I am in Leeds. The flat is minute and everything inside it is tiny! I have a tiny kettle, a tiny toaster, a tiny shower (or should that be a baby shower?). There’s nowhere to store anything. When I arrived, the landlord was searching for a place to put a handheld vacuum cleaner and decided the only option was to mount it to the wall. There’s nowhere to put my dirty laundry, so my suitcase, which takes pride of place in the only piece of floor space in the flat, has become a linen basket. I don't care. It has a door that I can lock...
My rehearsal with the rock band went well last night. I sat at a piano, conducting the rhythms with my head, feeling like Richard Tandy from ELO. I think they’ll be great. I’m slightly concerned about the drummer because he’ll need to be rhythmically rock solid for the movement to work, but if he puts the work in, I'll be a very happy man.
It would appear that this project has generated the usual assortment of fabulous eccentrics, who have only just started to show their true colours. One poor chap has phoned Alison every single day to complain that his music says “keyboard” at the top of it, when he made it very clear in his audition that he plays the synthesizer. He may be about to go on strike, which would be a shame, because a number of national newspapers have apparently just heralded him as the next Jean Michel Jarre, despite his only being able to play with two fingers at any one time. I was also rather tickled by the musician who, when told she’d need to know the music backwards, asked if she’d actually need to play it backwards! Welcome to my world!
Leeds is as bustling as ever, although there seem to be some very peculiar people on the streets. Earlier on I walked past a blind man who was pushing a baby buggy with a doll inside. It was difficult to know whether to be amused, or find the whole thing tragic beyond words.
Headline of the week must belong to the Yorkshire Evening Post which screams; “Leeds OAP in scooter terror ride”. Apparently an elderly lady was left “extremely shaken” after her mobility vehicle got stuck in its fastest setting whilst travelling down a dual carriageway. Quite what she was doing on a dual carriageway, I’ve no idea, but cars were forced to screech to a halt left, right and centre before she crashed into a verge and damaged her collar bone. And if that doesn’t make people rush to buy a newspaper, I don’t know what will!
We’ve just returned from visiting the harp player in Haworth. She’s an amazing character who lives in a farm on the moors on the edge of the town. I instantly took to her. She’s absolutely fascinating. In her own words, she was brought up in a castle; “not a decent castle, a rubbish castle”, and her ramshackle farm is littered with astonishing antiques that she’s inherited over the years. We sat down to eat the freshest eggs I’ve ever tasted at Clive of India’s campaign table, which doubles up as the workbench where she makes her harps. The first harp she made was called Big Al, and subsequently every harp she’s created is given a name ending in Al... Mystical, Mental and Recycal...
It seems that Pepys wasn’t destined to get much sleep 350 years ago. He was awoken at 2am by someone delivering a parcel from London and then again at 4 when they started washing the deck above him. Water dripped through the ceiling straight into his mouth and he was forced to get up and sleep sitting at his desk.
...But life on the waves was soon to be a distant memory. Montagu had just been recalled to London... so to London they would go...
Monday, 7 June 2010
Sunday, 6 June 2010
An injection of cash, status and pride
I'm on a train to Leeds at the start of a two month adventure. By the time I return to London, The Yorkshire Symphony will have been made and I'll have moved on to the next project.
I suspect because it’s Sunday there are a lot of children on the train. I’m already becoming deeply irritated by the woman behind me who seems to be talking in a stupidly high-pitched voice to the child sitting next to her. To make matters worse, she’s systematically talking about herself in the 3rd person, which is obviously setting her child up for a lifetime of grammatical confusion, and frankly, if I hear about Teddy one more time, I’m going to flush him down the toilet. Some mother’s need to learn that the world does not revolve around their children. “Is Teddy going to sit on your lap? Is Teddy excited to be on the train? Look at Mummy waving bye bye to London, is Teddy waving bye-bye?” This child will obviously grow up thinking it’s natural to speak in a silly, ineffectual head-voice, and be terrified of men with low voices like mine. No doubt some kind of tantrum is on its way... and if that child starts to scream, Teddy really will go bye bye... all the way out of the window, followed by Mummy
This afternoon I have to meet the landlord of the shoebox I’m going to be living in for the next few weeks. I’m told it’s so small that it has a pull down bed, but I don’t mind. As long as it has a door that I can shut on the world – and a television set – I’m happy. I would have added a bath to my list of demands, but sadly I think I’d be on to a losing battle.
