MUSINGS

2012

Salaga at Kennington, Oxfordshire

An occasional online journal, about music, books, ideas, plus the voyages of Narrowboat Salaga.

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Sunday 6th May 2012

The chronic weather has continued to rage right up to this weekend, when there was a bit of a lull - but with more rain forecast for next week, who knows what may happen? I was right about the flood - about 24 hours after I left the river the whole Thames from top to bottom was on red flood alert, and a raging torrent. Much to my annoyance, after a couple of days taking refuge on the canal I was rung by British Waterways with a demand tjhat I buy an (expensive) temporary licence. I would have thought in an emergency like this they could put up with my being on the canal for a few days without it doing any harm - but apparently not. I wouldn't mind so much, except I counted six boats on a walk along the canal without licences of any kind, some of which have been there for months, and there are other boats on the canal in Oxford with licences years out of date; why they should be allowed to get away with murder while I am harassed is beyond me - I suppose I'm an easy target, as they have my phone number, and I don't keep huge ferocious dogs or a large axe prominently displayed, as I saw on one illegal boat the other day! The river is starting to go down, now, and I must say I am longing to get back on it and into my routine again.

I've been listening to Delius's Requiem. I've always felt this was one of his best pieces, and curiously little-known. I was very taken with it in my teens, and I still am now. Watching Ken Russell's Delius film, Song of Summer, noticed he does use a bit of the Requiem in that - it is such a very appropriate piece to sum up Delius's strange hedonistic philosophy and curiously passionate militant atheism.

Reading lately has included Kingsley Amis's The Green Man - a rather surprising novel on a supernatural theme, plus a book on the American Civil War, one on Royal Navy admirals, and an amusing book by Bill Bryson about walking the colossal and terrifying Appalachian Trail. I have also set out to read the entire plays of Shakespeare - something I have not yet done; it's enjoyable, but hard work at times - specially in some of the less well-known comedies, the verbal humour of the time is virtually incomprehensible without notes (which I don't have, as I am using my Collected Works in one volume which I note I received as a Latin Prize in 1969!).

Friday 27th April 2012

The latest hiatus in this journal has been caused not by my usual laziness, but by an incomprehensible problem that arose with my server, which meant I couldn't upload anything for weeks; the 'support' people were useless, as they nearly always are in these situations, and in the end I had to do some research online and sort it out myself. So 'normal' service is now resumed.

After weeks of drought, which broke as usual at the holiday period over Easter, the weather has been completely atrocious, with day after day of torrential rain and often the gale-force winds which make life very difficult on a boat in exposed spots on the river. The river started rising in the last few days, and I decided to come off back on to the canal, to my great frustration, as I am pretty sure there is going to be a flood again, despite the lock-keepers saying it's not that bad yet, etc. The land, which was dry as a bone not so long ago, is now waterlogged, and the water's got to go somewhere, after all. And the worst thing is that rain is predicted for the foreseeable future!

Easter Day 2012

The weather continued gloomy and cold until about 4.30, when at last the sun came out and it started feeling like Easter. I went for a nice walk around the back of the Clumps, where there is a particular view I am fond of, over a low hill with a barrow on the top of it, sweeping towards the Ridgeway. On the way back I had a nice surprise, when I found the little church of St. Peter's at Little Wittenham open, though deserted; it had been decorated with little bunches of flowers and greenery hanging from the candle holders, and sprays of flowering catkins, I think, at the bases of all the windows. It's one of those very quiet country churches, away from traffic, which have a special atmosphere of timelessness that I like. Much better for an Easter meditation than the Abbey on Friday, with its noisy, careless visitors. In the visitors' book the vicar had noted that there had been '32 at the dawn services on top of the Clumps' - that must have been a memorable, if very cold, experience! I made a simnel cake this year, for the first time for ages (because I wasn't working on the crucial days and had time) - I must be a bit out of practice, as I used white flour instead of wholemeal by accident, and it's a bit doughy, but it still tastes nice, with lashings of marzipan!

Easter is a time I always feel is significant, even though I am by no means an orthodox Christian. In the New Testament reading for the evening today on Choral Evensong on Radio 3, in the story of the Road to Emmaus, comes that memorable phrase, 'Did not our hearts burn within us, as we talked with Him by the way?' Does anyone's heart 'burn within them', these days, with anything but greed and hate and anger? I sometimes wonder. The idea of Resurrection is a difficult one for most of us to cope with, in this sceptical age, and indeed, taken literally, it seems a lot to accept. Personally I find Jung's, and perhaps the Gnostics', conception of Christ helpful here. As Jung says, whatever else the earthly Jesus may have been, he is clearly an archetype within us embodying some fundamental spiritual truth. He is presented in the gospels as both 'son of man' and 'son of God' - he is the eternal Man but also somehow not of this world; the 'myth' (used in the Jungian sense of a story embodying deep truth) of Christ's suffering, death and return from the dead shows us something very remarkable. As Jung puts it in a film interview: although we seem to live in a transient material world, limited by decay and death, there is something within the human psyche that refuses to accept this. And as he says, there is clear evidence that the psyche, and the collective unconscious it is part of, in some way transcend what we think of as the 'normal' laws of time and space. There seems to me to be hope in this thought.

I aslo went to Evensong in the Abbey here today; it was rather a nice and traditional service - the choir isn't that great, but they sang with conviction, including Wesley's anthem with the famous refrain 'Love one another' (I forget its title). With the great east window and the amazing altar with its huge candlesticks and cross, and with lilies and many other flowers everywhere, and candles burning, it was a lovely atmosphere. The New Testament reading here was the account from St. John of Mary Magdalene at the empty tomb, seeking the body of 'her Lord', when she mistakes the risen Jesus for the gardener, until he calls her by name; I have always found this a very poignant account, and the man who read it read in a very patient and dignified way which was somehow very moving. There is something so very circumstantial about the detail of this story - it makes you think.

Saturday 7th April 2012

I'm slightly embarrassed (but only slightly!) to admit I have been rather enjoying watching old 'Carry On' films over this weekend during ITV3's festival of British comedy. I used to love them as a kid, and still find the earlier ones hilarious (the later ones just became too pathetically smutty) - my favourites being Carry on Cleo and Carry on Screaming. Apart from anything else, it's the sheer nostalgia in some of them of seeing Britain again as it was in the 1960's that I enjoy.

Good Friday 2012

I am very pleased to be down at Dorchester-on-Thames again - my first visit of this year; it is such a lovely spot, and though the weather has been very cold and rather gloomy much of the time, it is still delightful to be here in this almost unpoilt bit of rural England, with the magnificent Wittenham Clumps looming over me and the bells of the Abbey wafting across the meadows, far from the horrors of 21st century urban Britain, apart from helicopters from RAF Benson. At times in places like this it almost seems as though England hasn't changed all that much, after all. It has, of course, but it's nice to have a feeling that there is something left of the past, here and there. I went for a walk through a little outlying hamlet called Overy, where there is an old mill and some absolutely glorious houses, any of which I would dearly love to own and live in. I visited the Abbey today and noticed they had stripped the altars in the traditional manner; I tried to meditate a little on the meaning of Good Friday, but it was a little difficult as there were visitors banging about and talking in loud voices. It is amazing to me how so many people today seem to have virtually no concept of what a church is for, and on this day of all days - at least in a Roman Catholic church things would be different.

< Moored at Dorchester Manor farm at Overy>

I spent some time before this in a nice mooring just below Abingdon that I discovered last year - it has the benefit of being close to the town whilst feeling very quiet and secluded - just what I like! Abingdon is another one of those places where, at certain times and in certain places it could be England in the 1950's - but there you only have to turn a corner and encounter a depressing gaggle of the hideous chavs that the town is infested with to be rudely awakened. And yet there are many lovely old, expensive, houses and well-heeled people there, too - it's quite schizophrenic; a quality encountered everywhere today in this land of ours.

On Palm Sunday I had the unusual experience in England of witnessing an ecclesiastical procession in the street - from the church of St. Mary Magdalen, which is clearly very 'high', as they had incense as well as a cross. Just for a moment a little glimpse of the middle ages, just outside Tesco's.

<East St. Helen's St., Abingdon Palm Sunday in Oxford >

I started doing the walking tours in Oxford, but sadly after only a few I have found that the whole thing of leafleting and doing two two hour tours back-to-back a day (very energetic ones!) is a bit too much for me; not just the mental effort, which is not in fact so very much, but the walking and standing. I've felt totally exhausted after each day and needed the whole of the next day to recover; also my knee injury which I thought had healed has flared up again and gets quite bad by the fourth or fifth hour of standing/walking. So it seems as though I won't be able to do it, after all, which is a great pity as I actually greatly enjoy doing the actual tours, and have been getting a good atmosphere going with the participants. There is some hope of single booked tours and perhaps a cycle tour, too. This is the kind of part-time work that really suits me - concentrated in time and interesting to do - if only I could just do one tour at a time! We shall see. I do really need something as my income has been meagre indeed for the last couple of months.

I've almost finished my two little organ choral preludes on hymn tunes of Parry - Repton ('Dear Lord and Father of Mankind') and Laudate Dominum ('O Praise ye the Lord, Praise Him in the Heights'). At the moment I feel quite pleased with them. I also finished the orchestral version of my Jubilee anthem, to a deafening chorus of complete disinterest, and have returned to the Gnostic Passion, which is now sketched out to about two thirds of the way through; I think it will last about an hour when completed. Very suitable for this Easter season, even if some of the sentiments in my version might be considered somewhat heretical by the orthodox.

I've been listening to Elgar's The Apostles, as very suitable for Holy Week. It is such a remarkable and powerful piece, it's a pity it isn't better known. It's very rarely done live, as it requires large forces and six soloists; I think I have heard it live twice, once at least at the Albert Hall under Gennadi Rozhdestvensky. I am disappointed once again not to have a performance of Bach's St. Matthew Passion anywhere within easy reach, or even on Radio 3, for Easter, as far as I know. It is a very big and long piece to put on, but I seem to remember it being done more often; now it's always the shorter and smaller St. John version, which is also wonderful but done all the time. Years ago I definitely remember the St. Matthew being on BBC1 or BBC2 at Easter - catch the BBC doing anything like that now, I don't think!

Reading Michael Wood on the Trojan War, a book about the British Pacific Fleet in WWII, F. Anstey's The Brass Bottle (quite amusing) and Julius Caesar (inspired by reading Plutarch, its source.)

Sunday 18th March 2012

Rather a disappointing week weatherwise - last weekend it was really pleasant, sunny and warm, and I finally decided to venture down river below Osney for the first time this year; I intended to moor at Kennington on the way down to Abingdon, and enjoy some lovely spring conditions on the river in the quiet, before it starts getting busy at Easter. Needless to say, the sun disappeared and it turned grey and cold for the whole week, with only one or two brief spells of sun, plus some rain yesterday.

Last Sunday I once again attended the Harpsichord & Organ competition at Eton. As ever the standard was amazing, and there were several marvellous performances, including movements from Widor and Vierne, Bach of course, Messiaen's intoxicating Dieu parmi nos and a remarkable Toccata by Patrick Gowers, a composer whose music for the Sherlock Holmes series on TV I have always greatly appreciated, but the rest of whose music I know little of; judging by this piece, performed expertly by his grandson (it was the winning performance), his other music ought to be better known. As ever with these sorts of events, it struck me how amazing it is the amount of effort young musicians put into learning their craft, and the huge intensity with which they do it. Why do we do music at all, really? Clearly there is something transcendent about it that repays the discipline and effort necessary to turn various scrapings, blowings and strikings into art; it is indeed a mystery. Looking up Patrick Gowers, I found a recording of this piece played on the same organ, also including the accompanying Fugue, on Youtube, which is well worth listening to:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=XnYWHdl0jR0

	<Under the Grandpont causeway Spring on the Isis below Folly Bridge>
	<Unchanging Eton and its heavily worn and carved walls >

Have been reading V.S. Naipaul's fascinating India - A Million Mutinies Now, and also the Roman lives of Plutarch - quite amazing stuff I don't think I have ever read before, and a remarkable window into the strange and violent world of late Republican/early imperial Rome. Another thing I re-discover on my new CD player is the incredibly vivid and vital recordings of the two Elgar symphonies by Solti; as someone said in an article I read, he is one of the few foreign conductors who really seemed to have understood Elgar's music and strongly relayed to it. Apart from Boult and the composer's own recordings (which influenced Solti), they have to be the best recordings around. he slow movement of No. 2 is sublime.

Tuesday 6th March

A rather silly excursion back onto the canal again, then it rained heavily for about ten hours, so I had to go back up the canal again to get on the river without braving the fast-running channel above Osney. Once again I am greatly relieved to beback on the river, away from the urban mayhem. I had been intending to make my first foray downriver this year, but I think I will wait now until the river calms down again after the rain.

I've been learning to do guided tours of Oxford, on behalf of Footprints Tours, a very excellent new venture with a fresh approach - it's been a bit worrying as my ageing brain finds it hard to retain lots of new information at once, these days, and the tour has to be done in a particular way, but after going round with Frederick, the director, the other day, I'm now feeling confident I can crack it in the near future. It's been a lot of work, though. Doing guided tours was the thing I enjoyed most in my last employment, so I think I will enjoy doing them around Oxford, and it's likely to be much more concentrated work in terms of time, with less standing or sitting around doing not very much, which is a thing I detest.

Rather a worrying thing recently is that I have started developing eye strain from excessive reading and computer use. I have always read a lot, and I use the computer for so much these days, but I think it's because since I stopped my drudgery at Christ Church I have had a lot more time for both. Hopefully when I start doing tour guiding the balance will be better again. But in the meantime I have purchased a cheap personal CD player, which I can use with rechargeable batteries, and am doing more listening to music in the evenings rather than staring at screens. I've been rediscovering some of my favourite Vaughan Williams works, including the amazing Dona Nobis Pacem, which is hardly known and which I have never heard live, more's the pity. Also a discovery was some of the music of Parry, featured on 'Composer of the Week' recently, including some nice chorale preludes which have inspired me to write a couple of similar pieces based on themes of Parry.

