We had a lie-in this morning, which felt marvellous, as I've been getting up rather too early of late. During breakfast, we sat and watched last night’s episode of Britain’s Got Talent. I love talent shows, but am aware that by watching them I’m feeding the devil. I'm only too aware there are always far more talented individuals (many of whom are friends) plugging away and trying to make ends meet by simply working hard, and slowly honing their skills. Take the young (probably autistic) pianist who made it through to the final last night. Everyone liked his story, and liked the fact that he was black; but by any standard, he wasn’t a particularly good pianist. The panel heaped praise on him, referring to him as a virtuoso, but frankly, I studied with countless pianists who would have knocked the socks off him at a similar age. There are five year olds in China who are better than him - and work much harder.
It took me rather a long time to get motivated. I sent countless emails begging for non-existent arts-related jobs, and had a look into the idea of a career in the police force. I probably need to sit down with someone to find out if it’s even possible for a man in his late 30s to realistically start a new career in this area.
At about 6pm, I went for a wonderful run. It had been raining all morning, the first rain I’ve seen in months, but the sun came out in the late afternoon, and everything looked beautiful. The air was clean and the shadows were long. I ran around the circumference of Hampstead Heath. It’s probably an 8 km round trip, which ends with the steepest hill in London snaking up to Highgate Village. My legs still ache. I thought I was going to pass out half way up.
I sat in my bedroom tonight, and composed music for my Requiem by candlelight. I suppose I’m just splurging at the moment; getting lots of ideas down on paper that I can develop at a later point. I’m trying to write a commercial and highly tonal work, which has the capacity to tap into the Classic FM-type audience. I want to record the work properly. It’s quite an experience to sit in a darkened room at a piano setting words about death. It's all very atmospheric, and, I suppose, more than a little spooky.
350 years ago and Pepys called in on his father, hoping to meet up with his cousin John Holcroft, who simply didn't turn up. He was very upset to find his mother and father at loggerheads with one another yet again. He described his mother as having become “so pettish” and “so unsufferably foolish and simple” of late, that he wondered how his father coped. Perhaps she was suffering from some form of dementia. She certainly wasn't long for this world.
Tuesday, 31 May 2011
Monday, 30 May 2011
Gloria Bee RIP
I am in Lewes, or more correctly in a little village outside Lewes called Kingston. It seems strange to be in this corner of the world for a second day running. Better diary management and I probably could have saved a great deal of petrol money. I've been visiting Uncle Bill, Meriel, Rupert and Roy. We've eaten some fabulous food, wandered around the shops and taken a walk beside the River Ouse. I knew there was an Ouse in Bedfordshire and another in Yorkshire, but had no idea there was one down here as well. A quick check online reveals that the name comes from the Celtic word for water. So no surprises there.
The sad news of the day is that Gloria Bee is dead. She actually died a few days ago but I was too upset to write about it. We found her early in the morning, curled up underneath the kitchen table. We buried her in the pot plant next to her beloved television. I feel she would have wanted it that way! I would like to thank you, in advance, for your messages of condolance, but I would ask now to be left alone so that I can grieve in peace.
350 years ago, Pepys went with Sandwich to look at a fancy new leisure boat he'd had built.
The day continued with various meetings. At one stage, Pepys and his friend Ralph Greatorex disappeared into a darkened cellar to drink a bottle of gin. Later on, he got caught short and was forced to poo behind a door by a mooring next to the Thames! I don't know how to write that sentence in a less graphic way. The day ended in a coffee house where Pepys and a group of fellow renaissance men chatted the night away.
Uncle Bill, Mez and Roy in Lewes
The sad news of the day is that Gloria Bee is dead. She actually died a few days ago but I was too upset to write about it. We found her early in the morning, curled up underneath the kitchen table. We buried her in the pot plant next to her beloved television. I feel she would have wanted it that way! I would like to thank you, in advance, for your messages of condolance, but I would ask now to be left alone so that I can grieve in peace.
350 years ago, Pepys went with Sandwich to look at a fancy new leisure boat he'd had built.