After meeting the landlord I’ll be doing my first rehearsal, which I believe is with the rock band, Luva Gunk, who will be providing the dark, thrusting motor for the third movement. They are the first of a bewildering number of sessions I’ve been booked into during the coming week. I believe tomorrow’s schedule starts with lunch with a harpist in Harworth and then I’m sure my feet will barely touch the ground until all the music is recorded. It will be as exciting as it is manic, but I could do with this cold clearing out of my system before the mayhem begins.
06.06.1660, and Montagu was dangling a very juicy carrot in front of Pepys in the form of a new job; more specifically the role of Clerk of the Signet; “which he did most lovingly tell me that I should execute, in case he could not get a better employment for me at the end of the year”. They also discussed Pepys’ Uncle Robert’s estate. Rich Old Bob was plainly on his way out and Montagu was going to pull some family strings to make sure the estate to found its way in Pepys’ direction. It really does seem that Montagu had Pepys’ best interests at heart and had started to pay him back for a life time of loyalty.
More news came from London. The King was busily selecting toads and sycophants for his court and the two Dukes were decadently gallivanting around town; “haunting” St James’ Park and paying numerous visits to the theatre; an industry which was flourishing in Restoration London... And even more excitingly, women had started appearing on stages for the first time.
Pepys expected to be called back to the capital at any moment and wrote to his father asking for a coat to be made that befitted a man who'd had injection of cash, status and pride!
I suspect because it’s Sunday there are a lot of children on the train. I’m already becoming deeply irritated by the woman behind me who seems to be talking in a stupidly high-pitched voice to the child sitting next to her. To make matters worse, she’s systematically talking about herself in the 3rd person, which is obviously setting her child up for a lifetime of grammatical confusion, and frankly, if I hear about Teddy one more time, I’m going to flush him down the toilet. Some mother’s need to learn that the world does not revolve around their children. “Is Teddy going to sit on your lap? Is Teddy excited to be on the train? Look at Mummy waving bye bye to London, is Teddy waving bye-bye?” This child will obviously grow up thinking it’s natural to speak in a silly, ineffectual head-voice, and be terrified of men with low voices like mine. No doubt some kind of tantrum is on its way... and if that child starts to scream, Teddy really will go bye bye... all the way out of the window, followed by Mummy
This afternoon I have to meet the landlord of the shoebox I’m going to be living in for the next few weeks. I’m told it’s so small that it has a pull down bed, but I don’t mind. As long as it has a door that I can shut on the world – and a television set – I’m happy. I would have added a bath to my list of demands, but sadly I think I’d be on to a losing battle.
After meeting the landlord I’ll be doing my first rehearsal, which I believe is with the rock band, Luva Gunk, who will be providing the dark, thrusting motor for the third movement. They are the first of a bewildering number of sessions I’ve been booked into during the coming week. I believe tomorrow’s schedule starts with lunch with a harpist in Harworth and then I’m sure my feet will barely touch the ground until all the music is recorded. It will be as exciting as it is manic, but I could do with this cold clearing out of my system before the mayhem begins.
06.06.1660, and Montagu was dangling a very juicy carrot in front of Pepys in the form of a new job; more specifically the role of Clerk of the Signet; “which he did most lovingly tell me that I should execute, in case he could not get a better employment for me at the end of the year”. They also discussed Pepys’ Uncle Robert’s estate. Rich Old Bob was plainly on his way out and Montagu was going to pull some family strings to make sure the estate to found its way in Pepys’ direction. It really does seem that Montagu had Pepys’ best interests at heart and had started to pay him back for a life time of loyalty.
More news came from London. The King was busily selecting toads and sycophants for his court and the two Dukes were decadently gallivanting around town; “haunting” St James’ Park and paying numerous visits to the theatre; an industry which was flourishing in Restoration London... And even more excitingly, women had started appearing on stages for the first time.
Pepys expected to be called back to the capital at any moment and wrote to his father asking for a coat to be made that befitted a man who'd had injection of cash, status and pride!
Saturday, 5 June 2010
White horses in the haze
We’re currently winding our way along the tiniest country lanes on the Oxfordshire/Wiltshire border. The tall verges are lined with beautiful wild flowers, and I’ve lost count of the number of thatched cottages we’ve passed. I’ve just had a piece of Kendal Mint Cake and the setting sun is watery in the sky. I’m not sure how life can get much better...
