Finally, some photos from our concert at Cadogan Hall, which raised masses of money for the Lenny Trusler Children's Foundation.
Wednesday 29 December 2010
Cadogan Hall
Finally, some photos from our concert at Cadogan Hall, which raised masses of money for the Lenny Trusler Children's Foundation.
Friday 22 October 2010
Tuesday 19 October 2010
I don't mean to moan, but.....
As I sit, the victim of another strike, at Paris CDG airport's train station, I am given pause to wonder, out loud and with expletives at certain points, if travelling could be any more of a pain in the proverbials.
I thought I'd ruminate on this until either my train arrives, or due to cold and boredom I strangle myself with the strap on my violin case. Whichever comes first.
The most distressing aspect of travelling is the loss of time. Time you will never get back, time that is spent in a void. You aren't where you were, nor where you will be, so you are, by definition, waiting. Sure you can try to be productive, you can work, read, blog. But these are all things you will do not because you actually want to, but purely because you need to kill time, which is a terrible, terrible concept. Killing time. I don't know what the opposite of killing time is- perhaps giving birth to it?- but that's what we should be doing, rather than hoping it moves even faster so we can be somewhere we want to be.
The next worst thing about the travelling thing is the loss of control. You are driven, flown, pulled around on trains, all at the mercy of other people, and other people's schedules. If one person is late on the plane, we all are. If one group of people strikes, we all lose money and time waiting. And worst of all, I spend an extraordinary amount of time being subjected to horrific music in taxis. Someone told me it is the law in Sweden that taxis must only play 80's soft-rock. I don't believe this to be true, although my experience would certainly suggest it might be.
There are, of course, advantages to spending time in airports and train stations.
I literally can't think of one, so I'll end this here. (To the sounds of Bon Jovi, as it seems French train stations have the same law as Swedish taxis- must be a Euro-zone ruling).
I thought I'd ruminate on this until either my train arrives, or due to cold and boredom I strangle myself with the strap on my violin case. Whichever comes first.
The most distressing aspect of travelling is the loss of time. Time you will never get back, time that is spent in a void. You aren't where you were, nor where you will be, so you are, by definition, waiting. Sure you can try to be productive, you can work, read, blog. But these are all things you will do not because you actually want to, but purely because you need to kill time, which is a terrible, terrible concept. Killing time. I don't know what the opposite of killing time is- perhaps giving birth to it?- but that's what we should be doing, rather than hoping it moves even faster so we can be somewhere we want to be.
The next worst thing about the travelling thing is the loss of control. You are driven, flown, pulled around on trains, all at the mercy of other people, and other people's schedules. If one person is late on the plane, we all are. If one group of people strikes, we all lose money and time waiting. And worst of all, I spend an extraordinary amount of time being subjected to horrific music in taxis. Someone told me it is the law in Sweden that taxis must only play 80's soft-rock. I don't believe this to be true, although my experience would certainly suggest it might be.
There are, of course, advantages to spending time in airports and train stations.
I literally can't think of one, so I'll end this here. (To the sounds of Bon Jovi, as it seems French train stations have the same law as Swedish taxis- must be a Euro-zone ruling).
Wednesday 13 October 2010
A Strange Bunch
I've just spent the morning recording a lovely version of Carl Davis's music for The French Lieutenant's Woman, with Carl conducting the Philharmonia orchestra. The piece is for string quartet and orchestra, and it got me thinking about musicians.
I got up at 7am today in order to be ready for a 10am start. I had bought Lucozade in order to be fully awake, and I arrived in the dressing room in time to play my scales, before which I made sure my hands were washed and I'd done some jumping up and down exercises to be warm and ready to play.
Then, Lawrence Power, who was playing the viola part, arrived. He got a cup of tea, took his viola out, and pretty much went straight up to the session.
I am jealous, because he sounded fabulous, and he is clearly not a neurotic, so that's kind of annoying on two counts.
Glenn Gould used to have to submerge his hands in hot water before playing, whereas David Oistrakh would play Paganini Caprices before breakfast. Joshua Bell blow-dries his fingers with a hair dryer before going on stage, Martin Roscoe always brushes his teeth.
I guess it's really to be expected, as people are inherently different, but I find it quite fun to watch how musicians all have their own ways of dealing with the generally quite peculiar business of playing an instrument.
