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.

Of Roaring Dragons and Screaming Cats

August Bank Holiday

Souvenir de Cymru

How come Yorkshire supermarkets don't proudly boast roses on their carrier bags?

I played for a lovely wedding on Friday at Rotherham Golf Club.  It was good to have a busy day as August has been quiet on the work front.  Not great for my wallet, but I've felt the seasonal warmth of a manageably sociable phase and absorbed some cultural and natural delights.  I didn't feel very happy with how I sounded on Friday though.  Everything felt a bit rusty and I wasn't playing on all cylinders by my standards despite a decent amount of practice.  The first thing I noticed was my sound.  It's amazing how quickly those calluses go.  I felt a bit low that evening and decided to recalibrate this weekend starting by putting pen to paper to draw up a schedule for myself and a list of repertoire to be learnt in the coming weeks and months.  That immediately helped me feel calmer.

Proof

There's now some manuscript and a notebook in there

Then I started the seemingly mammoth task of decluttering my practice room and sorting out several piles of sheet music.  It took some time and I didn't do it all in one go as practice was my priority, but now I have one large empty drawer and all my solo, chamber, wedding and teaching music is in order again.  Just the orchestral pile to tackle when I find a spare hour.

Soon

It will resume its function as an armchair

I can't believe the effect this had on my work - I'm more focused than I have been for ages and more able to make sense of the huge jumble of notes I must decipher in quite a short time.  August has flown.  I have some interesting and exciting challenges coming up, and it's likely I will be letting this blog slip temporarily as I meet some deadlines.

The change in weather has got me thinking about how long I can maintain my attic office - it gets pretty chilly up there, so I've already checked my spare room which I used as an office before I started doing absolutely everything in my kitchen about five years ago.  It's nice in there and it has a good view and is cosy in more ways than one, so I'm going to have to keep a handle on any accumulation of clutter.  It feels so much healthier to use different rooms for their actual purpose.  Here I am, typing in the kitchen.  Up I go. 

Bank Holiday Monday view

A bit dark and not enough blue sky for my liking

At 9.45 on Bank Holiday Monday morning I plunged feet first into the pool.  Classes are very popular and if you don't get in quick, they get booked up.  I got a last minute space just after midnight on Sunday night.  I had a lot of energy and worked hard and I felt vitalised afterwards.  There's something about starting my week with physical activity that feels very exciting.  That's going to be a keeper in the coming months as the nights draw in and the urge to leave the cosy comfort of home dwindles with the dying daylight.  The physical warmth I felt after my exertion lasted a long time too.  I chatted with a lady as we were waiting to jump in and couldn't believe it when she told me her age.  She looked fifteen years younger.  She'd make a great focal point for an advertising campaign.  If that's what Aquafit and Yoga do for you, I'm in.

I'm not ashamed to admit I'm back on the hard stuff since the middle of last week.  I'm talking about coffee, obviously.  I lasted ten virtuous sleepy detox days.  Then I got fed up with feeling low and lethargic.  I had a cup of full strength fully caffeinated amber nectar and bounced around with joyous energy, my speech twice as fast and brain on full throttle.  I had another cup later that day and felt the same bubbly buoyant boost.  It didn't affect my sleep and neither did I feel any anxiety, so that's me for the time being - two daily cups.  I've also started monitoring my water intake which was ridiculously low, and have already felt the accompanying benefits of better focus and concentration, not to mention well hydrated skin.  One of my greatest concerns was not being able to go to the loo.  SOZ, TMI, LOL.   It feels hard when you've got a full day teaching or rehearsing to put your hand up and ask to go to the little girl's room, never mind driving.  I don't want to be stopping every twenty minutes to go to the bathroom.  I'd never get to my destination.

My diet is generally very balanced apart from a couple of moments' weakness around sugar.  Was it last week I had an almond milk chocolate bar?  What possessed me?  What made me buy that when I know the only thing that does the trick is 72% cocoa or above?  All I could taste was sugar and I just wanted more afterwards.  Very clever that.  It was a popular nut bar, the usual peanuts replaced with my favourite kernel and that piqued my curiosity.  I couldn't resist it.