The day continued with various meetings. At one stage, Pepys and his friend Ralph Greatorex disappeared into a darkened cellar to drink a bottle of gin. Later on, he got caught short and was forced to poo behind a door by a mooring next to the Thames! I don't know how to write that sentence in a less graphic way. The day ended in a coffee house where Pepys and a group of fellow renaissance men chatted the night away.
Sunday, 29 May 2011
Fish, chips and Captain Hook
I’ve been in East Sussex for much of the day. I'm told its the only county in England with no motorways but I find this statistic hard to believe. Where are the motorways in Norfolk, for example? My brother remembers learning that at one time the nearest motorway to Norwich was in Holland. That surely can’t be correct... but it does imply that Norfolk isn't exactly teaming with motorways either.
Anyway, it was my second cousin’s wedding today. Well, actually, he got married yesterday, but Brother Edward and I were invited to a fish, chip and champagne lunch in the garden today, which I guess was the sort of family party where all the extras show up. I was quite touched to be invited, really, as I’d never actually met the lad; nor had most of my cousins who were also there. Poor bloke... You get married and don’t know half the people who show up to your party!
Aside from your normal line up of elderly aunts and peculiar 3 year olds with fat faces, there was also a large contingent of 20-somethings. I wondered if they were some of the kids from the village who'd grown up with my second cousin. Many of them were incredibly posh... I mean Incredibly posh. Ya ya ya. I’ve never seen so many young people wandering about with canes and flat caps. They were definitely the hunting, fishing, shooting brigade. This must be what gangs of young men look like in well-to-do parts of the country. I’m surprised many of them even knew what fish and chips were. One of them did look frighteningly like a cod, however. I’ve genuinely never seen a man resemble a fish so greatly. I suspect there may well have been a bit of aquatic inbreeding going on at some point in his family’s past! Still, you can’t judge a man by his friends, and although I still haven’t met my second cousin, he looked like a very friendly, well-brought-up young man from across the marquee!
The house that his family lives in is just remarkable. I actually think it’s one of the most beautiful homes I’ve ever seen. It’s set in acres of land – in a misty valley lined with the tallest, greenest trees. I’m not often lost for words, but it’s just divine. It has its own bothy and a 14th Century dovecote, a beautiful walled vegetable garden and a swimming pool. The ideal place for adventures for children of all ages. The entire property is set within ancient flint walls which are at least 12 feet tall. My second cousin’s mother is a wonderful and dignified woman whom I like enormously.
All good.
The weather was awful, but they managed a walk in the fine gardens of Sir William’s country estate. A country estate is something I hate... There seems to have been some kind of ceremony in an upstairs bedroom where the baby was named John. Pepys felt everything went well, but was distracted by a woman who seemed to be feeding wafers to her lap dog!
After the ceremony, everyone retired to Mrs Shipman’s house, who was one of the child’s other godparents. She must have run some kind of dairy for it was there that they all “filled their bellies” with cream. What fun!
On the way home they had a race. Sir William’s coach versus the other Sir William’s chariot. The coach won and Pepys clothes got caked in mud. He went to sleep with his breeches drying by the open fire.
Anyway, it was my second cousin’s wedding today. Well, actually, he got married yesterday, but Brother Edward and I were invited to a fish, chip and champagne lunch in the garden today, which I guess was the sort of family party where all the extras show up. I was quite touched to be invited, really, as I’d never actually met the lad; nor had most of my cousins who were also there. Poor bloke... You get married and don’t know half the people who show up to your party!
Aside from your normal line up of elderly aunts and peculiar 3 year olds with fat faces, there was also a large contingent of 20-somethings. I wondered if they were some of the kids from the village who'd grown up with my second cousin. Many of them were incredibly posh... I mean Incredibly posh. Ya ya ya. I’ve never seen so many young people wandering about with canes and flat caps. They were definitely the hunting, fishing, shooting brigade. This must be what gangs of young men look like in well-to-do parts of the country. I’m surprised many of them even knew what fish and chips were. One of them did look frighteningly like a cod, however. I’ve genuinely never seen a man resemble a fish so greatly. I suspect there may well have been a bit of aquatic inbreeding going on at some point in his family’s past! Still, you can’t judge a man by his friends, and although I still haven’t met my second cousin, he looked like a very friendly, well-brought-up young man from across the marquee!
