued traditional set and costumes and there's an intoxicating Frenchness about the entire production that leaves me with a feeling of peering into the shared accommodation of impoverished students in the gods of Parisian gables with their sublime voices and warm hearts as their only riches.   The set transforms miraculously into the breezy atmosphere of Café Momus for Act 2.  Jiggling old school light bulbs suspended from what look like a very basic piñata dangling from the ceiling remind me of the importance of lighting and I'm amazed at what can be achieved on what must be a shoestring budget by operatic standards with the clever creative skill of continental lighting designer Petr Vocka.  It's difficult to tear my eyes from the stage which I can see very clearly, and that brings me to the other reason I love Puccini operas - I rarely put my harp down.  He uses the harp with such variety of colour and precision that it's always a privilege to be offered a chance to perform in any of his masterpieces.  Thanks to the genius of Puccini's "verismo", there shouldn't be a dry eye in the house.      

At Clonter, the ambience is easily intimate and there's a convivial family feel to everything, from the homely meals offered on rehearsal days featuring the most amazing sausage roll I ever tasted to the mouth watering cakes I managed to resist until Wednesday night.  It was the dress rehearsal and we were all warmly invited to supper afterwards.  I had some delicious potatoes and a cheeky slice of baguette, not a continental prop I hasten to add.  And I succumbed to the heavenly fruity meringue, but not the freely flowing wine, which I was told was excellent.  Despite elegantly taking my leave Cinderella style to face my long drive home, it was really good to go and get to know my pit, onstage and offstage colleagues a bit better and find out more about this amazing place.  

Gateway

to pool nirvana

Oh, and I did it, my long awaited pool dive.  I managed to contain my exuberant enthusiasm until day two when we had a longer lunch break.  It didn't disappoint.  I tried to enthuse a couple of my colleagues who were quite rightly curious about the moves I'd learnt in my Aquafit classes, but I don't think I'll be giving up my day job...

This week

What a difference two seasons make!  I had my last alcoholic drink just over six months ago and I just don't miss it.  I never ever thought I'd write those words.  I use wine for cooking and last night had to throw over half a bottle away as it had been open almost 2 months.  Only a snifter (a gift) of homemade sloe gin, a dram of vodka and some orange liqueur remain.  Ooh those celebratory Cosmos...  Hmmm.  I have coped with the challenges, joys, disappointments and the humdrum of daily life for half a year without my former go-to crutch.  Following the anti-climax of another potential project amounting to nothing last week after almost 3 months' preparation and groundwork, all of which was enjoyable and enriching, I realise my resilience is at an all time high.  Managing and developing my business is a challenge.  Doing that without my newfound sobriety is an impossibility.  I know a brilliant alcohol dependency coach if anyone needs one.  You really have to want to stop though, he doesn't take any prisoners.

Inclusive

It's been a while since I applied for jobs

Monday got off to a flying 6am start as is the norm these days and it turned out to be a bit of a grumpy day off.  I was intending on getting some precious practice hours in ahead of my happily harp centred fortnight but my brain and body just refused.  The weather was warm but by no means itsy bitsy and after a quiet week, my weekend revolved around a job application I had toyed with over the past ten days.  It's a position I think I would love and excel at.  I felt I ticked most of the boxes apart from a couple of fundamentally important requirements and with the memories of shift work still clear in my mind and body, I decided I had nothing to lose by just going for it. I was very clear from the outset about my lacking in the criteria the job demanded, avoiding any guilt about wasting the company's time.  I've only completed an online job application form once before so that was a valuable learning curve in itself and quite an enjoyable one once I familiarised myself with it.  The process involved bouncing from one document to another on my laptop and finally down to my duvet on the lawn on Sunday morning where I had my brain splurge in trying to convey with utmost honesty why I was a musician and human being worth knowing about even if I wasn't the ideal candidate for that particular job.  6pm came and I got my head down, only occasionally coming up for air, a cat stretch and some fruity nutty brain snacks.  I was hungry but I know that I fall into a bit of a postprandial stupor after my evening meal.