Wed. 29th

Went to a very good Evensong at Magdalen today. I noticed that the standard of singing was really excellent - not that it has ever been bad, but there was a period when the trebles were sounding a little rough - it's always so difficult to mantain the stand when voices are breaking and people are leaving all the time, I imagine; they did a very nice setting of the Canticles by Brewer. which I didn't know, and a lovely anthem by McKie. There was an amusing moment when the dean of divinity solemnly announced that although people might be surprised at hearing an 'Alleluia' during lent, it was in fact a longstanding tradition at Magdalen that 'Alleluia' is allowed when when the 29th of February falls on a Wednesday! I thought this was quite funny, and so did a very small new chorister opposite me, but everyone else looked as solemn as judges! A typical little Oxford cameo.

I disovered a whole new area of walks where I was moored on the river, and had some good walking weather as well. Parts of the countryside near Oxford are still so delightful, if you can only get away from the ubiquitous busy roads and the sound of traffic. What is must have been like even 50 years ago!

	Sunset upriver, near Wytham
	Woodland tracks in early Spring
	A new country walk
	Blaydon Wood

Watched on Youtube Roger Scruton's fascinating and I think absolutely essential TV programme, Why Beauty Matters. His theme - the way that modern art and architecture has perversely thrown away and rejected the idea of beauty, and wantonly embraced ugliness and sensationalism, thus distorting our whole environment and contributing to the impoverishment of the human spirit - Is one I totally empathise with and which I've been worrying about and fighting against for years. Thank goodness there are a few people like Scruton around who can and are prepared to argue this case. Everyone should watch this who cares about such things:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=RiajXQUppYY

To my horror the other day I had the Radio 3 morning programme on, rather naffly entitled Essential Classics, and suddenly the announcer, the 'feisty' and rather grating Sarah Walker, suddenly announced that as it was St. David's day that week, her guest on the programme was 'one of the most famous Welshmen in the world,' Neil 'Baron' Kinnock! For some time now I disliked the gimmickry into which this programme has been descending, with its 'brain teasers' and endless trailers for other things on the BBC, and the pointless chit-chat with strangely random 'special guests; including TV chefs and former minor popstars, few of whom appear to know much or care much about classical music, but evidently go on the show because their agents say it will be good publicity. But Neil Kinnock, of all people! Not only failed Labour leader and non-Prime Minister, but a notorious EU apparatchik who has been paid obscene amounts of our money to help order us around and destroy our democracy, and like other 'working class heroes' like John Prescott, has been rewarded with peerages and big fat pensions. It's enough to make you sick that people like that exist, let alone having to put up with having them foisted on you on what is supposed to be a music programme! And the following week's 'special' guest was the managing director of Cheltenham Race Couse, for goodness' sake! I wrote a very scathing email of complaint, and I hope a lot of other people did too, but I despair of the direction Radio 3 and the BBC are taking, and I find the only solution is to switch off; which is a pity as I have been listening for well over 40 years, and the station was at one time a formative influence on my life. It's all very sad.

Sunday 19th February

The other day I came across a very interesting site about the Japanese imperial family; it's their official site, in fact, and contains fascinating nuggets, like details of course music and ceremonial, and also of the delightful location when the members of the imperial family read poems of their own composition. The phone by the emperor was I thought rather good; composed after the tsunami in Japan.

Theme for the New Year's Poetry Reading (2012) : KISHI (shore)

His Majesty the Emperor:

What was it like then

When the tsunami came to shore

I look down and wonder

 

Below me spreads the blue sea

 

Quiet and perfectly still.

Tsunami koshi

Toki no kishibe wa

Ikanarishi to

Miorosu umi wa

Aoku shizumaru

 

On 6th May, 2011, Their Majesties visited Iwate Prefecture to console those afflicted by the Great East Japan Earthquake, flying by helicopter from Kamaishi to Miyako. In this poem His Majesty describes his impressions of seeing from above the region devastated by the tsunami.

It's rather difficult to imagine our own royal family coming up to this standard!

I did manage to force my way through the thick ice on Duke's Cut to meet Dusty, and I have been more or less stuck here ever since - first of all because the canal froze over again, hard (it was absolutely excruciatingly cold for a few days - rather a shock so late in the winter), and then after it melted they suddenly closed the lock back on to the river for repairs; they've finished now, so I look forward to getting back onto the river as soon as possible. I am hoping that, barring sudden floods, etc., I may be able to resume more or less my usual river routine, which will be a relief. I always much prefer being on the river.

Sunday 5 February

I came across some stunning film of Solti conducting, recently, on Youtube. In particular, snippets from his famous recording of The Ring, including Siegried's Funeral March and the Finale from Gotterdammerung. He was an absolute furnace of concentrated energy!

It suddenly went just a tiny bit cold, over the last few days! Yesterday morning I was woken up by strange scraping noises alongside the boat. I thought - i't can't be!', but when I looked out of the side hatch I saw sheets of ice floating down the river! I've frequently experienced icy conditions on the canals, but this is the first time I've known it be cold enough for the river to start icing up. Perhaps my return to the river was just a trifle premature, this year! According to the Met office forecast, it was supposed to be - 8 at 9.00 AM, though I believe it was a degree or two below that in the early hours, and the boat was covered in ice. Luckily the sun came out, and things soon began to thaw, and in fact as on other days recently I found that the the amount of solar power I am getting is quite considerable, now. The only problem I have really, is I a need to get round of the canal to meet Dusty the diesel and coal boat, but when I tried today, I couldn't break through the ice on the Duke's Cut. I shall try again tomorrow, as it supposed to stay just above zero for the next day or so. I must admit, although it's being rather fun to be back out on the river again, with the sudden severe weather it has felt a bit isolated and extreme, though in actual fact I'm only just on the outskirts of Oxford.

I've been enjoying reading an intriguing book by Robert Temple, called Egyptian Dawn. It's in the category of 'alternative archaeology', and in fact he comes from a scientific background, but really his research seems to be incredibly thorough and some of the stuff he's come up with about possible underground caverns, as well as very curious features of well known monuments like the Pyramids, the Sphinx and the two Temples at Giza, are most tantalising. I love anything about ancient Egypt, anyway. Another intriguing book I came across in Blackwell's is about the pre- Roman history of London and its area and is entitled Unearthing London. It seems that even though there was never a large settlement there, as far as we know, there was in fact a lot of activity going back thousands of years, and the whole area was a network of rivers, islands and marshy areas which may well have been some kind of religious or ritual landscape, in a border area between two tribes. Some of the features are still visible in the landscape that still exists, although obviously mostly covered with the buildings and streets of modern London; one interesting example was Merlin's Cave, which is or was, apparently, on the location of a small reservoir which I have always noticed in passing, at the top of Pentonville Road. Also the rivers of London, which are nearly all underground now, have a lot of features that indicate this past, not least the Walbrook. running through the city, which has quite recently been found to have had large numbers of severed heads deposited in it, as well as weapons and other artifacts.Weird stuff, indeed!

I've been having another one of my Britten phases - I came across a quite good rendition of Noye's Fludde' the other day, done I think in Canada - it reminded me of what a great piece this is, and also of the magical version I saw in Hukvaldy in the Czech Repuboic a few years ago, and reviewed. Britten really did have a remarkable genius for making alot out of a little - taken to a far higher level in the extraordimnary church parables, which I still think are some of the outstanding works of the 20th century and incredibly original. Unfortunately when they do them nowadays they almost always completely ignore the very precise directions for stylised staging and acting based on No theatre which the composer supplies, and inpose some ghastly tendentios producer's 'interpretation'. This is also the propblem with an otherwsie excellent version of Death in Venice I found on Youtube, done in Spain - the performance is very good musically, but the stage production is embarrassingly crass and completely ignores some absolutely basic requirements, such as the use of dancers for Tadziu and his associates, who effectively belong to 'another world' - the tendency of modern opera producers to do this sort of thig is a curse of our times, frankly.Walton. Jubille idea.

Saturday 28th January 2012

Ho-hum - another year; more struggle - can anyone tell me what it's all supposed to be about? The period since New Year has been quite a strange one, and not a little stressful. I have abruptly left my bowler-hatted drudgery, after 5 years or so, owing to a sequence of rather unpleasant events which has confirmed in me a deep hatred of institutions and all their works, and the way people behave in them. 'Management-speak', 'training' gobbledygook and the inability of ambitious but mediocre people to let others just get on with their jobs without endless harrassment are the story of our time, I fear. Also the presence of individuals with possible behavioural disorders in these places can make life very difficult, and is also very awkward to deal with, especially when the management are incompetent or disinterested. In one way I feel gloriously liberated - but in another, I feel a worrying sense of insecurity at being unemployed again at my time in life - which just shows how undermined I have let myself become by the sensation of having a regularly monthly income, however paltry. But, after all, I survived for years as a freelance, in the past, and why should I not do it again? The various things that have happened recently at work and which caused me to leave made me very upset and quite angry for at least two or three weeks, but in the end I managed to calm down. I came across a very good quote from the Buddha, which seemed to help - Holding on to anger is like grasping a hot coal with the intent of throwing it at someone else; you are the one who gets burned.

Actually, as I say, I've experienced a great sense of liberation at regaining my autonomy, and it's made me realise just how unsuited I am to working in an institution of any kind - I've always been happier working for myself. I've had time to take an interest in things around Oxford, again. The other day I went for a walk around Keble College, which I hadn't been in for years, and had a look inside the chapel again. It does have a certain serenity and spaciousness, but there's something about the Victorian architecture, and particularly the decoration, I find a bit wooden and unconvincing. Of course, the most famous feature of the chapel is the celebrated painting by Holman Hunt, The Light of the World. The little side chapel where it's kept it certainly atmospheric. Curiously enough, I have just been reading a biography of the poet, A. H. Clough, whom I used to be quite interested in many years ago, and it reminded me of the ferment of the Oxford movement and its times, when places like Keble were built - people getting so incredibly worked out about theology in a way that seems almost unimaginable today - at least in this country. Looking at Clough's poetry again, I can't say I find it all that compellng - not nearly so much as his friend and contemporary, Matthew Arnold - but he certainly was an interesting character, if only for his remarkable development of a kind of 'devout agnosticism' before most people had come round to the idea. His point being that you can still have a real sense of God and the spiritual world, even if you don't know exactly what they are like or even absolutely if they exist at all in some 'scientific' sense.

I have also started going to talks and events; to a lecture on Tibetan Buddhism, and later to a drinks session with the Oxford Libertarians, which I found extremely stimulating - it is so fascinating to talk to mostly young people who are very intelligent and full of ideas, even if some of them are a bit off the wall! One young German guy described himself as 'a nihilist', which was interesting. Even more so in that he was apparently not so very long ago 'a Stalinist'! In any case it was all very different from the usual default left-wing student twaddle which seems not to have changed since I was a student myself, rather a long time ago, now. Also the group is good as it includes one or two older people, as well as myself, beside undergraduates and post-graduates, and also people who are studying physcis and pharmacology as well as the usual 'PPE'.

The recent death of Ken Russell has led me to watch some of his work again; what a pleasure some of those old films are to watch! Seeing his Elgar film again was a delight - a certain images from that film and really stuck in the mind over the years; the famous one of Elgar riding his pony along the Malvern hills, for one. The style of the narration is rather stilted and clipped, in an old BBC way, but to my mind none the worse for that; but the images, like so much in Ken Russell, are just so striking and memorable. I'm looking forward to watching the Delius film, next week - another one that I remember vividly in parts, especially the bits with Percy Grainger. And I just watched his version of The Boyfriend on Youtube - absolutely zany in places, but also hilariously delightful, and rather nostalgic. Why is it that 1971 seems such a strangely innocent and idyllic time, in retrospect? I'm not sure it really felt like that at that time! One thing that strikes me about his work is just how completely mad it gets, at times - totally over the top, but in an enjoyably exuberant way. It's true that his later work got really very bizarre, and a bit trashy, which is sad, but there's no doubt that he was a true creative genius in his way, of a kind we just don't seem to produce any more. I'm wondering whether to watch The Devils again, next; I'm not so sure about that, though, remembering what I do of that film! But I wouldn't mind watching his Mahler film again. Actually, it's amazing to remember just how much I went to the cinema in those days - that seemed to be exciting new films coming out all the time, then; perhaps some people feel now, but I certainly don't.

I've been reading some more Mary Webb recently - Precious Bane. A strange, haunting book, somewhat in the style of Thomas Hardy, but ostensibly told in Shropshire dialect by the heroine, the good and kind woman disfigured by her 'precious bane', a hare lip, who struggles against a malevolent fate. What is particularly fascinating about it is that it is all set in the area around Ellesmere, where I spent about a year on the boat, two or three years ago, and it superbly evokes the curious and eerie atmosphere of the ancient 'meres' that dominate the area and give it the special atmosphere which is very localised. What was particularly fascinating about it was that it was all set in the area around ellesmere, where I spent about a year on the boat, two or three years ago, and it seemed hardly evokes the curious and eerie atmosphere of the ancient 'meres' that dominate the area and give it a special atmosphere which is very localised. If it feels a little isolated and strange in this day and age, heaven knows what it must have been like for rural folk in the early 19th century, and this book gives some idea of that. After re-discovering the wonderful 50's film of Vice Versa over Christmas, I just had to get hold of the book and re-read it - it is as delightful as I remember. The volume also contains other works by Anstey, and i have also been Reading a story called The Tinted Venus, which has the same sort of delicious late Victorian quality. Along with a biography of Bess of Hardwick, and the collected poems of Matthew Arnold, I've been quite busy reading, lately, and of course I have more time to do so. My reading at Blackwell's bookshop has included Hayek's classic, The Road to Serfdom, more of Theodore Dalrymple' Anything Goes, and Rodger Scruton's new book about the environment.