Some of my family
The house that his family lives in is just remarkable. I actually think it’s one of the most beautiful homes I’ve ever seen. It’s set in acres of land – in a misty valley lined with the tallest, greenest trees. I’m not often lost for words, but it’s just divine. It has its own bothy and a 14th Century dovecote, a beautiful walled vegetable garden and a swimming pool. The ideal place for adventures for children of all ages. The entire property is set within ancient flint walls which are at least 12 feet tall. My second cousin’s mother is a wonderful and dignified woman whom I like enormously.
All good.
We drove back to London to see Nathan in a workshop of a new musical about Peter Pan and the Lost Boys. It’s set in the First World War and features the boys as young adults. Nathan was playing Captain Hook of all people, and he was brilliantly scary. The show itself needs work, but there’s definitely a seed of something there.
350 years ago Pepys went to the christening of Sir William Batten’s sister’s child. Pepys was to be godfather. It all took place in Walthamstow and Pepys was incredibly nervous lest he should do something inappropriate. He went armed with all manner of spoons and caudles, not knowing what he’d be expected to give as a present. The weather was awful, but they managed a walk in the fine gardens of Sir William’s country estate. A country estate is something I hate... There seems to have been some kind of ceremony in an upstairs bedroom where the baby was named John. Pepys felt everything went well, but was distracted by a woman who seemed to be feeding wafers to her lap dog!
After the ceremony, everyone retired to Mrs Shipman’s house, who was one of the child’s other godparents. She must have run some kind of dairy for it was there that they all “filled their bellies” with cream. What fun!
On the way home they had a race. Sir William’s coach versus the other Sir William’s chariot. The coach won and Pepys clothes got caked in mud. He went to sleep with his breeches drying by the open fire.
Cousin Matt
Saturday, 28 May 2011
Cheese and spring onion sandwiches
I’ve been doing more work on my Requiem today; toying with a few early ideas about the In Paradisum sequence and the all important Libera Me. When I was young, the Northamptonshire Youth Choir sung Faure’s Requiem, and I was asked to do the Libera Me solo, which felt like a very exciting honour at the time. I used to get so nervous that my voice sounded like a sheep. Probably not the best advertisement for a choir, if the best vocalist you can find is actually livestock! We performed the piece in a church in Cherry Hinton, near Cambridge. One of the 'cellists gave me a cheese and spring onion sandwich, which I thought was extraordinary... and very tasty. Quite why I should remember that, I've no idea.
Apart from writing, I've been rather inert all day. Once again I’m disappearing into a me-shaped dent in the sofa. Earlier on I was attacked by our rat, Pol. He bit my finger, which is strange behaviour indeed. I have a horrible feeling that he might need to be castrated, which feels like such an unpleasant thing to do to a creature who doesn’t understand what he’s doing wrong. Dilemmas, dilemmas.
There’s very little else to say. We went to the gym. The whole place is now so unbelievably downtrodden. LA Fitness genuinely don’t seem to care any more. All the soap dispensers have fallen off the walls in the showers, they’ve removed all the scales, so now if you want to weigh yourself you have to do it in front of everyone in the gym room – and pay 50p for the privilege. The place is filthy. I made enquiries today about freezing my membership for a period, but discovered that you even have to pay for the privilege of NOT going to the gym. Pathetic.
Pepys was all over London 350 years ago on this date. First at the Wardrobe, then at the Exchange, where he observed the “hangman” burning old acts of Parliament. I can’t really find any reference to the practice of physically or symbolically burning documents when they had been replaced by new laws, but from this entry, it really does seem to have been a practice that happened.
In the afternoon, Pepys went to Cheapside to buy some silver to give to Mrs Brown’s child, whom he was about to become Godfather to. He ended the day in the company of Sir William Penn who talked to him about fascinating figures from history whom Pepys had never heard of.
Apart from writing, I've been rather inert all day. Once again I’m disappearing into a me-shaped dent in the sofa. Earlier on I was attacked by our rat, Pol. He bit my finger, which is strange behaviour indeed. I have a horrible feeling that he might need to be castrated, which feels like such an unpleasant thing to do to a creature who doesn’t understand what he’s doing wrong. Dilemmas, dilemmas.