Brainstorm breakfast

The best starting place.  Spot the photobomber

Shortly after 10pm I realised with horror I'd omitted one section.  How did that happen?  I frantically looked through my notes and couldn't find anything.  After I calmed down, the response to this question flowed freely and with the irresistible 11.59pm deadline, I pressed the button at 11.09.  I could have read my increasingly blurring words an umpteenth time and tweaked and re-tweaked to the wire but my leftover curry was consumed just before midnight.  Hyperactively exhausted, I ate and I wondered to myself why I didn't get round to doing it sooner.  That was nipped in the bud and I reassured myself that the outcome isn't important.  Going through the whole process is what mattered.  When's the next one?  I feel a sense of achievement today even though I know I'm up against hundreds if not thousands of work thirsty candidates who are equipped with far better skills than me, and it was an important step I had to take in my journey - still putting myself out there.  I was surprised to receive an email copy of my application as soon as I sent it.  I can't bring myself to look at it yet, but it will be useful for reference in due course.

Meditation irony

Too much time at my computer fried my brain and my body this weekend, but Pilates and a day off ironed most of that out

Thanks Mike!

My minimal (for now) attic office table with the remnants of my makeshift extra table from the weekend's work endeavours.  No wonder my back ached.  It looks a bit like a boardroom doesn't it?  It will once I've tidied up

Never one for half measures, I've set myself the challenge of a 5 part Facebook quiz week to help me get used to recording and video so that I'm not putting the same stuff up on my page all the time.  I've already rescheduled it twice after unrealistically planning to get it started yesterday.  I'm all about sharing my music and my love and passion for it while pushing my boundaries and learning new skills, and trying to make all that fun.  I've got a messy music desk piled with manuscript for the coming few days which I can't wait to delve back into.  I also get to savour the fruit of another challenge I set myself a few months ago - get my body in just good enough shape for a bikini.  No, I'm not off on holiday just yet, but I was told when I was offered this work that there's a pool onsite that we can use in breaks.  That's what lured me into Aquafit, which I will obviously maintain as I can't imagine a week without it.

Whoops!

It happened again...  A dress fit for business practically threw itself at me

My shopping trip was short and to the point.  The first shop I wasn't even planning on going to provided the bikini (blue and pink!) I ticked off my list at a bargain price of £6, so even if I do bottle out, which I won't, I can still wear it round the house when the weather gets tropical again.  I'm always on the lookout for blacks and I know I'll find plenty of use for that new little best friend.  At that price, there was no way I could walk away.  I came back and crashed onto my sofa and dreamt heavily.  I could have stayed there all evening but I roasted my chicken for the week and arrived only slightly late for Pilates, my mood as dark as thunder.  It was great to iron out my body and mind's creases and my lateness meant I missed those horrible monkey squats which stoke my anxiety, maybe because my legs are still quite weak and perhaps due to a fear of falling?  Or hurting my back?  There were a few postures that roused giggling (who said Pilates is all seriousness?) amongst emphatic groans and strenuous huffing and puffing (who said Pilates is easy?)  We finished with some thrilling vertiginous swooping and I felt my body and soul start to smile again.  There's something cathartic about group physical activity.  I'm so glad I didn't stay on my sofa.  Fred was back from almost two months driving through France and Spain and looking like a native with his olive toned skin.  He introduced me to a man who's high up at the local golf club and he took a few of my cards.  We share a surname!  We must be related...

This week?  Bring it on!

He-bee

How many bees can you see?

He-butterfly

Mister Finch - The Wish Post YSP

Prickly

Sleepy eyed albino hedgehogs equipped with pocket watches and bells

A friend suggested I check out the work of textile artist, Yorkshireman Mister Finch.   The fruit of two years' work, he has published a book to accompany his major exhibition which opened yesterday.  There was a book signing event today at YSP and, intrigued by this enigmatic character, it was the perfect opportunity for another creative top up.

When I arrived at the Visitor Centre just before the signing began, the queue was already snaking out beyond the doors.  In true un-British style I went on my meander.  It was a belter of a day and I quenched my thirst to be beside water as I took yet another unfamiliar route through dappled woodland.