Hardly a glut of figs

I'm almost out of stock.  Not sure if coffee and figs make for a natural pairing 

Winter has a certain charm with its log fires and frosty snow scenes but I'm more a fan of Spring and Summer.  I know we're at the wrong end of the year when I see fresh figs in my fridge.  There they sit on the shelf, begging me to eighth them up after dinner or slice them into slivers for my breakfast bowl.  I love their pre-Autumnal fruitiness, their delicate seedy pop in my mouth and the divinely luscious purpleness of their plush flesh.  Breakfast has almost become my favourite mealtime.  It's quite an intricate refined affair by now with the addition of linseeds and poppy seeds which give an attractive dark blue tinge of colour, and a buckwheat based cereal with toasty coconut.  It's a big bowl of delicious goodness that gets my tastebuds going in the morning and keeps my energy levels on an even keel and my hunger at bay for up to six hours.  

Beware of the cat

The face she should have made when measuring up to her rival

Action sequence

Recuperating on the sofa

I was just finishing off my practice this evening when I heard a loud banging at my back door followed by blood curdling caterwauling.  I dropped everything and dashed out.  I knew it was Llwyd.  

At ease

She was still in the same position this morning

We were both shaken when I let her in.  There are two neighbourhood cats that pick on her, the arrogant black and white one two doors down and a new cat on the block, a big grey tabby.  They're both twice her size and considerably younger.  She used to be able to hold her own, chasing off big brutal contenders from her territory, but nowadays she needs a bit of support which I'm delighted to offer.  I liken her scuffles to my Mum having a to-do with someone in their twenties.  There's not much competition.  Life's not fair and sometimes the only option is to hiss, roar and get your claws out.

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

Edinburgh International Festival

                                       Siegfried - 8/8/18

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.  

The good, the bad and the downright ugly

I got to my car just before it got towed.  Luckily for me, Scottish traffic wardens are remarkably human and humane - it was just a caution, and still only £30 if I got stung, maybe cheaper than parking?  No wonder I need dark delights and I can safely say these prunes get 9 out of 10

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.

The luxury of driving

means I can pack quite a lot of home comforts including my Pilates mat and bands and 2 days worth of food.  And my cherished pillow

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.

Dicky!

showing off his jauntily creative side with a clever selfie angle.  People - the brighter side of touring.  

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.

Narrow escape

After 2 delicious starters including the delightfully named Kaarage chicken in a nice pub by the halls, the waitress insisted on showing me the dessert menu.  Was she trying to kill me?  I narrowed it down to three and didn't have any.  They didn't open until midday so I definitely couldn't go back and have them for breakfast

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?

Baby tubas

My turn to get creative with those horns.  Most things look artistic through harp strings

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.

Comforting symmetry

My view when I turned around in Usher Hall.  There were quite a few Wagner fans sitting in those cushionless classroom pews for around 4 hours.  I considered myself heroic for lasting an hour and a half on a piano stool in Act 1

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.  

Right under Arthur's Seat

Great name, location and breakfast.  Bloody minded canteen attendant

Best coffee in Edinburgh

My best efforts couldn't get me a decent coffee on campus at 7am.  I got some exercise walking to the local shop where I was warmly served my hand stirred brew in my travel mug by lovely Ali shivering in front of his fridges 

Right under my nose

The Commonwealth Pool, closed until 14 August, so no early morning swimming session

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.

First breakfast

taken at 4.29 am and washed down with a strong flat white, it kept me tapping my feet and gently headbanging intentionally to Ben Folds down the A1

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.

Balancing act

All six of us closet sugar fiends, we were each offered a gift by Principal Harp Marie from the most amazing macaroon shop in the city, Madame Macaron.  Sugared out from the 3 I oohed over after lunch (pistachio, beautiful blue lavender without a hint of Zoflora, and peanut butter and chocolate), I saved mine for my post dinner ritual on Thursday night.  It tasted even better garnished and for travelling all the way from Scotland

Detox

In an attempt to manage my anxiety, I'm going coldish turkey next week.  If it helps, where can I get decaf coffee beans?

Welcome home!  The sky at 6.23 on the morning of my return to Yorkshire.