There’s very little else to say. We went to the gym. The whole place is now so unbelievably downtrodden. LA Fitness genuinely don’t seem to care any more. All the soap dispensers have fallen off the walls in the showers, they’ve removed all the scales, so now if you want to weigh yourself you have to do it in front of everyone in the gym room – and pay 50p for the privilege. The place is filthy. I made enquiries today about freezing my membership for a period, but discovered that you even have to pay for the privilege of NOT going to the gym. Pathetic.
Pepys was all over London 350 years ago on this date. First at the Wardrobe, then at the Exchange, where he observed the “hangman” burning old acts of Parliament. I can’t really find any reference to the practice of physically or symbolically burning documents when they had been replaced by new laws, but from this entry, it really does seem to have been a practice that happened.
In the afternoon, Pepys went to Cheapside to buy some silver to give to Mrs Brown’s child, whom he was about to become Godfather to. He ended the day in the company of Sir William Penn who talked to him about fascinating figures from history whom Pepys had never heard of.
Friday, 27 May 2011
God God God
I’ve finally made a start on my Requiem. I don’t know whether it’s bizarre to start on the Agnus Dei sequence, but I had some notes for a setting of that particular Latin text, which I'd made about five years ago, and they seem to have stood up quite well. It’s difficult to start the process of inserting gravestone texts until all the votes from my friends are in, but I selected two that have proved fairly popular so far and ones which seemed to fit the feeling of the music and the message of the Latin text, which basically never moves that very far away from "God, God, God," so it's nice to be able to stick something in that has some proper meaning! "Be kind" says the first text, "for everyone you meet is fighting a hard battle.” The quote seems to be attributed to Plato, but it feels incredibly relevant in the 21st Century. Just at the moment, I don’t know many people who are living lives that don't feel like hard battles. I certainly feel that way right now.
The other text I’ve been looking at is “our life is like grass, a breath of wind passes over and we are gone and not seen again.” I think the origins of this quote are biblical, but I like the way it is written out of context on the gravestone, which I found in a Jewish Cemetery. It is a very true statement. We are all insignificant. In the blink of an eye, we’re gone forever... but to attach this to the natural cycle of life seems somehow comforting. I think I like being a blade of grass. It takes the pressure off!
Because I’ve had so many enquiries, I should point out that the court case in Leicester was adjourned yesterday. We had loads to talk about and we basically ran out of time, which wasn't ideal for any of us. We’re now looking for another date that everyone can make to finish things off, but it could take months. Boo! That’s about all I can say at this stage.
Monday 27th May, 1661, and Pepys spent the day pottering around Westminster, dealing with various bits of business. He went to the Legg on King’s Street where he met the two Mr Pierces. Whilst they were drinking, Captain Ferrers appeared, the first day he’d ventured out since his leap from the balcony a week before. He was obviously a very lucky man.
The other text I’ve been looking at is “our life is like grass, a breath of wind passes over and we are gone and not seen again.” I think the origins of this quote are biblical, but I like the way it is written out of context on the gravestone, which I found in a Jewish Cemetery. It is a very true statement. We are all insignificant. In the blink of an eye, we’re gone forever... but to attach this to the natural cycle of life seems somehow comforting. I think I like being a blade of grass. It takes the pressure off!
Because I’ve had so many enquiries, I should point out that the court case in Leicester was adjourned yesterday. We had loads to talk about and we basically ran out of time, which wasn't ideal for any of us. We’re now looking for another date that everyone can make to finish things off, but it could take months. Boo! That’s about all I can say at this stage.
Monday 27th May, 1661, and Pepys spent the day pottering around Westminster, dealing with various bits of business. He went to the Legg on King’s Street where he met the two Mr Pierces. Whilst they were drinking, Captain Ferrers appeared, the first day he’d ventured out since his leap from the balcony a week before. He was obviously a very lucky man.
Thursday, 26 May 2011
NCP
We're steaming down the M1. We stayed in Leicester last night and I saw some lovely buskers standing on some steps. I swear one or two of them looked familiar but I couldn't place them.