Obelisk

Upper lake

Tree

Light

Appeased, I returned a couple of hours later and headed straight upstairs to view Mister's work.  I wasn't disappointed as I admired his pungent squishy toadstools adorning the ascending staircase.  I was whirled into a pinch-me wildlife wonderland.  I felt privileged at seeing his deliciously intricate and almost over-imaginative work so close.  He has taken upcycling to an exquisite level.  I feasted on the minute details of the finery of his work and was astonished at how he has injected each character with a vivid personality.  I loved the plush thuggishness of his soft moles.  His hedgehogs were delicately spiky, his rats amusingly benevolent.  I couldn't get enough of his giant buttermotherfly with it's twirly tongue alighted beside an arachnid that could've played an extra in an Alien movie if it didn't look so, well, cute.  A skilled anthropomorphist, I can easily imagine Finch engaging in lengthy conversations with his individually christened, lovingly crafted intricate creations in a candle lit studio in the eaves of an antique filled Victorian house.  I'm sure nothing could be further from the truth but allow me to indulge.

Fantastical

Curious cabinet of motley mothly delights

I looked down at the dwindling queue and saw my opportunity to meet the man behind the dreamlike creatures.  I observed patiently while he charmed his audience with his warmly charismatic easy personality.  Bearded and dressed in a white shirt, an inappropriately hot looking wool waistcoat, snappy tan leather shoes and with a lively twinkle in his eye, he was a genuine gentleman and gratifyingly quirky.  I couldn't help but be fixated by his finger candy - a topless thimble.  How very apt!  He told me the story behind it.  What a warm open gentle soul with a mischievously dry sense of humour and devoid of artificial airs and graces.  In my brief research I noted he was a cat lover so I knew he couldn't be bad and we would at least have something to talk about, but we didn't dwell on the subject and I sensed he'd been asked about felines before.  I told him I noticed all but one of his pieces had been sold (I wish I'd written a wish post) and he was modest in his pleasure.  Although he had a brace of vigilant attendants, I sensed he didn't really need them.  I asked if he wouldn't mind signing a card for my friend and he also patiently signed one of his beautiful flyer posters for me (sorry K if you're reading this, with hindsight I should've gone with his flyer suggestion...)  As I spelt out my name I told him I was Welsh and went on to say I was a musician too.  In my playful mood I asked him to guess which instrument.  Groan.  No wonder the poor bloke struggled to write my name with my barrage of chatter.  Flute? *?!?*  Ummm, triangle? *?!?!!*  Ummmmmmm, guitar? *?!?!?!!!****  Somewhat disappointed at his admission of defeat, I gave my childish game away.  I took my leave of this unique authentic character with a heartily firm handshake.  Afterwards I felt a strange sense of being okay with being how I am, being quirky, being me.

Long eared rabbits

or are they hares?  With hatpin joints

Pond

Formal gardens, with waterlilies, moorhens and chicks

YSP - Sculptures

Shiota taken from the peaceful gallery

Shiota - Belonging.  Again, and why not?

Penone, above and in the background here.  Perhaps it was a mercy that my phone ran out of battery

YSP - nature

You can take the sheep to water...

A swan with four herons perching, and heron island in the background

Baby heron with its companions.  Jaume Plensa's giant beautiful head is just across the water

Crowd pleasers

YSP-oignant (some words with lots of photos)