A beautiful heroine

Missing from this week's performance - I would have loved to see her and she would have LOVED Siegfried!  We shared the same inspirational teacher, mentor and close friend and like minded ally, Eira

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

A More Solemn Note

Thursday was a busy day.  I had two jobs on, a funeral reception at noon and La Bohème in the evening.  It was one of the hottest days of an exceptionally hot summer.  With a to do list the length of my leg, I got myself into a bit of a state the night before.  On Tuesday I heard of the cruelly untimely death of a lovely colleague who was only in her thirties, a car incident.  My head won't quite deal with it, it's too close to home.  I keep seeing her beautiful face and laughing eyes.  A true professional and a brightly quirky ray of sunshine, she had recently met a man and she seemed very happy.  It has tainted my week and beyond with an unshakeable sorrow.  I was meant to be working with her the week after next.

Dread full sight

Will it take 24 minutes or 24 hours?

I am often told I leave ridiculously early for work.  Setting off at 7.30 to make a journey that should take an hour and forty, I was optimistic that I'd arrive at my coastal destination and maybe even have time for a stroll on the beach and a toe dip in the sea before starting to play at midday.  It was the day the lorry crashed into the bridge on the M6.  I arrived at the hotel a hot bothered heap just after 1, my record of over thirty years of never being late for work tarnished by a motorway.  The M6 and M62 are at the top of my list of least favourite motorways (I don't think I have a favourite, not in this country anyway), and in 2010 I pranged my car on the latter on my way to Leeds for the opening night of La Bohème.  Maybe there's something about me and Puccini operas.  I still got there with time to spare though.

I wish I'd had time to take in the simple elegant beauty of the art deco hotel where the funeral reception was being held.  I had been a prisoner of the unnatural air-conned ambience of my hot cramped sardine tin car for the worst part of 6 hours.  My relief was immense at the contrast between this and the cool dark interior of the lobby and the sea views presented in all their glory through the dizzyingly high glass walls.  The pure candour of potent lilies placed on plinths was refreshing.  There was a giddy feel of the Great Gatsby about everything.  

Death has been an underlying theme this week.  It's something we avoid thinking about and it can become a preoccupation.  Take La Bohème, the opera I've been working on.  It whisks you through a whirlwind of emotions that change from exuberant joy to tragedy in an instant and of course, Mimi dies at the end.  One of the most popular operas of all time, it's clear that its theme and characters are relevant and resonate with most people.  Bohème always brings up thoughts of my Dad and his premature death when I was 27.  A loyal member of the town choir in his retirement and with a love and passion for music to rival my own, he would have been blown away by Puccini.  How many conversations I've wished to have with him, and how our relationship would have grown with our mutual maturity.  There is regret but that's just how it is.  In the brief time I spent at the funeral do on Thursday, I heard the popping of corks and saw people enjoying their canapés, the expression in their eyes covert, mysteriously shaded by their sunglasses.  There isn't just sorrow at a funeral, thankfully it's a celebration of a person's life and how much richness they brought to ours.  The nostalgia was tangible.

Coin toss

The clock was ticking - where was I?

It's nearly my birthday and nowadays they're more a time for reflection as well as looking forward.  As I review my year and think back to where I was twelve months ago, five, ten, twenty years ago, I think and feel it's ok to be where I am now.  I often feel I'm in a limbo state, neither here nor there, and learning to live with that is where my challenge lies.  Like driving, there's a feeling of urgency about getting somewhere instead of just saying what the **** and embracing the crap, and recognising the magic moments.  Sometimes I can't see them unless they grab me firmly and smack me in the face.  Take the funeral for example.  All I could see on Thursday was the disappointment at letting people down and the stress of such a horrendous journey.  Now, with a step back, a day off and some breathing space, I remember the staff who were calmly efficient and helpful, and the daughter of the deceased who was sympathetic and understanding and gave me a hug when I arrived with my flustered apologies while my harp was roasting away in the car.  Then there's the lady who complimented me on my crazy trousers and another lady who thanked me for my music.  An extra special mention goes to the hotel guest who offered to help me move my harp and gave me a hug after we had both tried to work out an alternative route to the alternative route that lay snaking menacingly ahead of me.  