It was a last minute decision to stay in the city over night, and we lucked out with a lovely hotel. I had poached eggs and mushrooms for breakfast, which I think is my favourite meal... Particularly when they're made by my mother-in-law, who seems to find these bright orange double-yolkers which are about the tastiest things on the planet!
As we tried to leave Leicester, we noticed a major problem in the multi-storey car park. Cars were backed up from the exit, all the way to the fourth floor, and everyone was pipping their horns and shouting frustratedly.
We had a look around, and discovered that the exit barrier was broken. Every time a car tried to feed their ticket into the machine, it just spat it out again. Each driver was then forced to press the emergency help button and wait for a woman in cyber space to respond. After a 2 minute conversation, the barrier would be raised, one car would pass through and then exactly the same thing would happen again. It was taking forever. Meanwhile about 70 cars were stuck in the car park and tensions were rising.
I called NCP and they assured me someone would be down fairly soon to monitor the situation. We went up to our car, which was right at the top of the car park and therefore right at the end of the queue. We sat for a while. The beeping continued. Nothing moved.
"Leave this with me" I said to Nathan and triumphantly sashayed my way down to the ground floor again. I went straight to the barrier, heaved it up with all my might, and stood there with it on my shoulder whilst beckoning car after car through.
It was a very special moment. I felt like Santa Claus. All the drivers waved and applauded me as they drove through. Some winked. Some opened their windows and said "you're not from the NCP are you!? Top man!!" And within five minutes the traffic jam was clear, and everyone was happy again. Small things...
Sunday May 26th, 1661, and Pepys, as usual, went to church... twice. He had lunch with Elizabeth at home, and enjoyed sitting in a house which was almost back in order after being comprehensively renovated. After a second bout of God stuff, Pepys called in on his neighbour, Sir William Batten. He'd made himself a stranger of late - very deliberately, in fact, because he thought it would improve his standing with him. Absence makes the heart grow fonder and all that. It obviously did the trick, for he was immediately asked to be godfather to the child of Sir William's sister. Pepys agreed reluctantly, and then spent the night worrying about the decision.
It was a last minute decision to stay in the city over night, and we lucked out with a lovely hotel. I had poached eggs and mushrooms for breakfast, which I think is my favourite meal... Particularly when they're made by my mother-in-law, who seems to find these bright orange double-yolkers which are about the tastiest things on the planet!
As we tried to leave Leicester, we noticed a major problem in the multi-storey car park. Cars were backed up from the exit, all the way to the fourth floor, and everyone was pipping their horns and shouting frustratedly.
We had a look around, and discovered that the exit barrier was broken. Every time a car tried to feed their ticket into the machine, it just spat it out again. Each driver was then forced to press the emergency help button and wait for a woman in cyber space to respond. After a 2 minute conversation, the barrier would be raised, one car would pass through and then exactly the same thing would happen again. It was taking forever. Meanwhile about 70 cars were stuck in the car park and tensions were rising.
I called NCP and they assured me someone would be down fairly soon to monitor the situation. We went up to our car, which was right at the top of the car park and therefore right at the end of the queue. We sat for a while. The beeping continued. Nothing moved.
"Leave this with me" I said to Nathan and triumphantly sashayed my way down to the ground floor again. I went straight to the barrier, heaved it up with all my might, and stood there with it on my shoulder whilst beckoning car after car through.
It was a very special moment. I felt like Santa Claus. All the drivers waved and applauded me as they drove through. Some winked. Some opened their windows and said "you're not from the NCP are you!? Top man!!" And within five minutes the traffic jam was clear, and everyone was happy again. Small things...
Sunday May 26th, 1661, and Pepys, as usual, went to church... twice. He had lunch with Elizabeth at home, and enjoyed sitting in a house which was almost back in order after being comprehensively renovated. After a second bout of God stuff, Pepys called in on his neighbour, Sir William Batten. He'd made himself a stranger of late - very deliberately, in fact, because he thought it would improve his standing with him. Absence makes the heart grow fonder and all that. It obviously did the trick, for he was immediately asked to be godfather to the child of Sir William's sister. Pepys agreed reluctantly, and then spent the night worrying about the decision.
