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).

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.

Beverley from Wales

Our lovely presenter for tonight's concert. It's amazing what a cranberry juice will do.

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.

Mongolian Throat Singers at the Pompidou Centre

An unorthodox warm-up for a challenging song-

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.

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.