I'm just back from a couple of days in Scotland performing with the Hallé at the Edinburgh International Festival.  I had my first experience of this iconic event last Summer when I was one of six harpists involved in a concert performance of Berlioz's sublime operatic masterpiece The Damnation of Faust given by the same orchestra under their inspirational music director Sir Mark Elder.  It was a memorable performance with some spectacular singing.  Sir Mark has a knack for sourcing outstanding vocal produce and this year, Siegfried was no exception.  After a stonking show in June, our memories rejigged from a rehearsal in Manchester, my musical exodus started on Monday afternoon when I drove up to Carlisle after the morning session.  With a 2.30 rehearsal on Tuesday afternoon at the beautiful Usher Hall in the heart of the city, and in light of having to "take" that motorway again, I booked a night at a hotel to minimise the risk of arriving late.  

Last year's experience was made slightly traumatic when I couldn't find parking by the hall after unloading my harp and I struggled to negotiate the narrow downward spiral of the claustrophobic multi storey car park through tears of frustration despite arriving very early for a sectional rehearsal with the man himself.  Not this year.  Oh no Edinburgh, I was onto you.  Being early and well tuned and prepared is a must in a scenario involving five other harpists and a knight.  There was no sectional this time, and despite a tight get in window (it busily boasts the status of international festival with good reason), I was on time, rested, fed and caffeinated.

My heart plummeted when I arrived at my halfway hotel.  Despite requesting a ground floor room when I booked, I was on the first floor with no lift.  The helpful apologetic receptionist ran me through my options - I was early enough to be moved to a ground floor room.  Anxious at the thought of being separated from my harp for all of 12 hours, plan A was ditched after I saw the disused leisure centre that had enjoyed a previous life as an important hub within the brand consistent hotel.  There was a pool!  It looked enticing in its state of disrepair.  I was told there was also a sauna and steam room.  Reception and I agreed that it could be the Tebay of UK hotels with a travellers' spa but as is often the case with dream projects, it's complicated.  I'm not sure if it's the thought that it might have been humid in there, or if it was a bit of jealousy at imagining Kite having a better time than me plunging pedals first into cool water followed by a session sweating it off swathed in nothing but a towel, but I couldn't bring myself to abandon her even though it seemed secure.  Besides I like sleeping with my harp occasionally.  She's surprisingly quiet and low maintenance - she'd only inaudibly popped her top G by the time we got to Edinburgh.

My scenic drive up from Carlisle through the imaginatively named villages of Carlops and Dolphinton kept my mind from boredom and was uneventful.  I passed Manor Garage which I managed to get my car to when the exhaust broke on that very same stretch of road a few years back on my way to work in the big city.  They miraculously fixed it while I waited and I was on time for the seating rehearsal.  Needless to say, I pulled over as soon as I could to book its service for next week.  My sister suffered the misfortune of a blown engine recently after forgetting to check the oil.  I'm paranoid about checking my tyres, and I can now add oil to my list of concerns.

After a non stop busy day, my body a bit achy and in the mood for a quiet night in, I headed away from the festival bustle to the nearest pub for a slap up dinner.  I felt like part of the crowd ordering their stiffest Virgin Bloody Mary and coughed reassuringly at the kick of heat to the back of my throat.  My tastebuds were tantalisingly teased and tickled by salt and pepper squid and Kaarage chicken and I tried Katsu sauce and mooli for the first time.  9 out of 10 for the food, and being on my own wasn't an issue either.  The waitress and I were soon creased with belly laughs as we compared notes on our sugar addictions.  An attractive svelte European blessed with a stunning sparkly smile and a personality to match her looks, her poison was a cookie, lots of them by the sounds of it.  Each to their own.  If you're in Edinburgh and want some excellent food away from the madding crowds, I can recommend the Salisbury Arms very highly - great service and no funny looks for dining solo.

The 20 minute rehearsal and subsequent 5.5 hour performance flew past, well it would as we harps were only in Acts 1 and 3.  I felt the urge to be social but, having had a scant 4 hours' sleep, the urge to honour an appointment in my car for a snooze was stronger, and I made my polite excuses not to join my harp colleagues for dinner.  Fortunately I woke up in time to eat my healthy chicken and kale rainbow salad, a workout for my mouth taking the best part of twenty minutes, that's how much fibre was packed into that plastic container.  Can you imagine going all the way up to Edinburgh and missing Act 3?