Wednesday, 25 May 2011
The edge of a cliff
I’m feeling a bit light-headed. This is almost certainly because it’s 6pm and I haven’t eaten anything since breakfast. It’s been a fairly unpleasant day. It’s my court case tomorrow, and I’ve been preparing a never-ending list of documents. I had a letter through the post this morning to tell me that the defendant in the case has opted, last minute, for representation by a solicitor, which is an interesting development. I’m rather pleased, as it happens, and look forward to meeting him across the table.
Less good news came from Alison today, who called to say that there just isn’t any money in the BBC Regions at the moment. So all the work I've done on BBC Regional pitches over the last few weeks counts for absolutely nothing. Even if the will were there, the money wouldn't be. I now need to do some serious thinking about my future. It is obviously untenable for me to be approaching 40 with absolutely no stability in my career, picking up little scraps of work wherever I can, so I need to look into alternatives. I refuse to be one of those failed creatives who turns to academia - that’s a sure fire way of ending your days feeling jaded and bitter - so I’m left with the idea of looking at areas that are not attached to the industry; perhaps the charity sector or even the police.
I long for something with stability; something which allows me to climb through the rungs of an organisation, whilst remaining safe within that organisation. In short, I want to be able to take the gas off, and not have to juggle hundreds of ideas at once. I had an email from Arnold Wesker earlier on - it was his 79th birthday yesterday - and I shared my thoughts about a possible change in career with him. He immediately sent an email back which started “that’s one of the most depressing letters I’ve ever received.” He went on to say that “creative artists don’t stop being creative, it’s not something they can do. Niagra can’t possibly stop cascading. Don’t even articulate such thoughts; articulated words can become self-fulfilling. Compose your Requiem as though it were a commission for the proms. You’ll feel different after you’ve completed it. Remember St Julian of Norwich; “all shall be well and all shall be well, and all manner of thing shall be well.” Kind, wise words indeed. I’m sure he won’t mind me quoting him. I don't really know what to think. I think a great deal will rest on the outcome of tomorrow.
Saturday 25th May, 1661, and Pepys went to the Temple at noon, to do a bit of shopping for books at Playford’s, a renowned publisher of the day. He went to the theatre to watch The Silent Woman by Ben Jonson. It pleased him, apparently. On the way home he bought more books in St Paul’s Churchyard.
Less good news came from Alison today, who called to say that there just isn’t any money in the BBC Regions at the moment. So all the work I've done on BBC Regional pitches over the last few weeks counts for absolutely nothing. Even if the will were there, the money wouldn't be. I now need to do some serious thinking about my future. It is obviously untenable for me to be approaching 40 with absolutely no stability in my career, picking up little scraps of work wherever I can, so I need to look into alternatives. I refuse to be one of those failed creatives who turns to academia - that’s a sure fire way of ending your days feeling jaded and bitter - so I’m left with the idea of looking at areas that are not attached to the industry; perhaps the charity sector or even the police.
I long for something with stability; something which allows me to climb through the rungs of an organisation, whilst remaining safe within that organisation. In short, I want to be able to take the gas off, and not have to juggle hundreds of ideas at once. I had an email from Arnold Wesker earlier on - it was his 79th birthday yesterday - and I shared my thoughts about a possible change in career with him. He immediately sent an email back which started “that’s one of the most depressing letters I’ve ever received.” He went on to say that “creative artists don’t stop being creative, it’s not something they can do. Niagra can’t possibly stop cascading. Don’t even articulate such thoughts; articulated words can become self-fulfilling. Compose your Requiem as though it were a commission for the proms. You’ll feel different after you’ve completed it. Remember St Julian of Norwich; “all shall be well and all shall be well, and all manner of thing shall be well.” Kind, wise words indeed. I’m sure he won’t mind me quoting him. I don't really know what to think. I think a great deal will rest on the outcome of tomorrow.
Saturday 25th May, 1661, and Pepys went to the Temple at noon, to do a bit of shopping for books at Playford’s, a renowned publisher of the day. He went to the theatre to watch The Silent Woman by Ben Jonson. It pleased him, apparently. On the way home he bought more books in St Paul’s Churchyard.
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