Tuesday 27th December 2011

I am somewhat pleased with the image I found for this year's online Christmas card - it's a medieval carving from the shrine of St. Frideswide in the Cathedral here in Oxford. Of course, St. Frideswide is one of those Anglo-Saxon saints no-one has heard of - except in Oxford, as she happens to be the patron saint of both city and university, and is commemorated in several place-names. People do actually still come to pray to her in the Cathedral, as I know from personal experience. The image is supposed to show her peering out from the undergrowth in the forest as she hides from the wicked prince Algar, who at that point was intent on forcing her to marry him, according to the legend. The result is a rather unusual 'Green Lady' effect.

Christmas has been quite passable so far, this year, and though I worked on Christmas Eve and Boxing Day I managed not to let myself be upset by anyone, like last year - even though one of the honorary canons did his best by berating me fiercely because there was a sign saying 'closed to visitors' at Tom Gate when people were coming in for the carol service. It is a bit surprising how religious people, including members of the clergy, interpret their Christian duty at times. Also I was having to avoid one particular work colleague after his latest inexcusable display of uncontrolled rage and aggression at work, but I did that quite successfully. The festive season is so often replete with such dangerous pitfalls, I find. Otherwise it was all quite pleasant - I dropped in as usual just for the beginning of the carol service on Christmas Eve and enjoyed the procession, which this year featured some sort of Orthodox potentate with a big beard and interesting headgear, who added a touch of exoticism to proceedings. Soon after that I just returned home and abandoned myself to feasting and merriment. Once again I discovered quite rapidly that my capacity for eating and drinking is not what it once was, and am having an abstemious day today, to recover. This year my home-made festival of carols which I compile from Youtube (thus avoiding the very tendentious 'readings' of the official TV version these days) was varied by some performances from other choirs besides King's College, Cambridge. I was particularly taken with the choir of Truro Cathedral and of St. Patrick's Cathedral, Dublin - neither of these were choirs I was even really aware of - the one in Dublin being, very curiously, one of two Church of Ireland cathedrals in that city, which has no official Catholic cathedral at all! One of the odder leftovers of the Protestant 'ascendancy' - how strange that the situation still persists; you'd think in this day and age they would have given back one of the buildings to the Catholic church - because of the expense, if nothing else. I did listen to part of the radio Nine Lessons and Carols on Christmas Day, which is the proper traditional one, but it featured what I must say was one of the most dreary, turgid, long-winded and completely inappropriate new 'carols' I have ever heard - commissioned specially from one Tansy Davies. It does make you wonder what on earth the criteria are on which these decisions are based - clearly they can't be genuine musical ones!

I am about half way through composing my own usual annual carol, which this year sets a poem by Ben Jonson. I quite like it so far - it's one of the quiet, contemplative carols, rather than a loud and jolly one. My carol from 2010, Come, Welcome Him! was done in a concert by the Cathedral this year - it seemed quite well-received, but unfortunately there was a slight problem with the distance between the choir and the organ that made it a bit less effective than it might otherwise have been. I am currently having a little break from the Gnostic Passion, but I am still very intent on that. Perhaps it will turn out to be my 'magnum opus'? I've been thinking about Christmas and the gnostic view of things. The whole concept of 'the light in the darkness' is of course rather a gnostic one, and of course the famous reading from the Gospel of St. John about the Word being made flesh has a strongly gnostic quality. What struck me again this year is the fervour with which people attend Christmas services and join in with sentiments that most of the time they would find a little uncomfortable; it's rather an obvious point, but I can't help feeling that in the depth of winter the desperate longing for light and hope brings out something rather atavistic in people, and they find themselves saying and believing in things that most of the year they are far too bound up in their materialistic busyness to think of. This is a reason I think Christmas is still really important - in a non- (some might say anti -) religious culture such as ours, Christmas is the nearest many come to some sort of spiritual experience. If, that is, they can seperate that element out from the festival of gross self-indulgence and the worship of Mammon that consumerism has done its best to turn Christmas into!

Part of my entertainment this year (seasonal TV has become unwatchable, I find) was a DVD of the absolutely superb 1948 version of Vice Versa, directed by Peter Ustinov, starring Roger Livesey and a very young Anthony Newley. I'd forgotten how hilarious it was, and the 'Victorian melodrama' style of the acting and settings was a brilliant inspiration. They really don't make films like that any more! It went very well with my braised pheasant (a highly successful recipe) and the odd glass or three of Shiraz.

Thankfully, I now have a week off, so tomorrow I am heading to London for my annual short festive visit. A change is as good as a rest, as they say.

Tuesday 13th December 2011

The festive season draws on apace - already signs of mass consumer hysteria; despite everyone saying they haven't got any money, they seem determined to spend it! Given current developments, especially with Euro disaster, and other worrying things , I can't help wondering if this will be the last 'normal' Christmas before the great crash! What will all those 'consumers', who have been told that 'consumption' is the be-all and end-all of existence do when they can't 'consume' any more? However, on a more cheerful note, there have been some nice musical events - I attended the carol service at Radley College the other day, which was excellent - what a great atmosphere that place has, and such a nice change from the atmosphere of general grotty urban-ness that is more and more prevalent in Oxford these days! The season of Christmas concerts and services have already started at the Cathedral; I am a little bit excited that one of my carols, Come Welcome Him! will be given its premiere there on Friday by the Cathedral Singers. Two performances of my music in one year, eh! I ahev also acquired some battery-powered multicoloured LED lights, which I have put up, so the boat is beginning to get a bit festive, too.

My latest (re-)discovery on Youtube is Tippett's 2nd Symphony - a work with which I was veritably obsessed in my teens, and have listened to many times over the years. Listening to it again after some time, I still find it irresistable - in a way it's strange, as it's moving towards his second, King Priam period idiom, which is often quite harsh and dissonant, with strong echoes of Stravinsky, but somehow it still retains that lyricism which for me is the essence of what made his music unique, and which is sadly lacking n his later work. Also I have been listening to his glorious Fantasia on a Theme of Corelli - a great burst of intense lyricism, if there ever was one. My Gnostic Passion is proceeding - a curiously un-Christmassy thing to be writing (though I expect I shall write my annual Christmas carol at some point over the season); although there are many Gnostic texts around, I am having some difficulty finding appropriate ones at certain points for arias and what I have called 'hymns' (as opposed to 'chorales').

Another non-musical re-discovery on Youtube has been Kenneth Clark's wonderful Civilisation series. I was reminded of this by someone I was taling to the other day, and remembering what a big impact it made on me when it first came out, I thought I would have another look. And in fact I find it just as intereting and convincing now, as I did then - if not more so. Its magnificent and apparently effortless sweep, and the elegant and urbane style of the man himself, are marvellous, and also the sheer beauty of the photography and the amazing things he shows you. One thing that has struck me (I am still only on Episode 2) is the huge influence the series clearly had on my bview of things. One tends to forget where ones basic beliefs come from, and assume they sprung, fully-formed, from the depths of ones own intellect - but of course books, films, TV and treachers of one's youth inevitable have an enormous effect. The other thing that strikes me forcibly, watching the series again in our depressingly 'post-modern' and relativist times, is that Clark's (and therefore my) view of what 'civilisation' is and why it matters are severely out of fashion and would automatically be despised and rejected by the vast majority of those who control the 'cultural' milieu of today. The idea that there are any objective standards possible about anything - let alone high ones, is unthinkable to the cultural commissars who preside over our steady decline now. Actually Clark says something rather amusing about this in the first programme - that 'even today, some 'advanced' thinkers question whehter civilisation is worth preserving'. He also warns that those who romanticise barbarism probably haven't tried it for long enough!' (or words to that effect). There is certainly enough barbarism around now, and I think Clark would have been shocked and depressed at how it is often accepted and even celebrated as authentic ;cultural' expression.

The weather has turned absolutely disgusting, with howling gales and heavy downpours of rain and sleet. I have retired for the time being from the river, though I hope to get back there as soon as I can, if conditions permit. I have purchased a compact vertical wind turbine, so the winds are not inopportune, but I am not quite sure how much use it is so far - many places on the canal are a bit too sheltered to judge if it's working effectively or not yet. We shall see.

Tuesday 29th November 2011

Owing to the extraordinary lack of rain, and conditions still being extremely placid. I am still on the river; I had a brief excursion onto the canal to get diesel and do chores in Oxford, but otherwise much to my relief I have been able to retreat to the relative peace of the countryside once more. After my visit to Abingdon, I came upstream and stopped at Kennington, which is a location I have always liked - sadly there is quite a lot of traffic noise, but otherwise it is a pleasantly rural scene though on the outskirts of Oxford. On a walk around I finally found my way across the ring road into Bagley Wood - one of the very traditional Oxford places and mentioned in Matthew Arnold's poems; it is indeed a lovely spot - as long as one can block out the noise, it's easy to imagine Arnold and his friends strolling there in some Victorian autumn long ago. One touching thing was a couple of what I take to be memorial stones - though they actually look like tombstones - to Oxford academics, amongst the trees. Apart from at the very end of the walk I didn't meet another soul; it was one of those autumn days which feel melancholy but rather nice, and there was a golden light though the leaves. I can imagine Tolkien and C.S. Lewis would have walked there, too.

	< Farewell to Abingdon for this year?
	< Sylvan glades of Bagley >
	< A nice place to be remembered

I'm having one of my frequent escapist phases - returning to books, TV shows and films I enjoyed in my youth. After all, why not, as most of what is produced today appears to be total dross? I've discovered quite a number of surprising things online - for example, a very extraordinary and surreal childre's TV series from the 1980's (or was it the 1990's?) called Archer's Goon, which I've wanted to re-watch for ages, and some delightful old films of the kind they don't seem to show on mainstream TV these days, like Arthur Askey and 'Stinker' Murdoch in Band Waggon, George Formby films, and early Powell and Pressburger offerings like The Silver Fleet. I am also re-discovering the books of Jules Verne, which I haven't read for donkeys years - I came across a completely obscure one about an underground city in Scotland, and have gone on toe read 20,000 Leagues Under the Sea - nothing like a good old escapist yarn! I can't seem to be bothered to read anything very 'serious' these days, though I am reading a biography of Flora Thompson, plus the usual naval history books and a rather touching memoir of growing up in late - 19th and early 20th century Oxford. I have been reading a bit of Keats again lately - half the time I'm not at all sure what he's on about (and I'm not sure he is, either), but his use of language is so intoxicating. I even managed to find the bizarre novel Phra the Phoenician, a radio adaptation of which I was fascinated by when I was about 11.

I have sketched out about 20 minutes of my Gnostic Passion; it almost seems to wrtie itself, which I've found in the past is a sign of something good - though you have to be a bit careful, even so; the main problem is finding and collating suitable bits from various Gnostic writings to make something coherent. The Bach influence is very difficult to avoid - not that I want to, altogether, as long as it doesn't come across merely as pastiche. I've adopted a Bachian use of obbligato instruments in arias, which is enjoyable to do, but I haven't used 'chorales', but rather 'hymns' which I am constructing from various sources. I don't know what people might make of it, but I'm quite pleased with it, so far. One slight shock is that I hadn't realised how much some orthodox Christians frown upon the Gnostics; to me it seems obvious that the 'approved' gospels were selected very much to project the version Christ desired by the official Church, built up under the Byzantine Empire, after the conversion of Constantine, for political as much as spiritual, reasons, but that there were clearly other traditions around amongst the early Christians which are worthy of consideration - there is no doubt that some of the varied texts grouped under the label 'gnostic' are quite bizarre and a bit mad, but they are by no means all like that, and there are some that are very powerful and wise insights into what Christ may really have taught and done. I could never accept the idea of one, 'orthodox' version of it all, simply because any particular 'official' church said I had to. I suppose I've always been something of a contrarian. For me, the Gnostic approach to Christianity, with its parallels to elements of Buddhism and Hinduism, seems a highly suitable approach for the 21st century, rather than any kind of dogmatic literalism.

Talking of mystical traditions, I listened again to John Foulds remarkable World Requiem over the Remembrance period; what an amazing work that is! It does have the occasionla weak moment, but overall I have to say it's one of the most original striking and powerful works of British music of the 20th century. What a pity Fould died fairly young in obscurity in India and never got the recognition he deserved. I've also been listening to some Percy Grainger again, as he was Composer of the Week on Radio 3 - again an example of an incredibly original and vivid musical imagination that somehow never seems to have achieved full consummation and recognition. Good to hear some of his works again in good recordings. We managed to get a recording done of the Housman songs, and the idea is to release it on a CD, but it all still needs editing, which I suppose I will have to organise myself, as it doesn't seems as though anyone else will! Actually I very much dislike the whole recording process, let alone editing, and would much prefer someone else to do it all for me. I've been listening to one or two of the songs of John Ireland - I wish I could get hold of some more of them - they are so delightful.

Christmas is fast approaching - I can't say I feel specially festive yet, but hopefull it will grow on me; the students in Oxford are all having their celebration already, as term ends this week, which is a bit strange but normal in Oxford. I have already got myself a present, which is a DVD of the 1950's Peter Ustinov film version of the hilarious Vice Versa, which I will watch around the festive season.