A major magic moment turned out to be the route I eventually took through the Forest of Bowland, a damn finer sight than the miserable offerings of that unmentionable motorway.  After driving like I haven't for about ten years, I allowed my focus to shift to the breathtaking goosebump views that awaited after the long zig-zag climb up steep swirling B-roads in my heavily laden car.  Driving through quaint deserted picture book villages with their immaculate askew architecture and lifestyle magazine cottage gardens made me vow to return for a day trip on a road less travelled.  I apologised for disturbing the peace as I slowed through the village.

Unforeseen events like this also bring the worst out in people.  Take the man in the red prestige car who decided it was a good idea to drive within touching distance of mine as we went winding our way along the canopied backroads on the scenic route.  At a safe convenient moment I decelerated and indicated for him to pass.  He honked angrily at me as he zoomed past in his hurry to get to his destination.  I admit to a certain smugness while driving a safe distance behind him as I caught up to the slow moving queue we had now both joined which continued for the next 10 miles.  Who knows?  Maybe he was rushing to hospital?  He certainly risked lives and limbs.  I saw him negotiate a junction by crossing in front of another moving car with milliseconds to spare.  From this point, having shouted and sobbed myself almost hoarse, I felt a sense of acceptance fall over me.  I had phoned the opera fixer and discussed possible options and I was doing everything within my means to get there safely in time.  I stopped looking at the clock and the Satnav timer.  Even if I just made it for the second half, I was determined I'd get there.  I did.  With 23 minutes to spare.  I tuned, got changed, put on some lipstick, got harp 2 out of the hot car to the cooler backstage area and blocked everything out as I got on with Puccini.  Thank god for music!

HQ

Sight of relief

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

Wortley Hall - A Different Perspective

Wrought

The majestic former main entrance

It's been a quiet week and rather than mope around at home I decided to make good use of my time and our continental July weather by enjoying two cultural creatively nourishing half days out.  Yesterday morning I decided to do something I've wanted to do for a very long time - take time to explore the gardens at Wortley Hall, and as I was working there last weekend, what better time to make my wish come true?  I'm a little ashamed to say I've never been beyond the centrepiece of the garden, the alluring fountain which was an eye opener up close in more ways than one and really got my imagination going with its forbidding sign warning me how deep the water is.  Thanks to the maps I was helpfully handed at reception, I set off with the intention of completing a circuit and beyond, narrowly avoiding spending all my allocated time with my ambitiously packed book in the stunning tranquillity of the sunken garden.

Inviting symmetry

Sunken garden

I ambled through dappled shade in beautifully maintained woodland and soon ground to a halt when I saw the obscure obsolete wrought iron gate which had enjoyed former glory welcoming guests to the hall.  I swear I heard the excited whinnying and clopping hooves of a horse-drawn carriage with its gigantic crushing wheels.  I looked behind me and saw a specimen that would have delighted tree huggers and haters alike, a seriously old sycamore with the deep scars and indentations of the centuries ingrained in its crusty reptilian skin.  It had so many personalities that I felt I had to keep an eye on it as I dragged myself away from its arterial texture just in case it creakily upped its sleepy roots and appointed me its newly elected Frodo.

What do you see?

Tongue twister

The rippling writhing lizards of a very old sycamore

What do you see 2?

What do you see 3?

I continued my circuit, admiring the unusual and incongruously named ha ha in the undergrowth.  I noticed the upper part of my stroll was horticulturally less well kempt. There were more fallen trees and hewn branches lying like lopped limbs in the stinging nettles.  I took a brief time out on a perfectly placed garden seat and lapped up the views of the stunning architecture and gardens from the other side and imagined a previous life as Lady of the Hall.

Picture perfect

Yes, I took the photo, with my mobile

There was a lot to see and next on my list was closer inspection of the iconic fountain.  I spotted a groundsman and took the opportunity to congratulate him on his beautiful work.  One of a team of just three groundsmen, he was very keen to tell me the story of the gardens that opened with two telling words - Capability Brown.  I couldn't have wished for a better guide than Adrian as he guiltily offered his precious garden time to regale me with one of the most informative and entertaining guided tours I've had for a long while.  Having worked there for two years, he was unassumingly wealthy in his knowledge of the history of the hall and its rich and fruitful land (check out Wortley Hall Walled Garden and Heeley City Farm) not to mention his technical ability thanks to his hard earned chainsaw license amongst a long list of enviable skills.  I was fascinated to learn you can only use a chainsaw at certain times of day in certain temperatures, and I was unaware there was such a thing as chainsaw trousers.  I do like the sound of those.  As he told me of his background working at Chatsworth and other prestigiously grounded properties, I realised I was in the presence of a deeply passionate green fingered Yorkshire gentleman.  And a modest one too.  As I expressed how impressed I was, he told me his partner and green goddess Diane, who was tackling the long expanse of hedges I'd driven past on my arrival, knew so much more than he did about the surrounding flora and fauna. 