We’ve just been to the Uffington White Horse, which feels like an incredibly powerful and spiritual spot. The views from the top of the hill have to be some of the finest in Southern England. You can see for miles and miles; ridge after ridge disappearing into the hazy distance.
We spent the afternoon at the Avebury stone circle, which is yet another amazing place. We met up with Nathan’s mother, her partner, Ron and Nathan’s niece and nephew, Beckee and Lewis. Wonderful Celia, who regularly calls me her sin-in-law, prepared a hugely decadent picnic, complete with an eccentric trestle table, which she covered with food and drink. We set up underneath one of the standing stones, and I genuinely think that many of the people passing thought we were running some kind of opportunistic cake stall.
We rolled down grassy banks and then ran around bottles to make ourselves dizzy before attempting to run back up again. Celia was particularly entertaining when it came to her turn, ending up in a little heap barely 2 meters from where she’d started! We took a long walk around the perimeter of the stone circle, which is so large it takes in a pub and half a village. We had water fights, blew thousands of soap bubbles and played lawn darts. (I was trounced by an 11-year-old.) We baaed at sheep and were astonished when they started baaing back. Celia spent her time handing out toys to passing children. We really were the eccentrics on tour.
It was another relatively quiet day on board The Charles on this date 350 years ago. There was a very strong sense that things were somehow winding down. With mission accomplished, what else was there to do on board the ship? Montagu went ashore to do some fishing. They played ninepins in the evening and then had a bash at singing some barber shop music, accompanied by a cittern (or gittern), which was an early form of guitar.
We’ve just been to the Uffington White Horse, which feels like an incredibly powerful and spiritual spot. The views from the top of the hill have to be some of the finest in Southern England. You can see for miles and miles; ridge after ridge disappearing into the hazy distance.
We spent the afternoon at the Avebury stone circle, which is yet another amazing place. We met up with Nathan’s mother, her partner, Ron and Nathan’s niece and nephew, Beckee and Lewis. Wonderful Celia, who regularly calls me her sin-in-law, prepared a hugely decadent picnic, complete with an eccentric trestle table, which she covered with food and drink. We set up underneath one of the standing stones, and I genuinely think that many of the people passing thought we were running some kind of opportunistic cake stall.
The Royal Banquet that was less a picnic and more a house removal!
More Pickfords than Picnic!
We rolled down grassy banks and then ran around bottles to make ourselves dizzy before attempting to run back up again. Celia was particularly entertaining when it came to her turn, ending up in a little heap barely 2 meters from where she’d started! We took a long walk around the perimeter of the stone circle, which is so large it takes in a pub and half a village. We had water fights, blew thousands of soap bubbles and played lawn darts. (I was trounced by an 11-year-old.) We baaed at sheep and were astonished when they started baaing back. Celia spent her time handing out toys to passing children. We really were the eccentrics on tour.
Celia and the bubbles
It was another relatively quiet day on board The Charles on this date 350 years ago. There was a very strong sense that things were somehow winding down. With mission accomplished, what else was there to do on board the ship? Montagu went ashore to do some fishing. They played ninepins in the evening and then had a bash at singing some barber shop music, accompanied by a cittern (or gittern), which was an early form of guitar.
Friday, 4 June 2010
The most expensive picnic
I am in the midst of what seems like an almost endless day. We’re just leaving Cambridge. The sun is low in the sky. Our faces are tanned and I predict a harvest moon will make an appearance in the sky tonight.
We stayed up late last night with Hannah and her partner, Jamie at their beautiful flat in Tunbridge Wells. We ate Pringles, hummus and cardboard pizzas and many of us got rat-arsed. I fell asleep to the sounds of the dawn chorus. Perhaps it was the time of year, perhaps it’s the fact that we were out on the edge of countryside at the top of a hill, but I’ve never heard such a glorious avian symphony. The air was dense with the deafening sound of twittering, whistling, tweeting and trilling.
Unfortunately, I woke up this morning with an incredibly sore throat. Hugely predictable. Christopher’s been suffering from a cold and today’s the first day I’ve allowed myself to relax properly and that’s always the point at which my body gives up. Ah, the joys of being a freelance creative. You’re either too busy to enjoy yourself or too ill...