Remembrance Sunday 2011

Today was a beautiful sunny autumn day, after the days of gloom and wet we've had recently. In a strange way appropriate for Remembrance Sunday. I went to the ceremony in Abingdon, where I was moored - I've never been before, and I was touched by the sense of a small English town and its community that still persists in an event and a place like that. There were a lot of people there, and I was impressed by the way people joined in with the prayers and hymn - from the look of them, many who probably never attended another religious service through the year. Yesterday I had a curious conversation with two German girls at Christ Church, who asked me quite diffidently what the poppies people were wearing meant; of course I had to be tactful in what I said. What came across to me was how strongly they were influenced by the attitude that the Germans obviously have towards the memory of the world wars - basically, they don't want to remember them, and have been taught that all war is wrong, whatever the circumstances; they suggested that the remembrance ceremonies 'glorified' war - I tried to explain that they weren't supposed to do that, but to honour the memory of the fallen, and they were rather sad occasions, not triumphal. One of them was more aggressively pacifist than the other, rather ironically, and wasn't convinced. I thought afterwards that I should have tried to explain the difference between the attitude of most British people to that of most Germans - for us the memory of the world wars is grim, but not entirely negative, as most of us believe that however horrible war is, sometimes it's unavoidable, in order to stop people like the Nazis, who will use any methods to gain their ends and to resist tyranny - for us, in spite of all the horror and suffering, there is something positive to remember - for the Germans there is nothing, so you can hardly blame them for wanting to forget. What disturbs me more than the dubiousness of these young Germans is the glib cynicism and knowingness of many in this country who are prepared to dismiss all the sacrifice as just the work of dupes of 'the system' and of 'imperialism' - of course there have been many wars - some quite recent - which can't be justified morally, but that in my opinion doesn't cancel out the true decency and sense of duty and self-sacrfice that so many showed when we were fighting for our freedom and our very survival. That is definitely still worth remembering. Otherwise, my feeling is tha same as on most recent Remembrance Sundays - that the freedom and democracy so many died for have been betrayed in the last generation by our own supposed representatives and 'leaders'. Personally I hate to see politicians of any party at the Cenotaph - they should be banned, and only representatives of the nation as a whole, the armed forces and the churches should be allowed to attend.

	< Abingdon has a large miltary presence in the local barracks, anyway>
	< And they still haver a proper Mayor and Aldermen (women) in cocked hats >

Sunday 6th November 2011

The temperature has plummeted and an east wind has started - it finally feels as though winter is on the way. I have plenty of coal, and have started collecting wood on my walks about the countryside.

I have started composing a Gnostic Passion; under the influence of the incomparable Bach works, this is an idea that has been in my mind for a while - it's quite interesting compiling a text from various gnostic writings, including the Gospel of Marcion, and I am quite pleased with the opening chorus and the first aria. The forces are similar to those of Bach, and I hope to produce something that has similar qualities to his work but is still recognisably modern. We shall see.

Wednesday 2nd November 2011

It has now become decidedly autumnal - with the clocks going back on Sunday and the start of November, the river has suddenly gone very quiet - yesterday I was one of only two boats to pass through Iffley Lock! This is partly because the winter stoppages have begun, and you can't get any higher than Shifford or lower than Day's Lock. But that still leaves quite a bit of river to cruise on, and because of the lack of rain for months the river is completely placid and hardly flowing at all; it has also been remarkably mild for the time of year, even though intermittently rather windy and with some heavy bursts of rain, on and off. Most people have packed up, but I find this a delightful time to be on the river, as it's so peaceful and quite beautiful (autumnal photos to come)- as long as the conditions stay good I will try to stay here and off the canal as long as possible. I say most people have pacled up, but there are quite a number of 'wanderers' who seem to have taken up position i various places for the winter in little encampments; this is something that barely existed 6 years ago when I started on the river - now it's becoming quite common; I just wonder what''s going to happen to them if the river floods, which iit almost certainly will at some point - some of their boats look barely seaworthy.

	< Abingdon in Autumn >

The big excitement recently was the concert at Christ Church, with my Housman settings, The Wood of Dreams, and Butterworth's A Shropshire Lad. We got a good audience, and it seemed to go rather well, though apart from the Chaplain (the only member of College to come apart from undergraduates), I've had no feedback from people who were there - perhaps they're too frightened to say anything!? People often don't understand that composers are usually very eager to hear how their music has come across to audiences, and not nearly so sure about what they are doing as may seem outwardly. Of course, if you say the wrong thing they can be rather temperamental in their reaction, as I discovered once years ago with Robin Holloway! My reading of some of Housman's poems went well, too - only one small fluff, though something slightly odd happened in that I didn't get to take a bow at all, either for my readings or for my songs, which was a bit weird. It just happened by accident, really, but composers do like to get some acknowledgement, and it must be about 7 or 8 years since I last did! Oh well - such is fate. Still, it was quite encouraging, and the plan is to make a subscription CD with the same performers. I have some ideas for other events in Oxford, of which, more later.

Wednesday 19th October 2011

Another big gap. I seem to have been rather more distracted even than usual. After a very unusual and rather overwhelming hot spell at the end of September/beginning of October (record temperatures!), the weather has returned to normal, and it has started getting a bit cold - I've had to have the stove alight quite a bit over the last few days. Still. on the whole it hasn't been too bad, with quite a bit of dry brightness, with occasional interludes of annoying strong winds and rain showers - so far the really bad weather has held off. Frosts are predicted in the near future. I've been rather enjoying the quietness of the river in the last week or two, now that things have finally calmed down - there were still quite a lot of boats around until very lately, I suppose because of the good conditions, as the river is completely placid after so little rain for months. On a fine autumn day along the river and in the countryside around it can be quite idyllic, with that slightly sad beauty of autumn that I've always quite liked.

Much of my distraction has been due to my usual autumn burst of activity trying to raise some interest in my music. This year is looking a little more hopeful - after sending out carols to a number of choir directors, the Cathedral Singers are going to do my short Come, Welcome Him! in the cathedral in Oxford in a concert on the 16th December. Also there are one or two signs of interest for performances of other works next year - of which more later, if they happen. And there is the excitement of an outing for my A. E. Housman settings in a Music Society concert at Christ Church on 28th October, by two music students, Robert Opoku and Luke Faulkner. I am also going to participate by reading some poems, partly to give the singer a break and partly to make the event more varied; I said I'd do it, then have started feeling a bit nervous about the idea - but I'm sure it will be OK; I enjoy reading poetry out loud and though I haven't made a 'public appearance' recently I've had a fair bit of practice in the past. In fact I think I'll enjoy it. As well as my songs they are doing Butterworth's beautful Six Songs from 'A Shropshire Lad'. It's nice for the first time in a long while for someone else to do the work of organising a performance of my music!

I've also been in contact with an organisation in Dharamsala about my planning of doing some more voluntary teaching in India next year; it all seems pretty straightforward and they will be glad to have me - I just have to deal with all the business of dates and travel and all the complicatins of going to that part of the world. like visas and inoculations. I think it will be worth it. I think I can contribute a lot more there than I can here. I will be teaching Tibetan monks and refugees.

Sunday 4th September 2011

Having got back into my usual routine I've been spending some time upriver again. The weather has been most frustrating - one day of beautiful late summer, followed by a day of howling gales and heavy rain showers - no consistency at all. After such an uneven and unsatisfactory summer it all feels like a bit of a cheat. Still - when it is nice at this time of year it is rather delightful. I discovered a completely new walk which I am quite pleased about; I didn't realise you could get right onto Farmoor Reservoir a few miles outside Oxford and walk all the way round it - also right across it, as there is a sort of causeway across the middle. It's so enormous it feels a bit like being by the seaside; a pity you can't swim there - but it seems you can do most other things, including fishing and sailing (the Oxford Sailing Club is based there).

	< Farmoor >
	< Sunset on the Upper Thames, again

I've been extremely busy since I got back once again having a burst of activity trying to promote some of my music; nothing definite has transpired so far, apart from the song recital at Christ Church on 28th October, but one or two things are looking a tiny bit hopeful. I have also started sending out this year's batch of carols to choir directors; surely one of them will eventually take one or more of them up? It's not as though they aren't quite good and singable. Under the inspiration of the recent performance of Havergal Brian's Gothic I have been moved to to resume writing preposterous great symphonies myself, in Brianesque defiance of fate. When I came to look again at my unfinished 3rd Symphony in one movement, I was surprised to find I'd written a lot more of it than I remembered! I thought I'd only just started it, but in fact there was about twenty minutes of music there already - it was a bit strange, as it was like hearing music by someone else at first, I had forgotten it so comprehensively; as it is only a one movement work, I think it only needs about another 10 minutes to be completed. Its subtitle is 'Fractured Pastoral', which gives the idea of the thing. It has some moments I'm quite pleased with.

Sunday 21st August 2011

I have returned to Oxford and drudgery once more; as usual it only takes a couple of days and I feel as though I've never been away. But I must say, that six weeks away made a huge difference - I was quite refreshed; it was a terrible mistake to syaty in Oxford all summer last year, even though I needed the money. There is no doubt whatsoever that Oxford in July and August is a veritable hell-hole and should be avoided by all sensible persons.

Coming right down into Kidlington on Thursday was a bit of a nightmare, as it chose that day to pour with torrential rain - by the time I reached Jericho I was like a drowned rat!

But before that, on Tuesday I made it to the Albert Hall for the long-awaited performance of Bax's 2nd Symphony, with Andrew Litton and the RPO. It was worth waiting for! The programme was a bit of an odd farrago, with warhorses like Copland's Fafarre for the Common Man and Barber's Adagio, plus another symphony, Prokofiev's 4th, and Bartok's 2nd Piano Concerto. It was far too long, and the only connection between the works was that they all had something to do with Koussevitsky. But I enjoyed the Barber and the Bartok - the Prokofiev left me cold, and frankly sounded rather crude and one-dimensional compared to the Bax. But the Bax was superb. It is a crashing truism, but nevertheless unavoidable, that it is never the same hearing a recording, however good, as a live performance; this applies specially to Bax, as his musical language and orchestration are so rich and subtle you just have to have its physical presence to really 'get' it. I've said this before in here, but there is something absolutely unique and to my mind, haunting, about Bax's imaginative world, and it really came across here. The associations with the Easter Rising and the sense of brooding tension and poignant loss were inescapable; also some of the wonderful, typical 'enchanted' moments with shimmering strings, celesta, harp. Also I thought Litton manage very well to overcome the biggest problem with Bax's symphonies - the frequent changes of pace which can often seem to hold things back and destroy the forward momentum. It was an almost flawless performance and made a great impression, I am glad to say, with the conductor brought back three times at the end. Perhaps at last people will start performing all seven of these wonderful symphonies, which I have always said were idea for the Proms? Owing to punctures and things I didn't get back to the boat until nearly 1 am, but it was all worth it.

Thursday 11th August

At the end of today I was aching all over! My return down the Oxford Canal from Braunston turned into a bit of an ordeal, as I had not allowed for two things - (a) the lack of rain and consequent shortage of water in the canal and (b) the festival at Cropredy, which was on over the weekend and which meant dozens of boats were all heading for that one spot just north of Banbury. All those boats meant that more and more water was being drained from the level; at the top of the canal, which meant they had a time limit on Napton Locks going up and on Claydon Locks going down, with boats only allowed through between 10 am and 2 pm. There was a huge queue at Napton and another one at Claydon, which delayed me a ot, specially as I stopped on one of the few dry days to try to finish painting the boat. So today I had to come down the whole of Claydon flight then continue on to Banbury - I was on the go literally all day until nearly 7 pm and was completely shattered! Also just getting through Cropredy with all the boats there and the congestion took hours - someone remind me never to try to go through that area that weekend again! Otherwise the journey back has been fairly uneventful, and I should arrive back in the vicinity of Oxford in time for my second and probably last visit to the Proms to hear a very much delayed performance of Bax's 2nd Symphony. I did manage to finish paintng the sides of the boat, but because I had to do it in a bit of a hurry between rainy days and on the move I've noticed that though it looks quite ncie there are some bits that are not quite right and I will have to do some more to it. Also the front and stern ends still need to be done. And then there's the roof.

Tuesday 9th August

Parts of London burn while greedy layabouts in 'designer' clothes with Blackberries loot shops and attack people, but meanwhile I have somehow managed to delete mu posting on going to the amazing Gothic Symphony, at the Proms! I will remedy that shortly but to go along with here is my photo that gives a small notion of the titanic scale of the occasion:

One of the most exciting days I've had for years was Sunday 17th July, when I attended the Proms performance of Havergal Brian's monumental and extraordinary Gothic Symphony. I have talked about this work and Brian before now on here, and regular readers, if there are any, will know that I am a great admirer. Because of its scale the work has only been performed three or four times, and I have been waiting a long time to hear it again live, as the last time I did was in 1966! It was all almost too exciting. I had been very anxious as at one point it looked as though I wasn't going to make it, and even queueing for the Prom would be dangerous, as the number of performers involved would have reduced audience capacity considerably, but thanks to Mr. McCormack and young Mr. Steanson, I was able to get a weekend Proms pass, which incidentally also gave me access to the First Night, which featured an excellent performance of Janacek's magnificent Glagolitic Mass, and the fairly interesting organ recital in the afternoon on Sunday. One advantage of the pass was I was able to stay up in the Gallery after the organ recital and bag a perfect place at the front of the gallery with a grandstand view of proceedings (and what a view!) for myself and Mr. McKenzie. In fact it was, I'm fairly sure, almost exactly where I stood 47 years before, when I was much smaller, younger and more energetic. It's difficult to give a fair impression of the whole experience, but it was a superb performance at the hands of Martyn Brabbins - without doubt the best performance so far - and the enormous forces did fantastically well, specially considering the horrendous difficulty ot much of the writing; in places it seems almost as though Brian was either assuming it was never going to be performed anyway, or more likely deliberately pushing players and singers to the edge of what seemed possible. The fact that they generally dealt with all so well is a real tribute to modern musical standards and the enormous amount of preparation that must have gone into this occasion. The only small quibble I had was a slight lack of brightness and vigour from the boys' and girls' choirs, even though they coped marvellously with the difficult material they had to sing - perhaps they were just overawed by the occasion? Moments that have stuck in my memory include, of course the dramatic, driving opening, the startling and awe-inspiring climax of the first movement when the organ comes in for the first time, the sombre splendour of the brass and drums in the slow movement (surely a memorial to the dead of the Great War and to the Edwardian world that had been lost?), the incredibly theatrical moment at the end of the scherzo when the lights started coming up on the rest of the forces while the four soloists walked slowly down the steps on each side (it was like a great curtain opening from an already grand spectacle suddenly onto something on an altogether greater scale); the great entry of the massed choirs (I suspect an echo of Brian's memory of singing in massed choirs in Lichfield Cathedral as a boy), the weird, haunting tone clusters of the 'Judex' section, the glorious bass solo, 'Dignare Domino', imploring mercy for humanity, the terrifying assault of the four brass and percussion bands in addition to everything else (there were moments when the whole Albert Hall simply shook with the force of it all), and of course the completely perfect ending by unaccompanied massed choirs, 'Non confundar in aeternum'. Although I've been listening to the CD and studying the score of the piece for years, I think this was the first time I felt I managed, just about, to grasp the work as a whole, at least for the moment, and though it lasted some two hours and I was standing up all the time, at the end I still felt disappointed it had ended. There is no doubt it's a difficult piece, and many find its huge variety of style and gesture and its habit of going off at tangents all the time unconvincing, I personally am convinced it's a masterpiece of 20th century music, and one of the outstanding works composed by any British composer. There is lots of writing about the symphony, and one of the best approaches to it, that gives an idea of the scale of what Havergal Brian was attempting (something like a summation and renewal of the whole western tradition), is the essay by Malcolm MacDonald, on the Havergal Brian website, here:

http://www.havergalbrian.org/sym1_12.htm

Also, in another essay by MacDonald, 'Music and Meaning', he sums it all up much better than I can: 'This gigantic labyrinthine symphony is an inexhaustible store of musical riches which must surely possess a different significance for every listener; and the closer one comes to know it, the more layers of meaning one recognizes at work in it. It is an evocation of a whole epoch in the human mind; a purely musical parallel to parts of Goethe's Faust: a compendium of musical history from mediaeval times to the early 20th century; a huge experiment in new kinds of style and form, reaching out to the future; a celebration of architectural splendours so vivid that (as Paul Rapoport has shown in the study included in his forthcoming book Opus est) the symphony's form can be viewed as a musical equivalent to the cruciform plan of a Gothic cathedral; a response at several different psychological levels to the experience of World War One; one man's personal venture into the unknown; and much else besides.'