Belonging

Chiharu Shiota

Yesterday I was in serious need of a battery recharge so off I headed again to my number one place of choice, Yorkshire Sculpture Park.  As I often do, I made a beeline for the spirituality of the Chapel past the now imperceptible Skyspace obscured by leafy growth.  I've seen the Shiota before and wasn't disappointed this time either.  It is still breathtaking, ponderous and wondrous and heavy in its lightness.  I watched a bit of the video of her bare sleeping body with bloody intravenous support with fascination.  As I walked in, facing me in the interactive pack for young people was a book that stopped me in my tracks.  My Dad used to invent bedtime stories for my sister and I way back when we were little girls based around an imaginary little blue bird.  I swear my Dad is in the Chapel.  In the park.  In January, when I didn't know what to do with myself on the anniversary of his death, where did I go?  I lit a tea light outside, then I carried him with me all the way round on my memorial walk, it was the most fitting way I could find to deal with that uncomfortable day.  He was in the organ pipes too.  Every time I go to the park I take a slightly different route and yesterday was no exception as my senses were deliciously stimulated at seeing familiar sights from a new perspective.  I'd never seen the organ pipes.  I didn't make them sound.  An excuse for my next visit.  I sat several times on my jaunt on benches that were conveniently placed to help me let my thoughts come and go.  It was a thrill to see the herons up close and fearless, like a counsel of grey grandfathers, and what an argumentative cacophonous racket they made!  It was inspiring to see all the different species rub along together in some sort of mysteriously taciturn hierarchic accord.  

Y Deryn Bach Glas

The first thing I saw when I went into the Chapel

It was time for coffee number 3 so I headed back toward the visitor centre and tried not to get distracted by all the alluring enticing pulls.  Boosted by the potent kick from my only drug of choice these days (apart from the occasional sugar hit), I went back out into the sun's embrace to see the recently opened Penone exhibition, A Tree in the Wood.  How appropriate for the park!  As is always the case, no photo ever does the works justice and I was in awe of the spectacle laid out in front of me.  Perhaps fortunately, my phone ran out of juice so I was forced to do the opposite of the person in that old story who missed the Pope passing by as she was so busy taking photos.  I covertly entered the Underground gallery after my external circuit.  Greeted by the keenly discreet young woman who was available to offer just the right amount of information and interaction, I marvelled yet again at the familiar green-eyed potatoes that had ears and even lips, and we both expressed relief that they were periodically refreshed to avoid that stale iodine bin odour.  The smell throughout the gallery is still with me.  It's not just about feeding the visual senses.  I was intoxicated by the addictive heady hit of freshly carved wood from the epically enormous creaking tree that accidentally spanned the split rooms.  Curiosity overcame me as I craned to see a sticky puddle of sanguine sap in the depths of a hollowed out rectangular trunk.  I allowed myself to be momentarily hypnotised by Penone's trance inducing fingerprint pulsating outwards, and intrigued by a wall of aromatic leaves.  I watched some of the silent video about the sculptor, who didn't look how I thought he would from his exotic name.  I thought "hell, I could do that" as I watched him dip his paintbrush into vivid blue and gold pigments in awe of the resulting textures he produced with his hands in the white clay, and thought again.

I wanted to buy the Shiota book from the shop but it was £45.  As I reeled a bit at the price tag (worth every penny for the quality) I remembered my birthday's coming up, and then thought I didn't NEED to have the book, her work was already growing inside me from my visit.  I asked about the poetry reading by Yorkshire poet Simon Armitage tomorrow night and my heart sank a bit as I was told it was sold out.  Of course it was sold out, he's meant to be amazing and I was disappointed to miss that opportunity to witness him reading from his own work.  Maybe he could read every night for a week?  Or a month?

I reluctantly decided to call it a day as my body was screaming at me to rest and although I felt sated for the time being, I could have gone round once more had I not booked Aquafit, and anyway the park closes at 5.  One of the amazing things about this extraordinary place is everything feels so personal in such a vast space.  The exquisite artistic orgy of culture and nature feels like it's put on just for me.  I don't know how they do it!

Six Mourners and the One Alone - Amar Kanwar

I missed the first organ pipe for some reason

Six Mourners and the One Alone - Amar Kanwar

Six Mourners and the One Alone - Amar Kanwar

Six Mourners and the One Alone - Amar Kanwar

Six Mourners and the One Alone - Amar Kanwar

Six Mourners and the One Alone - Amar Kanwar

Six Mourners and the One Alone - Amar Kanwar

Sunday night

Post Performance Party - ice cream, pistachios, prunes and dark dark chocolate