That said, drifting along the Cam in a punt with Christopher, Hannah and Nathan was wonderful. We sang in glorious four-part harmony, threw ourselves into the river and ate the most expensive picnic of our lives in the meadows towards Grantchester. The river, as usual, had attracted a crazy assortment of eccentrics and renegades. We saw three naked men swimming in the Cam; one of whom told us he’d been doing the same thing every day for 50 years. We negotiated a meander and discovered a man, wearing a wet-suit, perched in the branches of a tree like, ready to dive like a kingfisher into the water. There was a woman who looked like varnished chamois leather, a little boy who attached his dinghy to the punt, and a nine-year-old who we caught rolling a joint in a little ruined hut by the side of the water.
Not much was happening on the Charles on this date in 1660. Various letters were drafted and delivered to London, and Pepys sent all his Dutch money away to be changed into English currency. He wrote that it was the first time he’d had to do something like that, and as soon as the money was out of his hands, he began to panic that he'd not see it again. Oh for internet banking...
We stayed up late last night with Hannah and her partner, Jamie at their beautiful flat in Tunbridge Wells. We ate Pringles, hummus and cardboard pizzas and many of us got rat-arsed. I fell asleep to the sounds of the dawn chorus. Perhaps it was the time of year, perhaps it’s the fact that we were out on the edge of countryside at the top of a hill, but I’ve never heard such a glorious avian symphony. The air was dense with the deafening sound of twittering, whistling, tweeting and trilling.
Unfortunately, I woke up this morning with an incredibly sore throat. Hugely predictable. Christopher’s been suffering from a cold and today’s the first day I’ve allowed myself to relax properly and that’s always the point at which my body gives up. Ah, the joys of being a freelance creative. You’re either too busy to enjoy yourself or too ill...
That said, drifting along the Cam in a punt with Christopher, Hannah and Nathan was wonderful. We sang in glorious four-part harmony, threw ourselves into the river and ate the most expensive picnic of our lives in the meadows towards Grantchester. The river, as usual, had attracted a crazy assortment of eccentrics and renegades. We saw three naked men swimming in the Cam; one of whom told us he’d been doing the same thing every day for 50 years. We negotiated a meander and discovered a man, wearing a wet-suit, perched in the branches of a tree like, ready to dive like a kingfisher into the water. There was a woman who looked like varnished chamois leather, a little boy who attached his dinghy to the punt, and a nine-year-old who we caught rolling a joint in a little ruined hut by the side of the water.
Not much was happening on the Charles on this date in 1660. Various letters were drafted and delivered to London, and Pepys sent all his Dutch money away to be changed into English currency. He wrote that it was the first time he’d had to do something like that, and as soon as the money was out of his hands, he began to panic that he'd not see it again. Oh for internet banking...
Hannah and Nathan in Cambridge
Our shadows on a Cambridge wall
Thursday, 3 June 2010
Pease Poodle
It’s been a glorious, glorious day. I spent the past 6 hours with Christopher and Meriel in Brighton. The sun shone endlessly and the sky was cloudless and deep blue. We ate chips on the beach, paddled in the sea, and played on the dolphin derby. We went to a Victorian penny arcade and wasted hundreds of ten pence pieces on various pinball machines and automata. We journeyed through a house of horrors on a ghost train at the end of the pier and rode a giant chicken on a merry-go-round whilst Keep The Home Fires Burning played on a pipe organ. I’ve laughed until my cheeks ached, sung Judy Garland songs, eaten doughnuts and had chocolate milkshakes. My teeth are ready to fall out and the back of my neck is burnt, but I don’t care. It’s been a glorious, glorious day.
We’re now in Tunbridge Wells watching Hannah Waddingham performing a cabaret. She ended the evening with an extraordinary rendition of Send In the Clowns whilst the audience literally held its breath.
Christopher, who’s American, is having enormous problems remembering the names of the various quaint English town we’ve been passing through on our journey. He keeps referring to this place as Cotswold Minge and the already bizarrely named Pease Pottage was recently regurgitated as Pease Poodle, which I almost prefer!
Whilst passing through Lewes on our way here, I saw a dark-haired woman standing with her back to me in front of a news camera and immediately recognised her as my dear friend Claudia. I went back round the one-way system so that I could pull up alongside her and give her the fright of her life, just before she went live on the BBC regional news! It was wonderful to see her. The perfect end to a perfect day...