I got up at 7am today in order to be ready for a 10am start. I had bought Lucozade in order to be fully awake, and I arrived in the dressing room in time to play my scales, before which I made sure my hands were washed and I'd done some jumping up and down exercises to be warm and ready to play.
Then, Lawrence Power, who was playing the viola part, arrived. He got a cup of tea, took his viola out, and pretty much went straight up to the session.
I am jealous, because he sounded fabulous, and he is clearly not a neurotic, so that's kind of annoying on two counts.
Glenn Gould used to have to submerge his hands in hot water before playing, whereas David Oistrakh would play Paganini Caprices before breakfast. Joshua Bell blow-dries his fingers with a hair dryer before going on stage, Martin Roscoe always brushes his teeth.
I guess it's really to be expected, as people are inherently different, but I find it quite fun to watch how musicians all have their own ways of dealing with the generally quite peculiar business of playing an instrument.
Saturday 25 September 2010
Beverley from Wales
Driving...
We are driving, from the beginning of Wales to the end. The sun is shining, and we are as happy as 5 people in one car driving for 5 hours on the day of a concert can be.
Currently, I am sunbathing in the lovely town of Ludlow, where we have pulled in for a 6 minute stop. Of which I've used half to write this.
Currently, I am sunbathing in the lovely town of Ludlow, where we have pulled in for a 6 minute stop. Of which I've used half to write this.
Friday 10 September 2010
Sunday 5 September 2010
Great performers
I saw some incredible street performers today. It has become something of a favourite ritual, heading to the Pompidou Centre- which is a few minutes from our apartment- to see if there are any new acts we haven't yet seen.
My daughter was recently overwhelmed by a man who climbed up a lamppost wearing a red cape, and this morning we watched the most virtuosic display of balloon animal making I have ever seen.
Naturally there is the odd performance which is perhaps not quite ready for public consumption, such as an elderly chap who has an act involving matchsticks. It draws a huge crowd as no-one is quite sure when the climax will be, until they realise there will be no climax, by which time everyone is too embarrassed to leave.
But some of these performers are incredibly talented. Like the Mongolian throat singers, who produce extraordinary sounds from their throats, wearing wonderful traditional costumes and playing 2 stringed guitar and cello-like instruments. They pause between songs and hand around a rolled up cigarette, which is unorthodox behaviour for a group of singers, but it seems to work well for them.
On a sunny day there is no better place to go for good, raw entertainment.
My daughter was recently overwhelmed by a man who climbed up a lamppost wearing a red cape, and this morning we watched the most virtuosic display of balloon animal making I have ever seen.
Naturally there is the odd performance which is perhaps not quite ready for public consumption, such as an elderly chap who has an act involving matchsticks. It draws a huge crowd as no-one is quite sure when the climax will be, until they realise there will be no climax, by which time everyone is too embarrassed to leave.
But some of these performers are incredibly talented. Like the Mongolian throat singers, who produce extraordinary sounds from their throats, wearing wonderful traditional costumes and playing 2 stringed guitar and cello-like instruments. They pause between songs and hand around a rolled up cigarette, which is unorthodox behaviour for a group of singers, but it seems to work well for them.
On a sunny day there is no better place to go for good, raw entertainment.
Wednesday 30 June 2010
Very Early Ramblings
I'm on the tube, and it's 5.30am.
It is a sobering experience being up this early, but what is extraordinary is how many others there are who seem to start there day when sensible people have only just gone to bed. I had to wait for a seat on the tube. I had to WAIT FOR A SEAT at 5.30 in the morning. When I told my mum I was leaving at 5 she was concerned for my safety, as this is a time traditionally observed only by milkmen and rapists, or so we thought.
The tube is clearly divided between those who are up, showered, fresh and ready to crack on with their day, and those who most certainly aren't. A few look quite shell-shocked, as though they have no idea at all how they got here.
One gentleman has a beer open though, which I find particularly impressive.
But I can't understand why there are so many people with the need to be travelling at this time. I can think of literally 3 jobs which require you to be in before six. Like, for instance, fisherman. But I don't reckon a fisherman would get the tube to work.
Suggestions to this point on a postcard please.
I'm going to sleep now.
It is a sobering experience being up this early, but what is extraordinary is how many others there are who seem to start there day when sensible people have only just gone to bed. I had to wait for a seat on the tube. I had to WAIT FOR A SEAT at 5.30 in the morning. When I told my mum I was leaving at 5 she was concerned for my safety, as this is a time traditionally observed only by milkmen and rapists, or so we thought.