Ouch!

My tour started at a pond I wasn't even aware of.  What a surprisingly vast murky green beauty with its ducks and ducklings (so THAT'S where they've been hiding...), moorhens and yellow water irises.  I could clearly visualise the Earl's boats floating to and fro from Adrian's accurate imaginative depiction.  The pond's old stone walls were starting to fall inwards and he told me with urgent regret that the restoration would cost an eye watering half million.  We turned towards a tunnel in the undergrowth that led from pond to ice house where the frozen blocks used to be stored for the hall in winter months.  I wanted to linger to take photos but time was of the essence and there was a lot to see.  He proudly introduced me to yews, oaks and silver birch, pine and ash, chestnut, beech, and the promise of the deliciously named sequoia was enticingly forgotten amongst all the competing arboreal delights.  We arrived back at the geometrically immaculate sunken garden with its proper Old English Roses wafting their authentic pure pungent perfume, and the intriguing mystery filled caged cells above which there was once an orchid house.  You can see its heavily pinned steel base plates which still lay there in the old stone blocks.  Can you imagine an Orchidarium in Wortley?

I can't wait for my next Wortley Hall wedding in August, and I've already cooked up my excuse for lunch and a blissful walk to work it off.  What's your excuse not to visit?

Iron vines

In front of where the orchid house once was

Wortley Hall

Idyllic

Well stocked gardens

What's the first thing that springs to mind when you think of Wortley Hall?  The spectacular gardens of course.  Tucked away in the picturesque sleepy village of Wortley about halfway between Huddersfield and Sheffield, you may already be aware that it's one of my favourite workplaces in Yorkshire.  Weddings are satisfyingly hard work and this venue makes them a joy.  My only complaint is that I never have enough time to explore the Hall and its grounds to their quietly spectacular sprawling extent.

Artichokes!

In the foreground.  Nude statue in the fountain to the left

My first experience of Wortley Hall was around eight years ago when I was invited to play at the wedding of my former next door neighbours' granddaughter.  I think it might even have been my first time playing at a wedding this side of the Pennines.  I wasn't disappointed, and having been based in Manchester and in North Wales before that, my wedding clientele were primarily Cheshire folk and city centre dwellers and had clearly seen and heard a few harpists.  More often than not, there was no sense of novelty or specialness when I made my guest appearance with my harp.  At Wortley Hall I found the complete opposite.  The staff were warm, relaxed and friendly, and generous in their welcome, and I got excited at any inquiry that involved my new secret discovery.

Congratulations

The fabulous dining room, beautifully bedecked for a wedding

I remember playing for a wedding years ago just after my return from South Africa at a very grand residence on the outskirts of my home town Denbigh.  Having been asked to meet the homeowners, the bride's parents, prior to the wedding to discuss arrangements (with hindsight maybe also to see if I was the type of harpist that would nick their family heirlooms), I remember my sense of excitement at working locally and at such an exclusive venue draining gradually throughout the day.  The first thing the bride, a beautifully haughty expensively bronzed brunette, asked me to do was move the heavy water-filled plastic base of the cheap tatty parasol they deemed to provide me.  I felt the upwards surge of my indignation as I lugged this ridiculous object along the gravel outside their luxury abode.  I felt embarrased for them that their budget didn't stretch to something more chicly adequate than this pathetic umbrella with its garish 1970's design that would barely provide enough shade for me let alone my harp in the midday sun on a hot July day.  I also felt embarrassed that the bride would ask me to drag a heavy weight that left a trench-like trail through the stone chippings just as I was about to a play a long set of music.  I should have told her to do it herself in her exquisite designer dress.  Needless to say, I ended up playing in the hot and sticky open fronted marquee.  If I'd played under that parasol I'd have been sunburnt within half an hour never mind the sun damage to my harp.  To this day I don't play outside at weddings, although marquees are ok.  It just doesn't work in this unpredictable climate even if I had the inclination to have one of those big fancy iPads, which I don't, and somebody to put all my music on it.  Anyway, I digress.  It was a memorable day for all the wrong reasons.  I even got road raged as I desperately tried to leave their posh property - they had altered the access to accommodate their guests' swish and swanky convoy of prestige cars and SUVs in their extensive grounds.