There was a really good energy in the hall, a Festival vibe if ever I felt one, and I relished people watching when I wasn't engrossed in the indulgent magnitude and intimacy of Wagner's epic music.  The rapt expressions I glimpsed in the audience reflected the quality of the pared down production and world class singing.  Christine Goerke made for a beautiful bellowing Brünnhilde filling the hall with her powerful soprano, and my guess is she must have sung that role quite a few times - how else could she have embraced the challenge of such terse rehearsal and given a display of vocal wizardry with grace, ease and a warm generosity that captivated our audience?  Simon O'Neill was as good as he was back in June in Manchester, and I noticed he occasionally referred to an iPad, a sign of the times.  A hearty robust rambunctious Siegfried with the stamina of an ox, it's a role that suits him perfectly. The rest of the cast, conductor and orchestra were on top form too, playing with endurance, vibrant passion and élan.  A special mention goes to the Woodbird's gold sequinned white denim jacket ornate with eye catching sparkles that would have hypnotised a magpie.  I shook my head with disbelief several times at the sheer beauty of what my ears often couldn't register.  Some truly outstanding musicianship took place that night.

No sooner than you could say Siegfried, it was time to up sticks with the controlled dash that packing a huge orchestra into a truck and two coaches entails, and before I knew it, I was on the road again.  Unwilling to negotiate another round of parking, lifts and corridors only to decamp again a few hours later and lose a whole day travelling, I didn't spend a second night in halls.  

Having carefully planned my route the old school way and avoiding the long drive involving a ferry crossing to Ireland which my satnav humorously initially suggested, I finally got some sense from it and went down the East side of the country, not quite the coastal route and I had the roads to myself as I crossed the rivers of Tyne, Tweed and Blackadder.  No kidding.  Google it.  After just over an hour I started drifting even though I was fuelled by an energy drink.  Sensing danger, I blearily parked up in Coldstream and tried to get in the zone for a quick nap.  Fifteen minutes later I set off again only to be overcome by another strong bout of insomnia after half an hour.  This time I stopped in a lay-by in deepest darkest who knows where.  I hacked away at my imagination's most ghastly ghouls and zombies crawling up the bonnet of my car to rudely peer in at my slumber before eventually getting a decent amount of shuteye in the tranquil pitch black setting.  That got me just past Newcastle with greater ease but I started to drift again. Back in civilisation, I stopped at the services and had a good hour of deep sleep under my blanket supported by the comfort of my pillow.  If you've never slept with a harp in the back of your car, I can tell you it's quite an art to cosy up.  A few spine and leg stretches in the facilities helped get my circulation going again and there's something to be said for 24 hour services and the friendliness of the people who make them happen.  Maybe they get extra money for doing the early shift.  Probably not, but they should.

Boosted by even more caffeine, off I went accompanied by the lively strains of Ben Folds.  A fabulous pianist, lyricist, vocalist and tunesmith, I can't recommend Best Imitation of Myself strongly enough as a great soundtrack for a long drive.  His songs are quite literally food for thought.  Check out Philosophy below which is worth watching for all of almost 6 minutes if only for his witty repartee with Jools:

I wouldn't want to tune his pianos.  With too many catchy numbers to list here, there's also Gracie, a most poignant father/daughter tribute.  Rockin' the Suburbs is a tongue in cheek number with a few swear words thrown in for good measure.  I was The Luckiest (another BFF classic beauty) when I had the good fortune to be part of the orchestra for a Ben Folds concert in Bristol a few years back.  A previously unknown entity, I was immediately hooked by his dazzling dexterity as he more often than not stood up to play his beloved piano.  His professionalism and the energy of his performance resonated with me as well as his engagement with his loyal audience - he  held them in the palm of his talented hands as they sang along with us.  Ben came to France with me when I drove there and back a couple of years ago so he's really made the distance and I know I can count on him for future journeys.  Rufus is overdue an airing, though the track for my next long car trip will probably involve some work related Puccini - I love combining business and pleasure.

At 4.29 the cones were just being lifted after they'd closed part of the A1.  A near miss.  At 5.17 I passed Temple Newsam and knew I was on the home stretch.  It was a doddle from there.  Slightly jet-lagged and hyperactively exhausted from my Scottish sojourn, I realised that almost all I've written about in this post is driving and car related.  Unfortunately it goes with the territory.  The time I spend with my harp actually enjoying my music is all too rare these days and I intend to change that during the next few months.  A promise I made myself in Scotland was a week off, which is swiftly dwindling to a few days as more distractions start flooding in, some of them welcome, others less so.  One of the biggest challenges we freelancers face is time management, and planning holidays is something I need to learn to incorporate into my life.  So if it's silence from me for a few days, I apologise but I have to create some breathing space.  Another promise is to dip my toes in sea and sand.  I always keep my promises.