The tube is clearly divided between those who are up, showered, fresh and ready to crack on with their day, and those who most certainly aren't. A few look quite shell-shocked, as though they have no idea at all how they got here.
One gentleman has a beer open though, which I find particularly impressive.
But I can't understand why there are so many people with the need to be travelling at this time. I can think of literally 3 jobs which require you to be in before six. Like, for instance, fisherman. But I don't reckon a fisherman would get the tube to work.
Suggestions to this point on a postcard please.
I'm going to sleep now.
Monday 21 June 2010
Saturday 19 June 2010
Three cheers For NWB
Last week I joined about 30 other strings players who took part in a concert to celebrate several things, all of them Nigel Brown.
Nigel's instrument schemes have been running for 25 years now, which is ample reason in itself for a celebration. Added to this, however, is the fact he has recently become High Sheriff of Cambridgeshire, and since he offered to wear the full official regalia for the evening, I certainly wasn't going to miss it. Finally, the concert raised a huge amount of money for motor neuron desease which is a brilliant cause to support. Pretty much everyone who has ever benefitted from Nigel's help was there, which meant a lot of very well known people.
The event was a black tie affair, for the audience and all but the most rebellious few musicians. Half of us didn't own anything resembling black tie, but we all did our best to cobble something together. I had been told that if I wore anything else I'd be the only person in the hall wearing an individual outfit, although I felt sure that honour would be going to Nigel himself, as it would be an extraordinary coincidence if someone else turned up wearing tights, a sword and a hat.
Altogether the evening was a splendid success, and we are all in Nigel's debt for his 25 years of hard, hard work helping musicians get what they most need- an instrument to play on.
Nigel's instrument schemes have been running for 25 years now, which is ample reason in itself for a celebration. Added to this, however, is the fact he has recently become High Sheriff of Cambridgeshire, and since he offered to wear the full official regalia for the evening, I certainly wasn't going to miss it. Finally, the concert raised a huge amount of money for motor neuron desease which is a brilliant cause to support. Pretty much everyone who has ever benefitted from Nigel's help was there, which meant a lot of very well known people.
The event was a black tie affair, for the audience and all but the most rebellious few musicians. Half of us didn't own anything resembling black tie, but we all did our best to cobble something together. I had been told that if I wore anything else I'd be the only person in the hall wearing an individual outfit, although I felt sure that honour would be going to Nigel himself, as it would be an extraordinary coincidence if someone else turned up wearing tights, a sword and a hat.
Altogether the evening was a splendid success, and we are all in Nigel's debt for his 25 years of hard, hard work helping musicians get what they most need- an instrument to play on.
Friday 18 June 2010
Abbey Road
Yesterday I recorded for the first time at Abbey Road, which is a bit of a sacred place for musicians. It has such amazing history, the walls are lined with pictures of the great artists who have recorded there, and there have been many. The sound is fantastic in the studio, and the sandwiches in the cafe were not at all bad.
The pieces I was recording were from Porgy and Bess, as the piano parts from the great Heifetz arrangements have been beautifully orchestrated by David Matthews, so Carl Davis is including them on his Hollywood themed album due out later this year. He conducted the BBC Concert orchestra for the sessions, and is now one of my favourite people to work with. He has what most people don't, which is the ability to be completely in control and make it look effortless. They can't teach you that at college.
The pieces I was recording were from Porgy and Bess, as the piano parts from the great Heifetz arrangements have been beautifully orchestrated by David Matthews, so Carl Davis is including them on his Hollywood themed album due out later this year. He conducted the BBC Concert orchestra for the sessions, and is now one of my favourite people to work with. He has what most people don't, which is the ability to be completely in control and make it look effortless. They can't teach you that at college.
Friday 4 June 2010
The Two Rules
The first is that if you ask a hairdresser not to take too much off please, they will cut your hair to within an inch of its life. If you don't want very short hair, never, ever, let that slip in the hairdressers. Red rag to a bull.
The second is that if you ask in a hotel for a room "with a nice view please", you will get one of a selection of rooms they hold back for such people, with the worst views the building has to offer.
The receptionist here at my Heathrow hotel was particularly proud of this one, it took him a full 5 minutes to select it for me.