Welcome

Historic Yorkshire architecture

Not so at Wortley Hall!  After I arrive and set up, I'm always offered a hot drink even though I usually bring my own.  None of this silver platter nonsense, it's a mug from the kitchen and I love that.  I'm treated as an equal.  Time flies past way too quickly and I often feel a pang of guilt when my five minute break stretches to eight as I get engrossed in my thoughts either sitting outside on the peaceful patio as my guests enjoy their dinner or, weather depending, tucked away in one of the quiet boardrooms with their bountiful bookshelves.  When I'm not distracted by those blissful views, the ample reading material or the last resort of my mobile phone, I get lost in my inner conversations and find myself musing that if I ever got married, it would be here, except that it will be in Las Vegas or some quiet registry office with my cat as my witness!  Boy, she'd love it here.  Maybe I could go on honeymoon to one of their lovely looking holiday cottages?  Or a couple of nights' stay in one of their cosy looking rooms?  The beds look enticing as I walk past the open doors of the rooms being prepared for the next lucky guests.  Then there's the ducks which have quite rightly set up residence at this perfect pick location.  They're more often than not my quirky quacking welcoming committee and it doesn't feel quite right if I don't see them during my visit which always feels too brief, even after the longest wedding.  The aromas emanating enticingly as I wheel my harp through the thoughtfully named Ruddy Duck restaurant get me salivating and planning a trip for Sunday lunch.  Their Yorkshires look like flying saucers.

Hidden

Peaceful corners

I often wonder with some relief why this hidden gem isn't heaving with guests.  Maybe its comfortingly retro vibe with the disappointingly reassuring wood chip wallpaper amongst a host of intriguing vintage features hasn't elevated it to the five star status it deserves and hopefully doesn't get.  Don't get me wrong.  It makes me think of a wonderful curry house I frequented in Manchester which had similar decor.  When it underwent its stark slick neon facelift I swear the food tasted different, as though its warm flavour and convivial soul had been sucked out of it.  When I imagine the maintenance and upkeep of this place, my eyes water. How do they do it?  The ceiling in the exceptionally beautiful dining room must take a fortune for it to retain its intricate original stained glass glory along with its characterful painted flora and fauna.  The heating bill in the cooler months must be eye watering too as all the windows are original sash, thank goodness.  I can't imagine it has many ghosts as there is always a good energy there and a healthy feeling of history which makes me feel a bit nostalgic whenever I leave.

Breathtaking

Far reaching views

Love seat

with just a bit of a view

Glorious

Shadow and light

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

Practice Tips

It's Monday morning and as befits a new week, here are some basic tips for good practice aimed at my students, as well as being a useful reminder to myself!   These are just suggestions.  There is no one correct way to practice, no guaranteed winning formula.  You need to find what works for you.

1. Decide what you need to practice and why.  Put pen to paper.  Define the problem, work out why it's difficult and come up with good ways of practicing
2. Take 3 minutes to think about what you're going to practice and what you want to accomplish
3. Plan the amount of time you need to spend on each piece.  Get a notebook and make a timetable if it helps
4. Repeat, repeat, repeat!  Having played a passage correctly after playing it several times with flaws, you need to practice it correctly more times
5. Practice fast as well as slow
6. Avoid overwhelm by separating problems and solving them one by one.  Break a passage down into sections
7. Practice difficult passages in context
8. Practice away from the harp.  This one is really important and very revealing
9. Don't neglect so called easy sections
10. Set yourself achievable goals - memorise one or two lines, then gradually the whole piece

Practice techniques and tools:

Always learn your notes with hands separately first, and aim for fluency before putting hands together.  Building a piece of music is like laying the foundations of a house.