Not a great deal happened on board The Charles on Sunday 3rd June 1660; no games of nine pins or idle gossip or even news from London. Pepys returned to his personal accounts and discovered that he was actually worth the tidy sum of £100, which I’m told is about £9000 in today’s money. When you consider that he ended the diary worth something in the region of £10,000 pounds in 17th Century money, we begin to get an idea of quite how wealthy he became, and why he was able to leave such an impressive library of books to the world.
My extraordinary companions
We’re now in Tunbridge Wells watching Hannah Waddingham performing a cabaret. She ended the evening with an extraordinary rendition of Send In the Clowns whilst the audience literally held its breath.
Christopher, who’s American, is having enormous problems remembering the names of the various quaint English town we’ve been passing through on our journey. He keeps referring to this place as Cotswold Minge and the already bizarrely named Pease Pottage was recently regurgitated as Pease Poodle, which I almost prefer!
Whilst passing through Lewes on our way here, I saw a dark-haired woman standing with her back to me in front of a news camera and immediately recognised her as my dear friend Claudia. I went back round the one-way system so that I could pull up alongside her and give her the fright of her life, just before she went live on the BBC regional news! It was wonderful to see her. The perfect end to a perfect day...
Claudia and her fluffy boom going live...
Not a great deal happened on board The Charles on Sunday 3rd June 1660; no games of nine pins or idle gossip or even news from London. Pepys returned to his personal accounts and discovered that he was actually worth the tidy sum of £100, which I’m told is about £9000 in today’s money. When you consider that he ended the diary worth something in the region of £10,000 pounds in 17th Century money, we begin to get an idea of quite how wealthy he became, and why he was able to leave such an impressive library of books to the world.
Wednesday, 2 June 2010
Not I
I sat opposite a man with tourettes in the cafe today. Watching the well-heeled people of Highgate trying to politely ignore his outbursts was almost as entertaining as the noises he was making. He was more of a shrieker than a swearer. Cat meows and geese honks seemed to be his speciality, but he was also a virtuoso when it came to random whistles; long-held notes which got louder and louder until everyone’s ears began to vibrate. They were playing havoc with my composing until I noticed that one particular pitch fitted perfectly with the bar that I was writing at the time, so I wrote it into the score! The whole episode reminded me of Beckett’s, Not I, and still, if I could turn back time and watch just one piece of seminal theatre, I’d choose to see Billie Whitelaw’s mouth, performing that play whilst hovering in a tiny spotlight, 20 feet above the Royal Court stage. I recently discovered the film of her performing the piece on You Tube. It’s extraordinary
I’ve just returned from a recording session in Limehouse where I was playing ‘cello on the new album by a singer songwriter called Simon Grainger. He’s a very interesting character who writes music which is incredibly dark and moody, but occasionally fizzes into rather extraordinary episodes of electro-pop. It’s an interesting combination... particularly when you add a sobbing ‘cello!
We’re currently sitting in Highgate Village with our close friend, Christopher Sieber, who’s come to stay with us from New York. He’s brought some glorious weather with him, but more worryingly, seems also to have brought a little slice of the American’s trigger-happy gun culture. Something awful happened in Cumbria this afternoon and many people have been killed by a rampaging gunman who shot at innocent people from behind the wheel of a taxi. It’s horrific. It’s occasions like this that always take me back to a rather surreal day in 1989, when a gunman rushed into our school and shot the Deputy Head right outside our classroom. Fortunately for us, it was January, and the windows were entirely misted over with condensation. I dread to think what we’d have witnessed if the lunatic had waited until the summer...
Pepys had a veritable heart-to-heart with Montagu on this date 350 years ago and took the opportunity to thank him for all he’d done for him over the past few months. Montagu was incredibly gracious and told Pepys that he hoped to do him a “more lasting kindness” if things with the King continued to go as well for him as they had been. His passing comment, which Pepys chose to quote verbatim, was thrillingly tantalising; “we must have a little patience and we will rise together”. Wow!
I’ve just returned from a recording session in Limehouse where I was playing ‘cello on the new album by a singer songwriter called Simon Grainger. He’s a very interesting character who writes music which is incredibly dark and moody, but occasionally fizzes into rather extraordinary episodes of electro-pop. It’s an interesting combination... particularly when you add a sobbing ‘cello!