Friday 5th August 2011

I have spent the last few days here at Braunston, canal junction extraordinaire - not actually at the junction, which is hortribly crowded, but just outside, with lovely views of the rolling Northamptonshire countryside in this curious little unspoilt rural enclave amid the various horrendous industrial and post-industrial areas round about. My main purpose was partly to visit Mr. Brown's new house, and partly to do some very urgently need re-painting of the boat. At first it was almost too unbearably hot to paint at all, but after yesterday's heavy rain it has cooled down somewhat, though the rain delayed the painting by a day. Having got my cans of British Racing Green and Canary Yellow from the very useful boat chandlers at Braunston, I have succeeded so far in finishing one side of the boat - doing the yellow stripe with the help of masking tape turned out not to be quite as difficult as I anticipated, and I am quite pleased with the result. As sparkling fresh colours, these two go together remarkably well. I had intended to finish the main work before I set off back for Oxford, but because of the delay I may have to do some of it on the way, which is rather irritating, specially as it depends which side the towpath is on!

	< Rolling Northamptonshire Painting the boat >
	< Lost church of St. Peter's, Wolfhampcote Braunston Junction in the rain>

In between painting and going for walks, I've been following some of the Proms. I must say that as usual these days I find many of the programmes very predictable and uninteresting, but apart from course from The Gothic, there are one or two other interesting programmes. One was the programme with Sir Andrew Davis and the BBCSO, in which Tasmin LIttle played the Elgar Violin Concerto, and which also featured Percy Grainger's inimitable In a Nutshell suite. It was delightful to hear the Grainger, and to see how appreciated it was; why on earth more his music isn't performed at the Proms I really don't know - it's made for the occasion! It was also lovely to hear the Elgar again - no matter how many times I hear that piece, I never grow tired of it; and I must have heard it an amazing number of times - including Menuhin playing it for what might well have been the last time, at the Proms, in the late 70's, I think. It's a fascinating and kaleidoscopic work - 'a bit of a journey', as Tasmin Little put it, and one of the few British works that takes its place without doubt in the great Romantic repertoire. I must say, though, that Little's interpretation, though magnificent in its way, to my mind was just a little cool and lacked the true romantic ardour the piece requires. In this respect, after listening to her performance I have listened again to the extraordinary rendition by the Russian violinist Dora Schwarzenberg with some extraorindary symphony orchestra from Siberia, and though far less technically polished and perfect than Little (in places positively rough!), she does give it this amazing Russian passion and ardour that I believe Elgar would have appreciated. The work absolutely epitomises the romantic in music - (even Elgar thought that perhaps he'd been a bit too emotional in it). The performance can be found by searching on 'Dora Schwarzenberg' on Youtube. That wonderful moment when you think the finale is building up to its final climax, then it suddenly hushes into that remarkable and truly original accompanied cadenza, is quite riveting; her recall of the yearning 'windflower' theme from the first movement is deeply touching - it's amazing what a rather dumpy old Russian battleaxe can bring to this music!

Before setting out up north to Braunston, I finally managed to get up to Lechlade, the top of the navigation on the Thames. I've tried before, but never made it, which is strange, considering I've been right down the end of the navigation, at Teddington, which is much further. It only takes a couple of days or so from Oxford, but is more arduous than you expect because the river winds so much and steering round all those sudden bends is quite taxing. Also a fair number of locks are involved, though they are of that rather charming Upper Thames type, operated manually with big wheels, and not too threatening. The weather was rahter dinsal on the way up, with lots bo heavy clouds and some nasty downpours, but by the time I got to Lechlade we had a burst of summer again, and it was quite idyllic.

	< Radcot (or was it Rushey) Lock St. John's Lock, the highest on the river >
	< Kelmscot Manor, home of William Morris Old Father Thames, presiding over St. John's Lock (with a shovel) >

I finally managed to visit Kelmscot, country home of William Morris - a place I have wanted to visit for a long time. To my horror. though, there was a charge of nine pounds to go in, so I didn't, contenting myself with look at the house and garden from the outside and taking a photograph. If I'd been an OAP, or unemployed, I could have got in much cheaper, but being merely quite poor, I didn't qualify. What Morris would have made of it I don't know - but there was always an irony in the fact that the vision of a better future he had could in the end invariably only be afforded in practice by well-off people. Kelmscot is undoubtedly a beautiful place, though.

I moored just outside Lechlade, in a very quiet and lovely spot on a bend in the river, with a view of Lechlade church spire towards the sunset. It was al very different and much cooler than Andalusia! At this point the river passes into Gloucestershire, and it's the kind of unspoilt rural area that makes you appreciate what a beautiful country England can still be, in the spots that haven't (yet) been affected by suburban sprawl. In a country pub just a little way upstream they had a folk festival over the weekend, called River Folk, which I called in on - it had that atmosphere of a jolly traditional event, untouched by trendiness, that I am rather fond of.

Lechlade itself is a pleasant little country town, with a fine church and some nice old buildings, though as with so many of these places, rather blighted by a constant stream of through traffic. Its surroundings are truly rural - wide water meadows and little copses and fields full of cows. Only the occasional thunderous plane overhead going in or out of RAF Brize Norton reminds you much of the modern world. Walking through the town along the towpath for only about a mile, you come to the very unlikely looking effective top of the Thames Navigation - a quiet spot marked by the old round tollhouse which looks as though nothing much has happaned there for centuries; some small boys were fishing in time-honored manner and could have been out of Tom Brown or something. And yet not so very long ago this was a busy junction with the Thames and Severn Canal and would have been a hive of activity and bargees. There are serious attempts being made to re-open the canal - which would be marvelous in its way but in another way a bit of a pity in disturbing this scene of bucolic seclusion.

Having spent the weekend in these salubrious surroundings, following the Test Match amongst other thigs, I returned down to Oxford, only to set off on my northen expedition up the canal.

	< Sunset on the Upper Thames, from my side hatch The River Folk >
	< Lechlade The Roundhouse, and the effective top of the navigation >

Andalusian Visit July 2011

A most welcome change of climate and scenery after about a year and a half continuously in Oxford, my visit to Andalusia was owing to the hospitality of Mr. Jarman, an old friend of mine from university days and the raffish bohemianism of the 80's in London. We are all very much older now, and our paths have taken rather different directions, but it is nice to keep in touch with people again over the years, even if some of the changes in people's lives may not please everyone. I am specially intrigued when people I knew when young have had families - seeing former rock and roll bohemians as father-figures is both amusing and fascinating.

The actual journey to Seville was somewhat horrific, if only because I chose one of those 'cheap' flights that left at an unholy hour of the morning, and despite having spent the night in an airport before and having sworn never to do it again, I did indeed spend much of the night in the Gatwick terminal, which unfortunately they were in the process of re-building at the time. Sleep was impossible, though for the last couple of hours I found a place at the top of a stairwell which was fairly isolated, so by the time it came to getting on the plane I was completely exhausted; the flight itself was perfectly straightforward, and I managed to doze a little. Arrival at Seville airport was quite straightforward, and within five minutes Mr. Jarman had appeared to pick me up, which was very helpful. Consdering I had more or less been up all night, I don't think I was quite so much of a wreck as I might have been, and as we went straight to his country cottage, I was able to lie down and have a rest. After that it was really just a self-indulgent week or more of indolence, eating and drinking and talking. As usual, I probably talked too much, but after not seeing someone to talk to properly for at least 15 years or more, this was perhaps excusable. It was lovely being in that part of the world after maybe 20 years, but, - phew - I really had forgotten quite how hot it gets there in July! It requires a complete adjustment in one's routine, and pretty much the suspension of all activity between about 3 and 7 - which is why the locals, very sensibly, finish work by about 3, then settle down for a nice meal, and afterwards a good lie-down. If only we could do the same in the UK, but it really wouldn't work in our climate. I also discovered a very nice new drink, tinto de verrano, made of red wine with lemonade, which does work, I have discovered, at home. The Jarmans had wi-fi in both their residences, plus UK satellite TV, so I had the curious experience of being just as much in contact with everything as usual, whilst being somewhere that felt completely different.

Seville is a most delightful city, and visually it hasn't changed all that much since I was last there, but the atmosphere definitely has; there is a shiny new Metro, and modern trams, a lot more tourists and everything is very much more geared to the tourist industry. Also I was slightly shocked to find out how much more expensive it all was than on my last visit - the difference between Spain and the UK was very much greater then than now, and currently things are very nearly the same price, which means for me, rather expensive. (For example, when I went last the magnificent cathedral was a bit dusty but free, whereas now it costs 8 'euros'). I ended up spending rather more than I had intended, but if I hadn't I wouldn't really have been able to do very much, and anyway it was worth it as a holiday. I did the usual touristy things, and it was all very pleasant.

	< The Giralda is as impressive as ever And so are the views >
	< Shiny new Metro The Seville river-front >

This time I managed to get a good photo of the Torre d'Oro, where the gold and silver of the Indies was stored after coming up the Guadalquivir, in the days when Seville was perhaps the richest city in the world. There was quite a large queue for the Cathedral, but it was a blessed relief to enter its coolness after the torried heat outside, even if the first thing we were confronted with in the little museum was the very realistic replica of the severed head of John the Baptist in a case!

The Cathedral certainly is most impressive, and claimed to be the biggest Gothic cathedral in Europe, though I don't think that can be quite true. It has that special Spanish gloomy religiosity that is oppressive as well as impressive, and is full of completely over-the-top images and gold encrusted reredoses, etc. Plus the strange doll-like effigies that are so popular in Catholic countries and so kitsch to the eyes of those from northern Protestant lands. I took a photo of the grave of Christopher Columbus, which I had forgotten was there, but it wasn't worth reproducing. I would like to attend a service, to see what it was like, but apparently they don't really have a choir, which is a bit sad, only a massive organ.

Out in the country things were rather different - more traditional, certainly, though everyone seemed to have satellite TV and things looked fairly prosperous, even though Spain has 20% unemployment and a rather shakey economy. The country cottage was simple but very pleasant and it was enormously relaxing to lie around a lot and immerse oneself in the swimming pool when things got just too hot. As I felt I ought to do things, I went on a cycle ride to a local shrine, which was actually quite interesting, but the ride, along an untarred drovers' road, was one of the hottest I have ever undertaken, and I had to stop every so often to cool down in the shade of a tree and get off at every hill. The landscape is curiously arid looking, though with small scrub oaks everywhere that indicate the presence of plentiful water below the surface, and indeed there are many reservoirs dotted around the region. The trees must be a great relief to grazing animals, though the only ones I saw were a few sheep and the odd horse or donkey; tying them with ropes must be about the cruellest thing you could do in ferocious sun of the sort you get in that part of the world, but fortunately only one or two were so secured.

	< Jarman and son Swimming pool - glorious luxury in this climate! >
	< Arid but with lots of small trees The shrine >

The shrine, to a local saint whose name I'm afraid I've already forgotten, was curious. Quite simple, but clearly very popular - there were dozens of freshly-lit candles burning when I arrived, and a whole room devoted to naive paintings and drawings commemorating various healings attribute to the saint. Although his image in the church was the usual totally uninspiring doll-like figure, I noticed women wiping tears from their eyes as they gazed at it. Being Spain there was of course also a cafeteria for refreshment, but I was put off using it by the usual men yelling at one another at the tops of their voices in the convivial Spanish way.

I went to stay a night in and re-visit Granada, which I remembered as rather spectacular; it was actually hotter there than Seville, which is unusual - during the main day I had there it hit 42 degrees, apparently! It certainly felt sweltering, and there was a bit of a thunderstorm during the night. I couldn't find the exact little guesthouse I stayed in last time, just below the towering walls of the Alhambra, but I had a pleasant time wandering around the amazing alleyways of Al Baicin and the old Jewish quarter - one amazing thing was the amount of live music I heard coming from houses - guitars, people singing and playing the 'cello; not what you would hear in most equivalent English towns, I think!