Break down the individual voicings - listen to the melody, bass line and harmony separately,

Analyse - know and understand the key signature, time signature and rhythm, musical structure, harmonic sequences, modulation - understand what you're playing and if you don't, ask me!

With a difficult passage, get playful!  Practice jumps, practice rhythmical patterns (groups of 2-7 notes in rapid succession in passage work), repeat each note twice then alternate hands, memorise your left hand...

Make friends with your metronome (I know many of you don't like it but it really does work or I wouldn't go on about it...) and make it a game - start low and slow, get comfortable, then take it up 2 notches.  Play it through without stopping, then take it down one notch and work on any problem areas.  Continue this process until you've gone a couple of notches past your ideal tempo.

Research - find out about the composer, look up any unfamiliar printed markings, be inquisitive.

When a piece is more familiar, get your blindfold on while you practice.  I'm serious!  Try it!

After an intense practice session, bash through your piece at top speed.  This can help dust off the cobwebs and get rid of frustration.  Then calm your fingers by playing through it slowly.

Remember you're in charge of your practice.  What you learn in your lesson is the tip of the iceberg that needs to grow after your lesson.

Happy practicing!

Intention

This is the word that sprang to mind yesterday morning as I drove over to Saltaire, and as soon as I got there I inked it onto my hand so it was in my awareness all day.  I wanted to ensure that my students were moving on and I was thinking of ways in which I could help with this.  As I walked to the shop, I started thinking of the pedal harp and that it might be time for someone to give it a try.  My first student arrived and immediately 'fessed up to not having practiced much for the very valid reason of being away for her 50th birthday in a suitably exciting tropical destination as well as organising her celebration this weekend.  She was in need of some inspiration and wondered about trying the pedal harp.  Bear in mind this is without me mentioning my earlier thoughts.  I wheeled in the stunning ebony model as I pondered the potential of my psychic powers.  She took to it like a duck to water, immediately realising the benefit of using pedals over levers in her preferred classical and romantic repertoire, not to mention the postural comfort.  We'll see what happens, it's a massive investment and in my opinion quite a nice 50th gift to oneself.  She could also hire a pedal harp for a few months just to see.

My students came and went and I felt privileged as they shared their joys and woes with me, and I tentatively shared a few of mine.  Time flew and although I had a full six hours teaching, I felt energised afterwards.  I was very much in the moment for most of the day with very little drifting.  I wasn't worried about needing to practice when I got home and I know from experience that it's futile after a full day.  I met up with a good friend briefly in my scant 30 minute break and as we sought to sate our caffeine craving to no avail, I think an express espresso pop-up on Saltaire's main drag would be a stroke of genius. Copyright Rhian Evans.

I felt a bit awkward directing my students to my website and this blog but I realised that this is a great way for me to share my knowledge of the harp and music and some tips on practising and approach in one place.  Not everyone is on Facebook!  I recently went through lots of old papers in my decluttering and found some pearls of wisdom from my undergraduate years that are valid to this day.  I also did something I haven't done for a long time.  As my welcome home cuppa brewed, I went to my music library and got out some new old pieces that came up during the day.  There's a sense of potential in the air.

In setting myself up for meditation yesterday morning, I realised with mild horror that I forgot to meditate yesterday.  Gone was my 177 day streak!  My playful innate competitiveness is still there but much tamer these days.  Somewhat ironically my meditation is on regret.  That tickled me afterwards.

On Thursday evening I received a last minute enquiry for a job tomorrow.  It was taken almost immediately.  I then got a call and an email yesterday afternoon saying that it was available again and then it got filled, again.  Just missed - twice!  I'm ok about it all.  I'm becoming quite Zen in my maturity, I'm just meant to be somewhere else tomorrow...

View fullsize

Wednesday

Well, I managed it.  Printing off my music, that is.  All in all it probably took two hours to choose, download and print off six pieces.  I had to get another app on my phone since I couldn't get the printer to work from my laptop or mobile.  There were tears!   What is it about me and tech?  I'd rather learn ten horrendous pieces of music over one tech-sperience.  I was still in time for Aquafit though and with all this lot sorted, my day is clear for practice and our check up with the vet.  