We’re currently sitting in Highgate Village with our close friend, Christopher Sieber, who’s come to stay with us from New York. He’s brought some glorious weather with him, but more worryingly, seems also to have brought a little slice of the American’s trigger-happy gun culture. Something awful happened in Cumbria this afternoon and many people have been killed by a rampaging gunman who shot at innocent people from behind the wheel of a taxi. It’s horrific. It’s occasions like this that always take me back to a rather surreal day in 1989, when a gunman rushed into our school and shot the Deputy Head right outside our classroom. Fortunately for us, it was January, and the windows were entirely misted over with condensation. I dread to think what we’d have witnessed if the lunatic had waited until the summer...
Pepys had a veritable heart-to-heart with Montagu on this date 350 years ago and took the opportunity to thank him for all he’d done for him over the past few months. Montagu was incredibly gracious and told Pepys that he hoped to do him a “more lasting kindness” if things with the King continued to go as well for him as they had been. His passing comment, which Pepys chose to quote verbatim, was thrillingly tantalising; “we must have a little patience and we will rise together”. Wow!
Tuesday, 1 June 2010
Redemption from Tyranny
It’s been a somewhat frantic day. I’m feeling a very tangible sense that time is running out. I sat in the cafe composing for 6 hours flat, desperately trying to make inroads into the last movement whilst wishing that I could press a button and hold time, even for just a day, so that I could finish what I’m doing and then dive back into the world when I’m ready for it to start turning again.
I’m afraid there’s not much more to report. It’s been raining miserably all day and water has been dripping through the skylights in our loft and onto the bed up there. I’m currently taking a break to eat some food and watch Britain’s Got Talent, but then the work needs to start again. I can see myself having to write until the wee smalls...
Some of the musicians from the project are now phoning up to point out some of the mistakes I’ve made in the process of writing up the parts. Obviously it’s incredibly important that they feel they can do this, but it can be highly stressful and ends up lodging unnecessesary seeds of doubt in my mind. It makes the limited rehearsals I have in Yorkshire even more important, especially for some of the stranger instruments in the piece...
Friday 1st June 1660, and Pepys “fooled away” the afternoon with endless games of ninepins, all of which he lost. Letters came from London bringing news from a city that was feeling “gallant and joyful.” Parliament had ordered that the King’s birthday, May 29th, should be kept forever as a “day of thanksgiving for our redemption from tyranny.” I’m not sure Parliament stipulated how long “forever” needed to be, but I’m pretty certain the bank holiday we've just had celebrated Whitsunday rather than an escape from tyranny!
Pepys discovered that his wife had been in London for the past week, and had therefore been lucky enough to witness the King’s entrance into the city. Much as I’m sure she found the whole experience hugely exciting, the message that came back to her husband was loud and clear. She was missing him, missing her home in Axe Yard and she wanted him back...
I’m afraid there’s not much more to report. It’s been raining miserably all day and water has been dripping through the skylights in our loft and onto the bed up there. I’m currently taking a break to eat some food and watch Britain’s Got Talent, but then the work needs to start again. I can see myself having to write until the wee smalls...
Some of the musicians from the project are now phoning up to point out some of the mistakes I’ve made in the process of writing up the parts. Obviously it’s incredibly important that they feel they can do this, but it can be highly stressful and ends up lodging unnecessesary seeds of doubt in my mind. It makes the limited rehearsals I have in Yorkshire even more important, especially for some of the stranger instruments in the piece...
Friday 1st June 1660, and Pepys “fooled away” the afternoon with endless games of ninepins, all of which he lost. Letters came from London bringing news from a city that was feeling “gallant and joyful.” Parliament had ordered that the King’s birthday, May 29th, should be kept forever as a “day of thanksgiving for our redemption from tyranny.” I’m not sure Parliament stipulated how long “forever” needed to be, but I’m pretty certain the bank holiday we've just had celebrated Whitsunday rather than an escape from tyranny!
Pepys discovered that his wife had been in London for the past week, and had therefore been lucky enough to witness the King’s entrance into the city. Much as I’m sure she found the whole experience hugely exciting, the message that came back to her husband was loud and clear. She was missing him, missing her home in Axe Yard and she wanted him back...
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