In the evening I went for quite a nice meal and a drink,then strolled along the riverside where the locals take their 'paseo' when it has cooled down; another civilised thing about Spain is the way that there a people of all ages around at night in a peaceful atmosphere.
	< Mountain river in town The ramparts of the Alhambra >

In the end the queues for entering the Alhambra were so horrendous I didn't bother to try - in any case I remember it quite well and it wouldn't have been very atmospheric going round again with vast hordes of tourists - when I visited years ago it was fairly quiet. Also it cost about £13 or something to get in! Instead I wandered round the outside bits and gardens and also had a look at the musuem of fine arts, which had some marvellous things in it and was surprisingly free - also a very impressive building. The Alhambra certainly is a most wondrous and haunting place, deserving of its legendary reputation, and even in the high tourist season there were some shady places to sit by fountains etc., and soak up the atmosphere.

	< Arches and gateways of the Alhambra >

Tuesday 28th June 2011

The BBC decided at last to have a festival of light music again over the last week, which has been a great joy. All the old favourites from Elizabethan Serenade to Puffing Billy to The Devil's Gallop and much much else has again been resounding across the airwaves. I find this sort of music not only intensely nostalgic (of course, given its association in many cases with radio programmes of my childhood), but also a great pleasure musically speaking - there is so much skill and artistry in this kind of music, however 'light' its musical material may be. It comes across as the product of a completely different age and society from now, which of course, it is, but I find great consolation in listening to it.

This year it was once again the Commemoration Ball at Christ Church - it seems like only about five minutes since the last one, rather than three years! And another huge extravaganza it was, too! The students got incredibly and elegantly dressed up for it as usual, but I went and had a walk round just at the beginning, and the sound-checks indicated the usual horrible loud thumping rap, etc. - it hardly seems worth wearing white tie and tails and ball gowns for that! Mind you, they did have a jazz group and a ceilidh band, too. The set up was very impressive, with lots of different venues, but perhaps a little less imaginative than last time.

	< Well - I don't think I ever got dressed up like that when I was an undergraduate! The magician is the one without a top hat! >
	< Brass fanfares greeted the guests Attendance was good >

	< The weather turned out quite nice in the end, thankfully >
	< All the fun of the Fair, and gypsy fortune-tellers, too! >

The countryside is a riot of wild flowers just now, and luckily I was able to spend nearly two weeks right out in the middle of it.

Wednesday 22nd June 2011

Went into Oxford specially to hear my last evensong of term, at Magdalen - mainly because they were doing Howells in B minor and his immortal Like as the Hart. I'm so glad I did, as it was absolutely marvellous, and raised my spirits a bit. I don't know the B minor canticles very well, but they are lovely, not all that much in B minor and were sung magnificently. The anthem, of course, I know very well, and I find it difficult to listen to objectively because it has associations with a very sad period in my life, but it is absolutely beautiful and the quintessence of everything that's best about 20th century English church music. When I arrived there was a large group of teenagers waiting to go in - Dutch or Scandinavian, I think - and I was a bit apprehensive, but actually even though some of them did look a bit bored, their behaviour was impeccable; and some of them looked quite fascinated. I would like to have talked to them afterwards, as I often wonder what impression this sort of service makes on people of that age who for the most part probably have had no experience of such things before at all. Even if they do go to church I think it's unlikely to be much like High Anglican Evensong at Oxford.

I've been reading this fascinating book about developments in modern China, called Getting Rich First - it throws an interesting light on the astonishing rate of change there and the massive power and optimism that is motivating it. It's easy to see China as a monolith, but reading this book, written by an Englishman who has lived there on and off for years, makes you realise it's all a lot more complicated. What strikes me most, though, is the feeling that however authoritarian China may still be, at least it is making small moves in the direction of democracy and accountability, while we seem to be going the other way. Another absorbing read has been Lords of the Sea - a history of ancient Athens. I've always been drawn to the story of this truly remarkable and dynamic civilisation, and the bizarre combination of tragedy and comedy in its epic story.

My project to get to know all the Bach cantatas one by one is prospering with the very first four. BVW1, 'Wie schoen leuchtet der Morgenstern' is particularly outstanding. I have found lots of information about the cantatas at http://www.bach-cantatas.com/ which seems a pretty good site. Also you can get full scores of most of Bach online free, and at the touch of a button. What an amazing wealth of riches just in that one collection of 200 or so pieces - so much better to spend ones time listening to and studying them than worrying about the ills of this distracted world!

Tuesday 21st June

Midsummer! But you wouldn't think so, from the weather we've been having - days and days of howling winds, day-long drizzle or endless cloudbursts, and the temperature has been ridiculously low for the time of year. Not that midsummer ever feels like midsummer, these days, in my opinion. Now and again there have been nice sunny, warm mornings or afternoons, but it keeps changing back to this endless 'unsettled' stuff. The last Test Match against Sri Lanka was spoilt by it, which was a pity as the Sri Lankans were putting up a pretty good fight. Other summer events have likewise been disrupted - all because of Wimbledon, I suppose!

I've been feeling somewhat downcast again, as my major project, which I've been working towards for about three years and which I thought was finally settled, has started unravelling again with that feeling of inexorable malignant fate that seems to have been pursuing me for years now. This was the projected performance of my Oxford Cantata at the English Music Festival. Having thought it was all agreed in principle for Dorchester Abbey in 2013, suddenly I find there has been some sort of misunderstanding, and in fact the Abbey is booked up until 2014 inclusive, and that anyway there is a policy not to have contemporary works in the main evening concerts! I am naturally a little depressed about this, specially as the cantata is one of the best things I've done in the last few years, and I had set my heart on hearing a decent performance of it at least before I die; however - I am obliged to accept things as they are, and am now pursuing the option of the concert happening in the Cathedral in Oxford, instead. This is nothing like as uplifting and acoustically suitable as the Abbey, but it would certainly be a good second choice, and I must try to look at it in this positive light. It now remains to be seen what the Cathedrak authorities say about the idea of an afternoon concert in the tourist season! I must say, I do wonder sometimes why composers should be put through this sort of thing - not just me, but others too, I know - it's almost like being punished for daring to try to compose music of some quality in the modern world that isn't either the academic avant-garde twaddle largely favoured by the BBC or the brainless pap promoted by the likes of Classic FM! No doubt the mystery will all become clear, one day? Or perhaps not. At least the recital at Christ Church by two of the music students, including some of my Housman songs, is definitely set for 28th October, which is something - and I am so grateful to them for taking an interest.

Funnily enough, as a result of the recent English Music Festival I am once again having a burst of composing energy, and have knocked off one quick vocal piece and almost finished a piece for brass inspired by what I heard. Whether anything will come of these or other 'follow-ups' remains to be seen, but it's curious how the energy and enthusiasm all comes back with only the tiniest of stimuli from contact with the active musical world.

Thursday 16th June 2011

I can't think what has kept me from updating this journal for two weeks - the usual thing: I feel I've been busy, but I'm not quite sure what with. Amongst other things, I've been greatly enjoying re-reading the whole of T.H. White's Arthurian cycle, The Once and Future King, plus a late addition I hadn't come across before, The Book of Merlyn. The sequence moves from the fairly lighthearted in The Sword in the Stone to the darkly tragic in The Candle in the Wind, and has the true tragic note. Not surprising, really, as the Arthurian story is so intrinsically tragic. What is interesting is the way White makes it intensely relevant to the crises of the 20th century he was living through, and thus, to the crises of our time, too. The idea of Arthur as an idealist who tried to channel man's native aggression into something noble, and tried to find 'an end to war', is a very modern one, and a long way from the idea of a Dark Age leader maintaining the remnants of Romano-British civilisation against the barbarian tide, but it is somehow rather touching.

One cause of my distraction has been having to spend a bit of time moored in central Oxford, which I must say is exceptionally noisy and busy, even on the river, just now. I can't believe how many boats have appeared from nowhere recently, considering it isn't even the school holidays, yet! I am glad I have escaped again now up-river to one of my favourite and still delightfully quiet spots, above Swinford Bridge. Also the tourist hordes are beinning to swell in Oxford itself - a terrible foretaste of the hell to come in July and August. Fortunately this year I have once again arranged to have some weeks off to go away from it all on the boat - which will be financially slightly painful but a blessed relief in every other way. Also I am due to go and visit my old friend Mr. Jarman in Seville at the beginning of July, so all is not lost.

Wednesday 1st June 2011

Still recovering from all the excitement of the 5th English Music Festival. The weather varied from mediocre to downright dreadful (the day I came down river the wind rose and the heavens opened, as I might have expected), but apart from that it was all very enjoyable, and as ever I met quite a few people, had lots of talk about music, and made some contact with performers who may or may not be interested in my music.On the Friday the Orchestra of St. Paul's featured the very striking Piano Concerto by Constant Lambert, the deeply melancholic but haunting Curlew of Peter Warlock (I used to brood over that in my teens!) and a delightful rendition of Walton's Facade, which I hadn't heard live for ages - the latter featured William, one of the Sitwells, and Brian Kay, whose diction was amazing, as the reciters or declaimers. I never cease to wonder at the sounds Walton got out of that small group of instruments.

I don't 'do' morning concerts, as they give me a headache, but the afternoon concert at Radley College on Saturday featured the remarkable Cathedral Brass, from Wells Cathedral School, in a very taxing programme including the long and very difficult Symphony for Brass of Malcolm Arnold. There were also some pleasant 16th century dance pieces and 20th century fanfares and at the end an arrangement of Elgar's glorious Severn Suite. I must say I was deeply impressed at the standard achieved by these young (some very young!) players, and needless to say I immediately started getting ideas for a piece for them.

	< Dorchester Abbey Main entrance and box office >
	< Abbey interiors > City of London Choir rehearse >

The evening concert on Saturday, with the English Symhony Orchestra, had som every nice things in it - including An English Idyll by Edgar Bainton, which I had never even heard of, let alone heard, before, two Delius short tone poems and Britten's sparkling music for The Sword in the Stone (which, coincidentally, I am re-reading for the umpteenth time at the moment). The highlight of the concert, though, was Sullivan's very atmospheric incidental music for Macbeth, complete with chanting and singing witches. I imagine it would have been highly effective in a Victorian theatre production, though perhaps a little understated for modern sensational taste.

On Sunday afternoon Danny Driver played English piano music at the Silk Hall at Radley College. It included some preludes and a sonata by York Bowen, and a long sonata by Benjamin Dale. Driver's technique was formidable, and the pieces certainly got a most convincing performance, but I have to say that the music confirmed my opinion that Bowen is mostly just derivative, and lacks an individual voice; in the case of the Dale, as the composer was 19 at the time, it's difficult to tell, but it was certainly a remarkable effort for a 19 year-old. Somehow, however, I doubt that either of them are 'lost geniuses' of British music, however impressive and well-executed their compositions, technically speaking, and they could hardly have been represented better.

The evening concert, with the City of London Choir and the Holst Orchestra featured a rather over-full programme and showed definite signs of under-rehearsal, but there were one or two lovely things in it - not least a delightful Sinfonia Piccola by John Gardner - famous for his setting of Tomorrow Shall Be My Dancing Day which we hear every Christmas - who to my surprise is still alive at the age of about 94! The highlight of the concert, and for me one of the highlights of the whole festival, was Herbert Howells' English Mass. I knew this before but had never heard it live, and it worked beautifully in the Abbey - the effect was mesmerising, with that extraordinary timeless quality that Howells was so good at creating - it occurred to me that it's all something to do with the Lydian mode and subverting traditional tonal expectations, but of course the aesthetic and spiritual effect is much more than the sum of such technical devices. I also enjoyed hearing Holst's two beautiful psalm settings, though they were slightly marred by one or two mistakes in the orchestra.

	< Oxford Liedertafel Death from sensibility >
	< Dorchester poppies

On the final day we were treated to a very enjoyable concert at Sutton Courtenay by the Oxford Liedertafel - a group of four male singers, mostly former choral scholars, who sang a selection of madrigals and part-songs that suited the intimate setting very well. Some of the pieces by the Victorian composer, McFarren, were specially effective, I thought, including Orpheus with his Lute and Fear No More.

The grand finale of proceedings was the evening concert with the Bournemouth Symphony Orchestra, broadcast live on Radio 3, The great novelty of the evening was the world premiere, no less, of the first major work by Vaughan Williams, The Garden of Proserpine, setting a poem of Swinburne's (actually a poem I used to be rather fond of in my far-off Pre-Raphaelite days). But the concert had some other magnificent pieces I was very glad to hear again live, including an absolutely sublime rendition of RVW's Dives and Lazarus, an old favourite of mine which sounded glorious in the acoustic of the Abbey, and Holst's extraordinary Egdon Heath, one of the great enigmatic masterpieces of 20th century British music. The premiere itself was quite a curious affair - it was fascinating to hear Vaughan Williams in his 20's, exploring the possibilities of large-scale composition, but to be honest, there was something quite odd about the way that he set the very 'decadent' verse of Swinburne - you could hear premonitions of works like Towards the Unknown Region and the Sea Symphony - settings of aspirational Walt Whitman poems in the height of Edwardian optimism, and frankly the style didn't seem to suit the subject matter. Swinburne's fin-de-siecle world-weariness seemed to me to call for something very different from the rather bluff, Stanfordian choral and orchestral writing RVW provided. Still - there were some lovely moments and one or two hints of what was to come, and a good time was had by all - with a very enthusiastic audience response, resulting in an encore of the immortal Greensleeves Fantasia - than which I can hardly imaghine a more suitable conclusion to an English Music Festival.

Needless to say, the day after the Festival ended the weather suddenly reverted to sunshine, and the poppies in Dorchetser's ancient allotments were in their glory!

Sunday 22nd May 2011

The weather has been quite nice, with quite a lot of sun and a feeling of late Spring/early Summer - but rather annoyingly windy. Today on the river up near Eynsham there has been this howling gale blowing again which has made me feel a bit wuthered. Otherwise it is idyllically peaceful up here - so nice to get away from town.

On Friday on the way back from swimming again I visited the Botanic Garden, where I haven't been for a while - it really is a most delightful place. I sat for a while under a beautiful pine tree, contemplating. If Oxford was all like this it would be utter heaven.