Wednesday 2 June 2010
Sunny Wales
I'm here rehearsing with the BBC Welsh orchestra, the leader of which just helped me to discover I'm only 6 degrees separated from Louis Spohr, via my teacher Ruggiero Ricci, and Viotti. I'm Playing Spohr's 8th concerto with them, and I feel a new, profound connection with the piece on learning this news.
And apparently Spohr invented the chinrest, so we have a lot to thank him for there.
Monday 31 May 2010
The Other Side
I would like to write a few words about something called the IAMA conference, which I found myself attending last month.
IAMA is the International Artists' Managers Association, and it is the body which holds together every manager or management company of any worth around the world.
I made my way there as a delegate to represent my record label, and it was an eye-opening experience to say the very least.
The first day I spent telling everyone this is something no artist should ever have to see. By the end of the 3rd day I was convinced every artist should be forced to see it.
As with any conference, the idea is to do business. As delegates we gathered in a large building, drank vats of coffee, and had 10 minute meetings during which one buys, sells and generally does a year's worth of business in a day.
The interesting part is that we didn't get taught this at music college. We never learnt of the way the whole thing comes together- two sides of the same coin, artists and business people working in completely separate worlds which somehow join in order to bring music to the public. As musicians it is too much accepted to pretend the other half doesn't exist, and when it does it is only a necessary evil.
The Curtis Institute, where I studied, had a class called "20th Century Musician', which attempted to teach us the basics of building a career in the music business. There was a tour of the IMG offices in New York, and a show of hands was requested in the first class to clear up who already had major representation. (Quite a few did.) We learnt how to write a good CV, (something I have never done in my life) and had some very interesting lectures from people on 'the other side', in other words managers and career builders, but they may as well have been from another planet to us musicians.
For me though, the fascinating part of the IAMA conference was that it was the music business laid completely bare. The endless coffee drinking, cigarette smoking cafe debates we had at college about the relative merits of seeing music as a business rather than an art were shattered in the face of a room filled with 300 men and women who were creating the music business. Just like any industry there is an engine room, and here it was. We as musicians spend our lives in darkened practice rooms, worshipping composers (quite rightly) but we too often choose to ignore what it is that goes on beside us to create the opportunities we need to play in front of people.
Of course, playing the violin is something like my reason for being. But how much fun it would be visiting the engine room of the world of music I never would have known.
IAMA is the International Artists' Managers Association, and it is the body which holds together every manager or management company of any worth around the world.
I made my way there as a delegate to represent my record label, and it was an eye-opening experience to say the very least.
The first day I spent telling everyone this is something no artist should ever have to see. By the end of the 3rd day I was convinced every artist should be forced to see it.
As with any conference, the idea is to do business. As delegates we gathered in a large building, drank vats of coffee, and had 10 minute meetings during which one buys, sells and generally does a year's worth of business in a day.
The interesting part is that we didn't get taught this at music college. We never learnt of the way the whole thing comes together- two sides of the same coin, artists and business people working in completely separate worlds which somehow join in order to bring music to the public. As musicians it is too much accepted to pretend the other half doesn't exist, and when it does it is only a necessary evil.
The Curtis Institute, where I studied, had a class called "20th Century Musician', which attempted to teach us the basics of building a career in the music business. There was a tour of the IMG offices in New York, and a show of hands was requested in the first class to clear up who already had major representation. (Quite a few did.) We learnt how to write a good CV, (something I have never done in my life) and had some very interesting lectures from people on 'the other side', in other words managers and career builders, but they may as well have been from another planet to us musicians.
For me though, the fascinating part of the IAMA conference was that it was the music business laid completely bare. The endless coffee drinking, cigarette smoking cafe debates we had at college about the relative merits of seeing music as a business rather than an art were shattered in the face of a room filled with 300 men and women who were creating the music business. Just like any industry there is an engine room, and here it was. We as musicians spend our lives in darkened practice rooms, worshipping composers (quite rightly) but we too often choose to ignore what it is that goes on beside us to create the opportunities we need to play in front of people.
Of course, playing the violin is something like my reason for being. But how much fun it would be visiting the engine room of the world of music I never would have known.
Monday 17 May 2010
Listen and watch
The Young Musician of the Year finals were on the telly last night, but I could only listen on the radio as over here in Paris I can't get BBC TV. My manager kept me updated by text on the contestant's outfits, which was important. Interesting though, how differently you judge things when you can only hear, and are not disturbed by the visual aspect of a performance.