Our new vet looks like a rather lovely hybrid of Jack Dee and Huw Edwards and most importantly, Llwyd loves him.  We arrived with rather ruffled coats (sweater in my case) and only slightly early and were whisked straight into his room avoiding check in.  There were roadworks right outside the surgery and a dog owner just beat me to the last available parking space, which led to a traumatic experience involving an impatient tranny van driver in my attempt to avoid missing our appointment.  Llwyd picked up on my anxiety and promptly started to throw up the small amount of food I'd given her at dawn to avoid her being famished as well as getting car sick.  I was distraught when I looked into her temporary plastic prison after her weigh-in - she was panting with her mouth open - a sign of stress.  Anyway, Huw Jack-Man was pleased with her progress - she's on the up and has to keep taking her daily steroid pill until her next check-up in September.  She's strong and stable.  We both are most of the time.  Needless to say, we had a catnap on the sofa in the darkened living room after our outing.

Just resting

I've checked the toxicity of peonies

I have a lovely new student I met a month ago coming for a trial lesson tomorrow so that means cleaning.  I am my mother's daughter!  It'll be good once it's done.  Teaching from home has more than one benefit and although I love having a clean house, it falls below practice in my book of priorities.  I'm off to get creative with the pieces I read through this morning.  My biggest challenge is getting past the dots and reaching that stage of familiarity with the music where I start adding my own twist.  These things take time.

Have you seen this?!

I don't think I've EVER seen a perfect T in Meltham

Harp Lessons in Saltaire

Salts Mill

Once a month I teach at the Early Music Shop in the beautiful historic setting of the Salts Mill in Saltaire near Bradford.  I love going there and the golden stones of the buildings that have earned it the status of World Heritage Site feel warm and sunny even on chillier days.  

My students are all adults and they are totally passionate about the harp and music which make it a joy to go there. They always arrive eager and well prepared (I know immediately if they haven't had time to practice - they usually tell me) and they have a host of questions.  I love how engaged they are in the learning process which in turn inspires and informs my practice.  Each student is very different and I enjoy coming up with ideas for explaining techniques and approaches which will hopefully provoke that lightbulb moment!  Adult teaching is very pleasurable and rewarding - my students play purely for enjoyment, so there's no pressure around exams and performances.  When I teach I hear things I take for granted with fresh ears and I'm often inspired by their choice of repertoire.  I rarely have to come up with ideas for new pieces as they have the curiosity to seek out and research what they would like to learn.  Teaching brings its frustrations of course, and something that seems so obvious to me makes no sense at all to a student!   My challenge is to clarify and make that information digestible so that they can practice it at home so it becomes second nature.  That's the most important part - the homework - if I'm not careful they can easily practice incorrectly, and as there are long gaps between lessons, my explanation is really important as is the correct practical execution by the student.  An hour passes very quickly!  One of the difficulties adults face is they have almost too much understanding and awareness.  That means they question and analyse which can over complicate matters, whereas a child would simply replicate or follow orders.  My current students have been coming for at least two years and I like to think I know more or less how they tick by now.  Another high point for me is the conversation and I look forward to hearing what they've been up to away from the harp.

The harp lessons in Saltaire were instigated in 2011 by Louise Thomson whose role I gradually took up when she went on maternity leave.  My colleague Alice Kirwan and I aim to develop and streamline our teaching there and we hope to incorporate a group session at least twice a year.  Not only is this important on a social level, but it's also very helpful to watch and listen to other harpists, which remains one of the best ways to learn. 

Alice and I

Playing the harp is serious business

Under the imaginative and sensitive leadership of experienced Artistic Director Eira Lynn Jones, I have enjoyed being a member of the artistic team responsible for organising the annual Saltaire Camac Harp Weekend for the past few years within the context of the Saltaire Festival.  We have welcomed exciting guest artists such as Tristan Le Govic and Nikolaz Cadoret from France who have inspired and encouraged our students and given them a different and fresh approach to their harp playing.

If you would like to book a trial lesson, please contact the Early Music Shop on 01274 288100 and if you are on Facebook, please like and follow our teacher page, Harp Tuition at Early Music Shop, Saltaire    https://www.facebook.com/Harp.EMS/

Tower

Saltaire

Tower

Saltaire

Saturday

The covers are off

Anything could happen...!