Pinus Nigrus 1800

Things have been getting very busy, with the University summer term getting into full swing. On Saturday there was an archery match with Cambridge in Merton Field - I don't know who won but it all looked very pitcuresque. I wonder who makes those archery targets? They are exactly like something out of the middle ages.

Medieval in Merton Field

Only one more day of drudgery tomorrow, then I can set off down river for Dorchester-on-Thames and the English Music Festival. I am very much looking forward to it, as I always find it inspiring and it's a chance to meet and talk to other people who love the music I do, for once. Also I always love being at Dorchester, and this will be my first visit this year.

Tuesday 16th May 2011

Recently I have made the blessed discovery of the University swimming pool. After years of struggling with the inadequate and over-priced facilities provided by the city council, this is a haven of peace, order and cleanliness which it is a pleasure to use. And it actually works out a lot cheaper. I am looking forward to getting a regular routine of swimming going again, which I used to find so beneficial in the past. Yesterday I went there during my break at work, had a delightfully refreshing swim, then walked slowly back through Christ Church Meadow, and spent a while just sitting contemplating the green and pleasant scene from the steps into Merton Grove, with hardly any sound but that of the wind in the trees. Just for a few minutes I recaptured the feeling I used to have about this country, its history and landscape, and special, timeless places, in Oxford and elsewhere.

The other day I came across the excellent Thomanerchor from Leipzig again on Youtube, doing the opening chorus from Bach' St. Matthew Passion.

Surely this has to be one of the most sublime pieces of music ever created, and to hear it sung by Bach's own choir, in his church, is really something. Also, looking at the score, it's fascinating to see how he uses the double choir and orchestra, with one group answering the other antiphonally, and taking on different roles, even in just the one chorus. When I listen to music like this it reminds me why I wanted to be a composer. Sometimes I think I should just listen to Bach and nothing else! I have ordered a CD of the first four cantatas, and intend to listen to them one by one all the way through - they alone offer more riches than almost the rest of music combined.

Wednesday 11th May 2011

I can't believe ten days have passed since my last entry - I was full of resolve to write at least once a week, and had lots of things to say! But I find I get distracted too easily and also I seem to forget things rather quickly that were on my mind unless I write them down immediately these days. As usual time zips by and I feel I haven't achieved anything very much. I did go to an interesting drinks evening with speaker held by the University Libertarian Society, which I enjoyed very much. They were all very friendly and it was so nice just for once to be able to talk to intelligent young people about things I am interested in and not just get the standard pre-conditioned responses. I shall try to go to some more of their events! It made me realise I am so starved of stimulating intellectual conversation these days. It seems strange in a place like Oxford, but then it is very cliquey. I still sometimes wonder if I should try to leave again, and I long for the quiet and relative unchangedness of Shropshire and Wales, but practical considerations like money always intervene! In the longer term, though, I intend to pursue my plan to do more voluntary teaching, probably in India, and I have been mulling over the idea once more of emigrating, if things in this country don't go the way I would like to see them go in the next few years. The problem is, by then I shall be so old I shan't really by much of an asset to any country I might want to bestow myself on! Though in places like India they do still respect and value age and wisdom. I am also still very attracted by the idea of Norway.

I've been continuing my re-reading of Wordsworth's The Prelude - I must say it's quite heavy going in places - the sheer wordiness of some parts is a bit much - but there are some wondeful parts, too. I think he is far at his best (and he seems to have thought so too) when writing about his mystical experiences of nature and landscape, and of human individuals within that landscape, than when he tries to talk about ideas and politics. Otherwise I have been reading my usual weird selection - more of the Aubrey sagas, Alice in Wonderland and Through the Looking Glass, a book on naval warfare in the Channel in the 2nd World War, another Iain M. Banks sci-fi novel, a book on economic development in modern China, and other things. Not to mention the collected essays of George Orwell, in Blackwells. Also I have just started Cassandra Clark's latest Abbess of Meaux mystery, The Law of Angels.

On the music front nothing much is happening. Again. One of the music students in the college, Luke, has recently taken an interest in my muisc, and the idea has come up of him and one of the tenors from the choir doing some of my A.E. Housman settings, The Wood of Dreams, - at one point there seemed some hope of having a litttle lunch-time recital during this year's English Music Festival, at the end of the month, but then it was decided it was too short notice, even as a 'fringe' event. So I am hoping to have some sort of concert in the Cathedral in the autumn now. It would be nice to hear some of my music some time this year! Otherwise I am going on writing little 'pot-boiler' piecs and arrangements, and still sending scores to people on spec. Hope springs eternal in the human breast. Apparently.

In any case, I am looking forward very much to my summer break from money-earning drudgery, when I will be able to go away somewhere quiet on the boat for a while, as well as visiting the Proms - hopefully to get in to the long-awaited repaeat of Havergal Brian's Gothic Symphony, which I last heard live in 1966, in a different universe!

May 1st 2011

May Morning in Oxford has come and gone, but without my presence this year - though as they didn't close off Magdalen Bridge at vast expense this time, perhaps it had some of its old spontaneous atmosphere. We have had remarkably sunny weather for what seems like weeks, though with a persistent cold north-easterly wind; on the one or two days when the sun didn't appear it felt really quite freezing. After my sojourn at Abingdon and recovery from the First World War trip, I came slowly up river, pausing briefly at Kennington, which is such a nice little spot, though not one it's advisable to stay in too long, owing to its proximity to some not at all nice areas (and their inhabitants). Then up into Oxford itself again for drudgery, before disappearing up-river for a while; I need to time things so I can meet Dusty the diesel boat, then go right back down again to be in Dorchester for the English Music Festival at the end of the month, which I am very much looking forward to. (There was briefly a possibility of some of my songs being done in a little lunch-time recital, but they decided it was too late in the day to add it to proceedings, so once again I will attending a voluntary steward rather than as a composer.) It is always a delightful and stimulating occasion, though, and invariably revives my enthusiasm for music greatly.

Last weekend I had to go to Headington for a meeting, and re-visited C.S. Lewis's grave in the churchyard of Headington Quarry. It seems ages since I went there last. It's one of those places in Oxford that have somehow retained their rustic, villagey atmosphere, in the middle of heavy urban development, and is a lovely peaceful spot.

< Rural scene at Kennington C.S. Lewis's grave >

We have had two bank holiday weekends in a row, which is a bit unusual - the second, of course, for the Royal Wedding on Saturday. The weather was disappointingly cloudy, after days and days of sun, but at least it didn't rain, and the sun did come out now and then. The whole thing went off beautifully, and I must say I enjoyed it all, even though I only watched it on TV. The actual service was really quite moving, with lots of music by Parry, including Blest Pair of Sirens, a favourite of mine which you don't hear very often; though I must say the Rutter anthem commissioned for the occasion was hardly inspiring. Given the aching trendy, 'pc' nature of almost all public events these days, I thought the service was remarkably traditional and retained a lot of the rather serious and thoughtful elements that have always been - and quite rightly - part of it. I get the impression the Prince William and Catherine are pretty level-headed types who will hopefully make a go of things and expunge the appalling record of recent royal marriages. This can only be a good thing, if it at least makes taking marriage seriously a bit fashionable again, given that about 50% of the population don't even bother with it these days. Also it was nice to see so many union flags and bunting in shops and being displayed by people - it almost made patriotism seem fashionable again! Some of the student in Oxford got quite excited, and there was much revelry.

< Excited students

On the musical front I have been concentrating on some small-scale things recently. A lady who conducts a children's choir in Germany got in touch, and I have done some quite simple arrangements of folk songs from the British Isles with them in mind; I hope they like them. They are all songs about birds, so brilliantly I have called the collection Three Songs About Birds! I've also been doing some short pieces for Double Bass and piano. This sort of thing might possibly sell, but I have to admit I find it difficult to motivate myself to invent anything interesting; funnily enough with vocal and choral music I don't have that problem - maybe because the words provide inspiration. I can't actually work on any larger stuff at the moment, anyway, as my sibelius software has developed a problem I am stil trying to sort out.

Good Friday 2011

Had to work at drudgery today, and I was rather disgusted that the college was fully open to tourists all day, including the cathedral. despite the latter having a day of quiet meditation - they had signs up asking people to be quiet while they visited, but even then some took no notice and behaved like barbarians. Most did respect the occasion, though, and they had suitable quiet organ music being played, including some of my favourite Bach chorale preludes. Later, and also the next day, I was able to listen to some of the amazing version of the St. John Passion by the Tolzer choir on Youtube, and also Herbert Howell's sublime Hymnus Paradisi - a work which could hardly be more suitable for Easter.

Thursday 21st April 2011

I am still recovering from the trip to the First World War battlefields. Partly physically and partly mentally. I got back on Monday evening, completely shattered, and on Tuesday went off and discovered a beautiful quiet, out-of-the-way mooring just round the corner from Culham, down the weir stream (perfectly safe at the momenet as there is hardly any stream at all after weeks with so little rain) - completely rural, with no sign of habitations and cuckoos calling through the woods. Just what I needed! I spent until today there, then had to come up to Abingdon to be ready to go back to money-earning drudgery again tomorrow. The trip itself was exhausting partly because of the ludicrous amount of coach travel involved - a whole day to get there, and a whole day to get back, not to mention a lot of driving around to the various sites. Also we went via the Channel Tunnel on the shuttle train, which was a horrible experience - inside a coash, inside a kind of claustrophobic metal box, inside a tunnelt (I had to get out of the coach and walk up and down inside the train). The whole thing was even more exhausting because of being with my colleague from work, Mr. Evans - I know he can be a difficult person, and I was extremely doubtful about sharing a room with him, but even so I hadn't fully realised what sharing a room with a hyperactive insomniac would actually be like! Even with the help of earplugs and sleeping pills I was suffering from lack of sleep for the whole weekend. However. The tour of the battlefields itself was fascinating and moving, and the guide we had (though a bit of a scruffbag, to say the least!) really knew his stuff and brought the whole thing to life. The main thing that struck me was just the scale of the whole thing - throughout Flanders, and later on the Somme, everywhere there were the distinctive British war cemeteries, with their white cross of sacrifice and row upon row of white Portland headstones - just the ubiquity and the vast numbers involved brought home more than anything the colossal proportions of the struggle that took place there just under a century ago - one knows it from books and films, but you have to go there to feel it directly.

We were based in the town of Menin, close to Ypres, and we started on a relatively small scale by visiting Sanctuary Wood and its cemetery, in the Ypres Salient. This rather struck the note for the whole trip, as the weather was the most exquisite Spring sunshine, and we arrived quite early in the morning while it was still quiet and uncrowded, with the birds singing and an extraordinary peace over everything, that made it all feel very poignant. It really was difficult to imagine the reality of what the guide told us, but at one moment when he pointed to a farmhouse in the far distance, at least a mile away, and explained that that was easily within range of the German machine guns, something of the horror dawned on one, imagining having to advance over open country into that. How men could do it at all is difficult to conceive. Later we visited Hooge Crater, where one of the enormous mines was set-off (now full of water and a popular fishing place), Hellfire Corner and then Tyne Cot cemetery. The latter really was an eye-opener - the largest British military cemetery in the world, with nearly 12,000 burials, plus a wall with the names of 34,888 missing. I was already feeling dizzy from lack of sleep, and the overwhelming sense of loss and the intense atmosphere almost brought me to a state of collapse; but I managed to pull myself together and carry on. After all, they managed to carry on in infinitely worse circumstances.

During the afternoon we visited several other sites and a couple of small museums - the first, at Sanctuary Wood, was a very strange, ramshackle affair stuffed with all kinds of detritus and presided over by a very rough-looking old Belgian in a string vest, but in a way it gave quite a good impression of the random chaos of the war and its aftermath - not least just the huge amount of murderous and other hardware it generated. In the evening we ended up in Ypres itself - quite a pleasant town, but like everything else in the area completely reconstructed from after having been obliterated by artillery shells; after finding something to eat, we attended the famous sounding of the last post at the Menin Gate. I must admit it was so crowded and touristy I found it less moving than I expected, but it does give an impression of the appreciation of the local population of the huge British sacrifice in defending them that they've done this every night for nearly 100 years, except when they were prevented by the German occupation in World War II. The gate itself is a massive and hugely impressive, distinctly imperial, structure with 55,000 names of missing British and Empire servicemen on it. In general you couldn't help seeing that this whole area of Belgium is completely dominated by the British losses in the Great War - not just large memorials like the Menin Gate, but literally everywhere in the countryside are cemeteries, small and big. It must be strange to grow up surrounded by memorials to someone else's people - but the Belgians seem to have quite a positive and respectful attitude to them (unlike some of the French - see below), and after all, they do generate a huge tourist industry.

	< Sanctuary Wood	Detritus of war >
	< Hooge Crater, with fishing Belgians	Tyne Cot >

	< Unknown soldier at Tyne Cot	Wall with 34,888 names, Tyne Cot >
	< Cloth Hall, Ypres	Last Post, Menin Gate >

On the Sunday we drove south to the battlefields of the Somme. This was a very different place from Flanders - beautiful rolling countryside with little woods and villages; still in lovely Spring sunshine - but if anything the sense of overwhelming carnage and sacrifice was even stronger here. (On the first day of the Battle of the Somme the British lost 20,000 dead - the worst casualties in our history). We started off in the rather pleasant little town of Peronne, where there was an excellent and very professional museum of the Great War, with some very good displays of contemporary uniforms, equipment, posters, literature and contemporary film footage. For the rest of the day we visited numerous other sites, including the Ulster Tower and Newfoundland Park, a memorial maintained very well by the Canadians, with a superb caribou stature overlooking the positions from which the Newfoundlanders attacked - one of the few places where original trenches survive - giving a very good idea of the position of the two lines and the horrendous nature of such an assault. Particularly impressive and quite beautiful was the South African Memorial, which had a large hall with displays and huge bronzes in it, with a most lovely etched glass window in the entrance which was most striking as you came in. Another very moving small cemetery was that of the Devonshire Regiment, whose dead were buried in a long narrow plot on the line of the trench from which they had set out on another desperate frontal attack. These small burial places were almost more moving, or at least moving in a different way, from the great formal cemeteries, though all were beautifully maintained and looked after. We also visited the Lochnagar Crater, site of the largest of many gigantic British mines that broke the German lines and began the final offensive; this one was not filled with water and really gave an idea of the immensity of the explosion, which apparently could be heard in London. One strange experience was visiting one of the few German cemeteries (where they have concentrated their dead) - a completely different atmosphere from the British ones - very dark and gloomy and not at all uplifting or peaceful. One disturbing aspect was that without exception the wreaths and tributes left were British - no German ones at all - not that there is anything wrong perhaps with honouring the German dead too, but they were mostly from schools and youth groups, and were along the lines of 'isn't war terrible' and 'we honour the brave German soldiers'; I found it slightly distasteful that our children are being made to take a 'pc' attitude to this whole nightmare, despite it all being started by the Germans themselves; by all means respect the German dead - but why pay tributes to them? It was also extremely noticeable that there were certainly no German tributes to 'the brave British soldiers' at our cemeteries.