Anyway, I want to clarify that when I said on my Twitter page that I agreed with Sam Wallaston from the Guardian on his appraisal of the string finals which I was on the jury for, I meant the part about how we were all much too sweet and friendly, and only ever said sugary things, which perhaps was less interesting than Simon Cowell tearing young people's hearts out.
This led to several people thinking I was against the result- which I wasn't!
Just so we're all clear...
Anyway, I want to clarify that when I said on my Twitter page that I agreed with Sam Wallaston from the Guardian on his appraisal of the string finals which I was on the jury for, I meant the part about how we were all much too sweet and friendly, and only ever said sugary things, which perhaps was less interesting than Simon Cowell tearing young people's hearts out.
This led to several people thinking I was against the result- which I wasn't!
Just so we're all clear...
Sunday 18 April 2010
God Reads My Blog
The moral of this story is clear: be careful what you wish for.
Within minutes of my posting a blog in which I mourned the lost days before global air travel and instant communications, a discreet little volcanic eruption was arranged and the first of my wishes was granted. Then Vodafone accidentally cut off my blackberry.
I'm now on a train, one of about 10 trains in fact, lasting around 17 hours in total, that should eventually get me home 4 days after I was meant to fly from Sweden to Paris.
And I have learnt that it isn't quite the romantic, relaxing picture I had thought it would be.
Imagine a world, I'd thought, where the time it took to cross countries was days rather than hours. How much slower our pace of life would be. How much more time we would have during travel for reflection, reading, writing, enjoying the landscape and having arty thoughts.
In reality I am standing for the 6th hour straight, hungry, hot, aggressively tired and without an arty thought in my head.
My wife texted me to suggest I wrote my blog during this useful free time on the train. I bet Prokofiev's wife wouldn't have texted him that. Anyway, he would have replied "I have a near complete sketch of the new 3rd symphony in my head now, the second subject of the last movement came to me fully formed as we passed through Siberia".
All I could manage was "I can't write coz I'm facing backwards and I'll probably be sick."
Still, there have been moments of good will among passengers. Lots of talk about volcanoes. A lady next to me offered me an extraordinarily revolting sweet which I didn't have the heart to spit out once I'd accepted it.
But all things said and done, I'm quite ready to rejoin the 21st century.
Within minutes of my posting a blog in which I mourned the lost days before global air travel and instant communications, a discreet little volcanic eruption was arranged and the first of my wishes was granted. Then Vodafone accidentally cut off my blackberry.
I'm now on a train, one of about 10 trains in fact, lasting around 17 hours in total, that should eventually get me home 4 days after I was meant to fly from Sweden to Paris.
And I have learnt that it isn't quite the romantic, relaxing picture I had thought it would be.
Imagine a world, I'd thought, where the time it took to cross countries was days rather than hours. How much slower our pace of life would be. How much more time we would have during travel for reflection, reading, writing, enjoying the landscape and having arty thoughts.
In reality I am standing for the 6th hour straight, hungry, hot, aggressively tired and without an arty thought in my head.
My wife texted me to suggest I wrote my blog during this useful free time on the train. I bet Prokofiev's wife wouldn't have texted him that. Anyway, he would have replied "I have a near complete sketch of the new 3rd symphony in my head now, the second subject of the last movement came to me fully formed as we passed through Siberia".
All I could manage was "I can't write coz I'm facing backwards and I'll probably be sick."
Still, there have been moments of good will among passengers. Lots of talk about volcanoes. A lady next to me offered me an extraordinarily revolting sweet which I didn't have the heart to spit out once I'd accepted it.
But all things said and done, I'm quite ready to rejoin the 21st century.
Saturday 27 March 2010
A thoughtful airport moment
On Sunday, I was sitting in Stanstead airport, delayed, and annoyed. I was only there because my Heathrow flight with BA was cancelled due to the strike, and all my plans had to be changed. So I started to wonder what would happen if I said I no longer wanted to fly, ever, anywhere. Like the old days. If it means crossing water, I'll get a boat.
While I'm following this train of thought, how about I throw out my mobile phone too. Just travel the world with a pen and paper, on a boat.
