It’s been a busy week. Contrary to all the available evidence, I don’t
lead a very exciting life. I just go out occasionally, sometimes all in the one
week.
It appears that I did the right thing by taking the day off
after the BSP gig. My eyes hadn’t un-crossed themselves from all that driving and my head hurt like I’d been drinking all night. One of these
days (or nights) I WILL drink all night and I’ll have an excuse for feeling
that way. After some grocery shopping around lunchtime, I returned home with
the intention of doing something useful, but I fell asleep around three and
didn’t wake up until six. What a waste of a day!
I was still grumpy when I went to Tuesday’s rehearsal. The
previous week, we looked at the second page (for us clarinettists) of
‘Finlandia’ and the first two sections of ‘Zadok The Priest’, and we were
introduced to our special Christmas treat for this year; Leroy Anderson’s ‘A
Christmas Festival’, a wacky mishmash of various carols, some played at the
same time by different sections of the orchestra. I was so inspired that I
actually practised on each of the three following evenings. This time, we
looked at the Handel and the Anderson again, but also spent some time on the
Triumphal March from Aida, endeavouring to negotiate the announced cuts in the
piece. Who knows what will be in or out by the time we get to rehearse with the
choir?
I had forgotten that I had a ticket for the theatre on
Wednesday, and it was a bitter blow when I realised that I was faced with an
additional evening out. I think I’ve seen four plays since the summer, yet
another example of feast or famine. This time, it was back to the Citizens
Theatre for their production of ‘A Day in the Death of Joe Egg’ by Peter
Nichols, which actually premiered in that very theatre in 1967. It must have
been quite shocking for its time, and even today, when people are more open
about disability, there were cringeworthy moments galore in this black comedy
about a married couple trying to cope with caring for their ‘spastic’ daughter
(she had a severe form of cerebral palsy). There was a lot of talking to the
audience (as if we were a sounding board for everyone’s troubles), which I
don’t think I’ve ever seen so much of in a play (plenty of times on TV, though)
and the house lights were on when these sequences were happening, which only
added to my discomfort. I suppose one is meant to think how one would react and
survive in the same circumstances, and I was on the side of the child being
institutionalised, or even of euthanasia, rather than being in denial about the
gravity of her condition, its effect on everyone’s life and the eventual
outcome. I’m a hard, un-sentimental bastard, though. The play was, ultimately,
a very thought-provoking piece, and well-acted by Miles Jupp and Sarah Tansey
as Josephine’s parents; Joseph Chance and Olivia Darnley as their ‘friends’
Freddie and Pam, and there was a nice cameo in the second half by Miriam
Margolyes, whose grandfather was from the Gorbals! The young girl who played
Josephine (sadly, it was not announced which of the two in the programme was
playing the part that night) gave an outstanding performance.
Thursday came and went without major incident, unless you
count my forgetting to record the Celtic v Rennes game (no, I didn’t go, as
it’s not on the Season Ticket). A makeshift Celtic side came back from a goal
down (yes, another early goal resulting from poor defending) to win 3-1. Both
Stokes and Hooper scored, and Samaras was praised by (almost) all and sundry.
Miracles will never cease. It was nice to stay in and catch up with some jobs
then indulge in my latest diversion; tweeting a load of old rubbish during
Question Time.
Last night was the first Friday of the month, and that meant
Kilmardinny Music Circle. November’s featured artists were the Sutherland Duo,
two posh blonde birds in long black dresses, one on violin and one on piano.
The violinist looked like she was on her way to the Ambassador’s reception and
the pianist, in velvet, looked like she was the very tall one at a children’s
birthday party in Kensington. They arrived at their name, after much
deliberation, having discovered that they both had ancestors from Sutherland.
Aww, that’s nice. Anyway, what did they play and were they any good at it?
They opened with the Sonata No. 3 in D Major by Jean-Marie
Leclair (no, it is not him, Leclerq), the French Barqoue composer, and Harriet
Mackenzie explained that her violin dated from the same time as the piece they
were playing. They contrasted this with Brahms’ Sonata No. 1 in G Major op 78,
written in memory of the deceased son of fellow composer Robert Schumann and
his wife Clara (with whom Johannes Brahms was in love).
After the interval, the Spotlight performer was 20-year old
Glynn Forest, a 4th-year student at the RCS (that’s RSAMD for oldies
like me), and he gave us a couple of tunes on the marimba; Bach’s Fugue from
the Sonata No. 1 for Violin and ‘Rotation’ by someone called E. Sammut. I know
I should go and look him/her up on t’Internet, but I’m too lazy. Anyway, it was
an unusual and pleasant interlude, and something to think about while the main
act bored the arse off people with some horrendous thing by James Macmillan.
They followed this with a trio of well-known and much-loved Elgar miniatures; (a
rather hurried) ‘Salut d’amour’, ‘Chanson du matin’ and ‘Chanson de nuit’.
Finally, they gave a stirring rendition of ‘Zigeunerweisen’ by Sarasate.
Harriet told some story about studying in America with someone who liked gypsy
music. I couldn’t pay attention because I was trying not to laugh every time
she uttered the word (which was quite a lot in just a couple of minutes). It
sounded so incongruous coming out of her mouth in those plummy tones that she
might as well have been talking about ‘darkies’. I’m easily amused, obviously,
and I know I shouldn’t mock, but what else is there to do? All joking aside, I
enjoyed the recital.
I’ve been out on other business today, and hopefully I’ll
have avoided the plague that appears to have infected a large number of my
fellow Glaswegians. I get rather worried when I hear children and young women
coughing like old men with consumption. I think it’s going to be a long winter.
Whilst waiting for another insipid M&S steak pie to emerge from the oven, I
caught the last few minutes of the Middlesbrough v Watford game. Boro won 1-0
(with a disputed Scott McDonald goal) and extended their unbeaten run at the
Riverside to 15 games. Yes, under Tony Mowbray! I’m pleased that they’re doing
well, but concerned at the attendance. I know it’s Bonfire Night, and it’s a
bit cold, and the game is on TV, but surely they can muster up a bigger crowd
than that, especially when they’re going great guns in the Championship (third
behind leaders Southampton and Big Sam’s West Ham)? Times are tough, and Teeside
is suffering probably more than most areas, but are Boro so desperate that they
felt the need to e-mail me and ask me to go and see them today?!
If I don’t fall asleep, or have a heart attack when a
firework goes off outside my window, I’ll be off to Paisley tomorrow evening
for a performance of ‘Carmina Burana’. I have no idea why.
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