	< Display at Peronne	South African monument >
	< Lochnagar Crater	Newfoundland Park >

The finale of our tour was the colossal Thiepval Memorial - the largest British monument of this type in the world. You can see it from miles away, and it dominates the whole Somme battlefield. It the most extraordinary and awe-inspiring structure, and I think gives a real idea of the significance of the Great War to the generation that suffered it. It is inscribed with some 73,000 names of British and Empire troops who died on the Somme. More than one member of our party looked for and found names of their relatives there. As ever the atmosphere was beautiful, and there is a French as well as a British one at the rear of the great arch - but the only incident of disrespect I witnessed on the whole trip was from a French family, the adults of which proceeded to drape themselves on the parapet around the monument, sunbathing, while their children ran around screaming at the tops of their voices. Being British, of course all the other visitors pretended not to notice; I became very angry and was on the verge of making an issue of it, but decided I didn't want to end the trip with an argument, so just left. Considering it was a monument and a burial place of French dead as well as British, I was frankly disgusted at their behaviour, but not really surprised - it seems to me the French have a pathological need to demonstrate their 'superiority' to the British whenever possible, even in such inappropriate circumstances. I know it was only one French family, but it certainly didn't raise my opinion of them as a nation.

Anyway - the whole trip provided an experience which was somewhat difficult to sum up. Despite the memory of all the horror, and the sadness of all those rows and rows of graves of mostly young men, given the weather and the time of year, the overwhelming memory I have of it all is the sun shining on white Portland stone, beautifully mown and clipped green grass, and the sound of birds singing. I did feel that at least our men have been well looked after in death, and they are visited all the time and not at all forgotten, which is somehow consoling.

	< The extraordinary arch at Thiepval	This gives some sense of the scale of the monument >
	< The names

Thursday 14^th April 2011

Rather a long gap, owing mostly to the Oxford Literary Festival – an annual ‘celeb’-fest that meant a lot of extra work for me and even more annoying people to deal with than usual! This year was enlivened by being sponsored by a well-known gin manufacturers, who offered free booze in the main marquee throughout proceedings – apparently they got through 40 cases of gin during it all (6 bottles per case); I hope they thought it was worth it! The result was some amusing scenes of rowdy drunkenness (including some of my colleagues) amongst the well-groomed and prosperous citizens of North Oxford and beyond who had come to worship their favourite authors. One author who was not included, but should have been, was my old friend from the prehistoric 70’s, Cassandra Clark, authoress of the remarkable and entertaining Abbess of Meaux medieval crime series. I invited her to visit the Festival, and we enjoyed the atmosphere and gin and tonics, though whether it was profitable I am not sure. More information about her books, including the latest The Law of Angels, can be found on her website: http://www.cassandraclark.co.uk/

I finally have a few days off from the money-earning drudgery, and am off tomorrow on what is for me a rather unusual expedition, to visit the First World War battlefields in Flanders, with Mr. Evans, one of my colleagues from work. It is by coach, so will involve inordinately long journeys tomorrow and Monday, but I think it will be interesting – if a little sad, to see the place where so many hundreds of thousands of our young men died fighting for what has since been totally betrayed. I will write more about it when I return, hopefully with some photographs.

Tuesday 29^th March 2011

At last I have got back on to the river, off the smelly old canal I’ve been stuck on for months! It’s such a relief; moored on the meadows up above Swinford Bridge is gloriously spacious and peaceful – it’s a pity I didn’t get here last week, as there have been days of lovely weather; as it is, today was nice, but the forecast for tomorrow is for rain, with further ‘unsettled’ weather thereafter, and I will have to go back down to Oxford again on Thursday because of lots of extra money-earning drudgery. But anyway, I got here on Sunday so have been able to enjoy a bit of country scenery and less urban stress for a few days. Today I discovered a most delightful cycle route to Witney which I hadn’t realised existed before, partly along bridlepaths and otherwise mostly very quiet country lanes; I went swimming in the pool in Witney, which I also hadn’t visited before, and it was very nice and uncrowded (though outrageously expensive). I had a look around the town, which I haven’t been to for some time, and found a copy of Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland and Through the Looking Glass in World’s Classics – I’ve been reading and hearing so much about Lewis Carroll recently, and spend so much time in his old haunts, I feel I must actually read the books again. On the way back I discovered a really nice unspoilt rural bit on the outskirts of Witney where the Cogges working farm museum is – quite idyllic, considering that the town itself is rather traffic-infested. The bits along the bridlepaths were amazingly quiet – some of the quietest places I’ve found around Oxford. Several times I stopped and you really could only hear the sound of birds singing and bumble bees – a rare experience in south-east England! Altogether it was a very enjoyable, if tiring, afternoon – about 12 miles’ cycling, plus the swimming too.

	< Back onto the river, along Duke’s Cut, in Spring!
	< You know you are somewhere genuinely rural when you see road signs like this!   Cogges rural scene >

Wednesday 23^rd March 2011

Another beautiful sunny and warm day – though it’s still a little chilly when the sun goes down.  One advantage of the consistent sunshine is that my solar panels are now putting quite a lot of charge into the batteries, which means I need to run the engine very much less, which not only saves money on ever-more-expensive diesel, but saves noise and vibration. I am feeling rather virtuous today, as I continued the spring-cleaning by performing the dreaded annual Cleaning of the Cooker. This is an arduous business, but the psychological effect of having done it is very positive, as well as meaning the smoke alarm hopefully won’t go off every time I use the thing! I am still on the canal, waiting to meet Dusty, the coal and diesel boat, but I plan to return onto the river on Sunday (thank goodness!).

	Oxford in the Spring can also be quite photogenic (you have to forget the traffic noise and crowds and just concentrate on the blossom and old architecture!)
	Other interesting botanical features of Oxford include the so-called ‘Jabberwocky’ Tree, which may or may not have inspired the famous monster in the poem by Lewis Carroll (Not usually viewable by the public).

I am quite enjoying reading Kingsley Amis’s The Old Devils ­– a book I have long heard of but never actually read until now. I find his generation are the last whose work I can read with any pleasure – the few times I’ve tried to read anything by a more recent writer, with the exception of specialists like nautical and science-fiction authors, I’ve found them unappealing or unreadable; it’s probably the result of all these ‘creative writing’ courses. An urge has also come over me to read Wordsworth’s The Prelude again, so I’ve dug out my copy, (which I note was a school prize for Latin from 1970), and will see if I can read it all through – something I haven’t done for a very long time.

Sunday 20^th March 2011

The weather has gone back to being nice and sunny and warm during the day (though it was below zero on Friday night).  Today I cycled over to Woodstock and went for a walk round the Park – it really does look so magnificent on a fine day, and you only have to go a few yards away from the usual tourist trail to find peace and quiet. I sat for some time looking over Capability Brown’s beautiful lake, with the sun blazing on the water, and it reminded me of Wordsworth and his lines about ‘the setting sun’ and ‘see(ing) into the heart of things’. It made me think again about something I have talked about before on here – the way I had from quite an early age until about the mid-1990’s a strong sense of some sort of transcendent reality, beyond the surface of things, which I somehow seem to have lost touch with in recent years. It occasionally comes back to me in places like this. The scene also reminded me vividly of a most marvellous passage in Richard Jefferies’ Bevis – an old favourite book of mine I am currently re-reading, when Bevis and Mark get up one morning on their ‘desert island’ and experience this magical sense of peace and perfection:

‘ All the light of summer fell on the water, from the glowing sky, from the clear air, from the sun. The island floated in light, they stood in light, light was in the shadow of the trees, and under the thick brambles; light was deep down in the water, light surrounded them as a mist might; they could see far up into the illumined sky as down into the water….Every atom of sand upon the shore was sought out by the beams, and given an individual existence amid the inconceivable multitude which the sibyl alone counted. Nothing was lost, not a grain of sand, not the least needle of fir. The light touched all things, and gave them to be….The swallows flew in light, the fish swam in light, the trees stood in light. “Magic,” said Bevis. “It’s magic”.

Incidentally, inside the copy of Bevis  I found a couple of ancient photos from the 1970’s, including a rather young and naïve-looking me – wearing my Easy Rider glasses and an antique 40’s raincoat I was incredibly fond of; I notice too I am carrying a small brown suitcase. Even then I was heavily into the past – the sort of Auden/Isherwood 30’s past, if I remember rightly. I am about 24, and am standing outside the little terraced house I lived in in York at the time, after I left university, but I can’t recall what the occasion was or who took the photo.  I feel a kind of connection with the me of that time – I can still remember what it felt like to be that age, just about – but on the other hand it seems like an incredibly remote era, and the world, not to mention myself, has changed greatly. But I do think I am fundamentally still the same person – only without the same romantic illusions I had then!

Other reading matter recently has included a rather enjoyable short novel, Cousin Henry, by Trollope, a return to some of Patrick O’Brian’s nautical tales (which I have now decided I will have to buy and read in order – all 20 of them!), and finally all the way through the fascinating Stations of the Sun by Ronald Hutton – an account of British folk customs.  I also read a fascinating book called Why Socrates Died in Blackwells, describing the remarkable social, cultural and political circumstances behind his trial and execution which makes the whole thing make a lot more sense, ghastly as it was. I have also been amusing myself with Dark Mysteries of the Vatican. Plus a book about Culloden and an intriguing account of the attempts of one Captain Maconochie to reform the brutal convict regime on Norfolk Island in the mid-19^th century.

One advantage of returning to the original format of Musings is that I can diplay my photos more effectively again. Oxford is a pretty photogenic place anyway, but given all that snow we had before Christmas, it turned into a veritable Narnia!

	Scenes round the Radcliffe Camera
	plus view of the  Cathedral from behind the scenes at Christ Church	s

Tuesday 15^th March 2011

Musings has returned in its original form! I got tired of being in the grip of Google, and anyway I prefer the look I’ve been using for the last 10 years or so, so here we are.

Spring has finally sprung, and we have had a number of days of pleasantly warm sunshine, to counteract the nasty cold winds we’ve had for weeks; unfortunately the weather changed again today to the grey cloud cover, and it became slightly dismal, but at least all the spring flowers are out, and a lot of the daffodils.  I had planned to return to the river today, as conditions seem to have returned to normal and I am only too anxious to get off the bit of canal I’ve been stuck on for months, but somehow the change in the weather put me off, so I’ve come up to Kidlington for what I hope is the last time this winter – hopefully I can go back down again next week and try out things on the river again, provided it doesn’t start raining heavily! I finally started spring-cleaning the boat today – something that is long overdue, as I didn’t really do it properly last year. It’s appalling the amount of dust and grime that can build up over a winter onboard – and the clutter – no matter how hard I try, I can’t seem to keep it down. Ideally I would just like to have the minimum of everything and keep it all nice and simple and easy to clean, but somehow it just doesn’t seem to be possible; however much stuff I throw out, it all seems to build up again, and of course traps all the dust and dirt, not to mention providing hidey holes for the friendly spiders who get in from somewhere and take up residence. I hope I will be able to get things reasonably clean and tidy soon, so that I can then concentrate on getting the outside of the boat up to scratch again, after the inevitable wear and tear of a winter afloat. In particular I want to re-paint the cabin sides (what I think is called the ‘carriage work’), which will be a delicate task, and quite expensive, as good quality boat varnish is not cheap; it’s worth using it, though, as it looks much better and lasts longer than ordinary paint.

I had a communication from Mr. Duggan, the original designer and owner of Salaga, reminding me that she is 20 years old this year. Next year I will have to have a coming-of-age party! He sent me an interesting picture of the original concept sketches for the boat:

Which is very close to how it came out, apart from the colour scheme; there used to be a bit more yellow and red on the hull than there is now, but I have to keep things simple, as I am not terribly good at technical stuff like fine painting.

The winter has been rather wearing, and specially the last bit, when the cold north and east winds and leaden skies made things rather difficult, especially for standing around in freezing cold medieval and Tudor buildings, which is what I have to do three days a week to survive. I must admit I went through a rather discouraged phase, but as usual with the change of season somehow things always feel a little more hopeful, and I’ve been galvanised into a certain amount of action on the musical front.  I am still pursuing the almost endless task of hopefully getting the Oxford Cantata done at the English Music Festival. After interminable problems and mishaps I finally got the score and supporting materials to Stephen Darlington, if at least six months later than intended, and he does seem seriously interested – but I had a word with him the other day, and of course he is incredibly busy with a summer tour of the USA with the Cathedral Choir and lots of other things, so he still hasn’t been able to look at it properly yet, though he was very apologetic about it. The festival organisers are still sounding positive, too, though 2012 is apparently already getting very full. I can only keep trying and hope for the best. Even if they do all want to go ahead, I will still have to find some funding for it all – but I am fairly sure I can somehow or other!

Musings 2009

Musings 2008

 Tuesday 15^th March 2011

Musings has returned in its original format! I got tired of being in the grip of Google, and I have a certain attachment to this format, which I’ve been using for about 10 yeaMusings 2007

Musings 2006

Musings 2005

Musings 2004

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