I've often thought about this. The stories my old teacher Ruggiero Ricci used to tell, of learning to play the 5th caprice of Paganini, backwards, or of learning left hand pizzicato because it was the only technique he could practice lying in bed, could only belong to a time without planes, high-speed trains, blackberries and, of course, TV. My generation has come of age, slightly awkwardly, during the exact time the internet took over the world. We didn't have computers as children, but have had to build careers and lives in an age which revolves around them completely.
I shall use mine to watch a movie on the plane, to keep up with emails, to skype with my 2 year old daughter when I arrive. A daughter who thinks I exist in two forms- in person and on a computer screen- neither particularly less odd than the other. She will grow up completely at one with the technology my parents are still fairly confused by.
But, this year, for the first time, we will take a holiday- a no-phone holiday, where the only criteria are flip-flops and a hat. And maybe I'll learn the 5th caprice, backwards.
While I'm following this train of thought, how about I throw out my mobile phone too. Just travel the world with a pen and paper, on a boat.
I've often thought about this. The stories my old teacher Ruggiero Ricci used to tell, of learning to play the 5th caprice of Paganini, backwards, or of learning left hand pizzicato because it was the only technique he could practice lying in bed, could only belong to a time without planes, high-speed trains, blackberries and, of course, TV. My generation has come of age, slightly awkwardly, during the exact time the internet took over the world. We didn't have computers as children, but have had to build careers and lives in an age which revolves around them completely.
I shall use mine to watch a movie on the plane, to keep up with emails, to skype with my 2 year old daughter when I arrive. A daughter who thinks I exist in two forms- in person and on a computer screen- neither particularly less odd than the other. She will grow up completely at one with the technology my parents are still fairly confused by.
But, this year, for the first time, we will take a holiday- a no-phone holiday, where the only criteria are flip-flops and a hat. And maybe I'll learn the 5th caprice, backwards.
Friday 12 March 2010
Never forget...
Finally home after another long trip. This time I came close to actually drowning in all the music I had to play, but there were some lovely concerts along the way.
I sometimes feel that playing music for a living is a little like childbirth. (For the mother that is, not the child.)I mean this in as much as that you forget, completely, just how stressful something was almost as soon as you finish doing it. I can be standing backstage, swearing blind to all who will listen that I have had enough, and that a life of simplistic pleasures was all I ever really wanted, and I can't imagine how I ended up doing something so silly and so stressful. 29 minutes later I'm busy explaining how my only real sadness is that I don't play a concert every day.
I'm very happily relaxing in Paris now though, with a concert on Sunday to raise money for Haiti, which is the least we can do really.
Then back on the road Monday.
I sometimes feel that playing music for a living is a little like childbirth. (For the mother that is, not the child.)I mean this in as much as that you forget, completely, just how stressful something was almost as soon as you finish doing it. I can be standing backstage, swearing blind to all who will listen that I have had enough, and that a life of simplistic pleasures was all I ever really wanted, and I can't imagine how I ended up doing something so silly and so stressful. 29 minutes later I'm busy explaining how my only real sadness is that I don't play a concert every day.
I'm very happily relaxing in Paris now though, with a concert on Sunday to raise money for Haiti, which is the least we can do really.
Then back on the road Monday.
Wednesday 10 February 2010
And the winner is.....
A few nights ago I was doing jury service for the BBC Young Musician String Finals. Maybe I just keep getting older, but it seems to me like they get younger and younger. And better and better. I'm not allowed to say who won but all I can say is there was some unbelievable talent.
As I was suffering from one of my daughter's many stomach bugs while I was there, and looked "a bit peaky" in the words of the make-up lady, I had to spend twice as much time as anyone else getting made up. And I still looked awful.
Still, I marvelled at how the contestants dealt with the pressures of the TV and of the competition in general. It takes a certain kind of nerve to cope with such a situation.
Looking forward to watching the grand final in May.....
As I was suffering from one of my daughter's many stomach bugs while I was there, and looked "a bit peaky" in the words of the make-up lady, I had to spend twice as much time as anyone else getting made up. And I still looked awful.
Still, I marvelled at how the contestants dealt with the pressures of the TV and of the competition in general. It takes a certain kind of nerve to cope with such a situation.
Looking forward to watching the grand final in May.....
Friday 29 January 2010
Last night we had dinner in a lovely fish restaurant on the sea front. We were served a drink which the waiter swore was milk, but which clearly wasn't as it tasted spicy and was at least 60% alcohol. Together with huge salads and lots of toast it was a fabulous meal.
Now I sit on my bed watching Tony Blair giving his evidence on Iraq with the sun shining on the sea outside my window. Pretty soon it'll be time for a club sandwich.
Now I sit on my bed watching Tony Blair giving his evidence on Iraq with the sun shining on the sea outside my window. Pretty soon it'll be time for a club sandwich.
Thursday 28 January 2010
Turkey Club Sandwich
Today I am in the beautiful city of Ismir, Turkey.
There is a large cargo boat drifting past my window, and a thick mist on the horizon. Palm trees too, loads of them. There are so many places I've never been, each time I visit a new one I'm amazed at what I didn't know existed. (Obviously I knew palm trees existed, but there is still something very exotic about them.) This hotel has a view to compete with the best- picture to follow.
Everyone so far has been extremely friendly, and the concert hall is really fabulous. I'm here to play Britten concerto, which is one of my very favourites, but unbelievably difficult.
Since the concert is tomorrow, I shall prepare by having a huge feast tonight, as I consider eating and drinking an important part of my pre-concert build-up. It's like being a boxer, working towards a fight, training towards that one, crucial event. Except with perhaps more lying in bed eating club sandwiches. And no exercising.
I'm actually on a personal mission to find the most expensive club sandwich in the world. Monaco is currently in the lead at £28. Here it's only £16 which sounds like a bargain.
More soon.
There is a large cargo boat drifting past my window, and a thick mist on the horizon. Palm trees too, loads of them. There are so many places I've never been, each time I visit a new one I'm amazed at what I didn't know existed. (Obviously I knew palm trees existed, but there is still something very exotic about them.) This hotel has a view to compete with the best- picture to follow.
Everyone so far has been extremely friendly, and the concert hall is really fabulous. I'm here to play Britten concerto, which is one of my very favourites, but unbelievably difficult.
Since the concert is tomorrow, I shall prepare by having a huge feast tonight, as I consider eating and drinking an important part of my pre-concert build-up. It's like being a boxer, working towards a fight, training towards that one, crucial event. Except with perhaps more lying in bed eating club sandwiches. And no exercising.
I'm actually on a personal mission to find the most expensive club sandwich in the world. Monaco is currently in the lead at £28. Here it's only £16 which sounds like a bargain.
More soon.
Saturday 16 January 2010
No soap
I am sitting in an airport hotel, having just boarded a plane, waited 2 hours, and got off it again. The French air traffic controllers are on strike, so we are stuck in Copenhagen. Tomorrow I was to be in Paris, now I will have to go straight to London. The ironic part of this is that I am in a hotel which has no soap. A Hilton hotel, with all kinds of shiny things dangling from the ceilings, and a room rate which made me cry real tears, but they have run out of soap. It's ironic because they ordered it from London, and the snow prevented it from arriving. So the weather is currently effecting my travel plans to the point that I am having to wash my hands with shower gel.
A word on travelling. I don't particularly like travelling, truth be told, in as much as the actual getting from one place to another. I'm convinced that it is bad for the body to be hurled forwards and backwards at such speeds but I can't prove that fact yet. I find it tiring, and I always feel travel sick. This means I'm not much good at reading while travelling so it's pretty boring too. I quite like train journeys as they are usually fairly straightforward. You can look out the window, (unless you're sitting backwards in which case you'd better keep your eyes shut) and there's no checkin, security control, passport check, shuttle to terminal, bus to plane, boarding, safety briefing, taxi to runway, take-off, landing, taxi to parking spot, bus to terminal, baggage collection, passport check….
With a train, you just get on, and then get off when you arrive.
I do like hotels though, in general. When they have soap.
A word on travelling. I don't particularly like travelling, truth be told, in as much as the actual getting from one place to another. I'm convinced that it is bad for the body to be hurled forwards and backwards at such speeds but I can't prove that fact yet. I find it tiring, and I always feel travel sick. This means I'm not much good at reading while travelling so it's pretty boring too. I quite like train journeys as they are usually fairly straightforward. You can look out the window, (unless you're sitting backwards in which case you'd better keep your eyes shut) and there's no checkin, security control, passport check, shuttle to terminal, bus to plane, boarding, safety briefing, taxi to runway, take-off, landing, taxi to parking spot, bus to terminal, baggage collection, passport check….
With a train, you just get on, and then get off when you arrive.
I do like hotels though, in general. When they have soap.
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