Nostalgia is a thing of the past

It started with …no, it was bad enough my using it twice. A third time would be very lame, indeed.

No doubt, there’ll be plenty of News Reviews of 2011 to remind everyone about the momentous events of the year just passed. Hours of airtime that could be employed to entertain people in these troubled times will, instead, be devoted to a seemingly never-ending collective post-mortem of the last twelve months, as if we needed reminding.

Tunisia, Egypt, Libya, Syria, Japan, bin Laden, Gaddafi, Berlusconi, Putin, rigged elections, Murdochs, custard pie, Rebekah Brooks, Andy Coulson, phone hacking, Millie Dowler, Tom Watson, Euro crisis, Merkozy, Jimmy Savile, Royal weddings, Prince Philip, the Space Shuttle, Christchurch, Edmundo Ros, Vaclav Havel, Amy Winehouse, Sepp Blatter, Manchester City, Gary Speed; I'm just scratching the surface. 2011 was far from boring.

Closer to home, the pandas arrived, and the Scottish National Party achieved a majority of seats in the Scottish Parliament under a system that was designed to stop that very thing from happening. Opposition party leaders tumbled like skittles and a tide of imperialist rhetoric began to roar in from London. The future is unclear, but if the Scottish people can be made to understand that Independence would mean an end to Tory rule forever, the wind of change would blow faster and stronger than the 8^th of December storm. At least we’d still have an NHS, and a Public Sector workforce that is valued, trusted and rewarded for its devotion and endeavour.

On the football field, there were some wonderful team and individual performances, and the bargain signing of recent times, but the season was characterised by disappointment and underachievement, and the least said about that Wednesday night in May, the better. After battle recommenced in July (yes, July), nerves, injuries and even ego conspired to leave the team 15 points behind the unconvincing leaders by the beginning of November. As the year drew to a close, a slow, patient miracle had crept up behind the complacent and the unsuspecting, resulting in a swing of 17 points. I can’t quite believe it myself.

On TV, the best series yet of the modern era of Doctor Who aired either side of the summer and the much-heralded (and much-feared) digital switchover came and went without incident or tears. Coronation Street rediscovered comedy and Moldovans in pointy hats stole the show, but not the winner’s trophy, at the Eurovision Song Contest.

What about me? Exactly, what about me? I played (after a fashion) in two concerts; I finally figured out how to work Twitter; I resumed blogging (obviously) after a long absence; I bought a BluRay player; I went on strike for the first time in my life. Exciting, huh? I hear Nostradamus will be trending in 2012.

So, this is Christmas, and what have you done?

In all honesty, very little. It started a few weeks ago with an on-line splurge and ended last night with the removal of food from the freezer. Somewhere in between, items were squashed into already over-filled bags, delivery drivers came and went and lists that had been made were checked at least twice before being discarded. The presents were wrapped and placed under the wonky £5 Tesco Christmas tree adorned with decorations that had seen better days 40 years ago. The 19-year-old Christmas lights twinkled long into the night, then it was time for bed. What’s it all for, though?

I use it as an excuse to take an extended break from work, even though there’s only about seven hours of daylight at this time of year. I’m relieved to report that there’s no snow this year. Instead, there are gale-force winds and occasional rain. This is more like it. The last two winters have been extreme, even for Scotland, and although I don’t mind being confined to quarters occasionally, being forced to remain indoors for days on end makes me more miserable than the ‘holiday season’ does in a normal year. I have no idea what the next week will bring in terms of activities and entertainment, but it’ll be better than working.

Later today, I will eat more than I should then regret it; I will relax my ban on alcohol to raise a glass to absent friends, even though certain individuals who are still alive won’t be doing the same for me; I will wish that almost everything about this day could be different. At 7pm, I will take the proverbial phone off the proverbial hook and watch this year’s Christmas Doctor Who episode, the only thing that has made this day bearable for the last six years. I’ll probably watch Coronation Street then choose a funny DVD to finish off. La dolce vita it isn’t, but it helps to dull the pain. There’s nothing else to say.

The evening after the evening before

It started with disappointment and ended with a standing ovation. Life may not be perfect or wonderful or even interesting, and never will be, but if you look carefully, you might just find something to smile about.

I’m not clued up on Glasgow’s entertainment listings, so imagine my dismay when I discovered that there was a Sunday matinee at the King’s Theatre. I’m so used to there never being any theatre on a Sunday, much less two shows, so the pantomime caught me unawares. Had I been a few minutes later getting into town, I may have had a severe problem parking my car. As it was, my now traditional pre-concert trip to Pizza Express in Sauchiehall Street was spoiled by screaming weans and worse; a lack of chocolate fudge cake and vanilla ice-cream. Someone in a shirt and tie tried to fob me off with a number of cupcakes (apparently made at the same time as the big cake), but I was not for budging, so I left a smaller tip than planned and headed back to the car.

Mercifully, there was no problem parking in the Merchant City, so I arrived in plenty of time for the seating rehearsal, which yielded the first warm and fuzzy moment of the evening; a rendition of ‘Fairytale of New York’, somewhat incongruous with respect to the rest of the programme, but a heart-warming and pleasant surprise. The rest of the rehearsal went according to past form, but it was over all too soon, then it was time for a short intermezzo in a local hostelry before returning to face the music.

Here’s the programme:

Choir and orchestra:

Zadok the Priest

Handel (1685 – 1759)

Orchestra:

Symphony No.4; 4th movement

Tchaikovsky (1840 – 1893)

Choir:

Creation’s Hymn

Beethoven (1770 – 1827)

All in the April Evening

Hugh Roberton (1874 – 1952)

Some Enchanted Evening

Richard Rodgers (1902 – 1979)

Choir and strings:

Fairytale of New York

Finer (1955 – ) & MacGowan (1957 – )

Choir and orchestra:

Grand March from Aida

Verdi (1813 – 1901)

I N T E RVAL

Choir:

In dulci jubilo

Pearsall (1797 – 1856)

Orchestra:

Christmas Festival

Anderson (1908 – 1975)

Choir and orchestra:

In the bleak midwinter

Holst (1874 – 1934)

Choir:

Jesu, Joy of Man’s Desiring

Bach (1685 – 1750)

Choir and orchestra:

Finlandia

Sibelius (1865 – 1957)

ENCORE

Choir and orchestra:

We Wish You a Merry Christmas

I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t nervous before, and during, a concert. It’s not just the fear of making mistakes that can be heard by all and sundry. It’s hot under those lights, and I’d prefer to stay upright. Think of the shame if I keeled over in one of the quiet bits! I’m relieved to report that the concert passed without any such incident and a good time appears to have been had by all. What about that standing ovation? I couldn’t believe it. I was as moved as it’s possible for me to get in company, and I couldn’t help but smile at this spontaneous display of approval by what is, after all, a friendly crowd, but we’ve not had one before. I blame the teddy in the front row.

The weather's variable, so are you

It’s Thursday night. Question Time will be on soon. What have I done today to make me feel proud? Nothing, and not just today. I’ve done bugger all for the last week.

I enjoyed my day off on strike, but I’ll not enjoy the effect it will have on my next wage. The ConDems are still refusing to budge on the important issues (to the Unions): pay more, work longer, get less; and today’s debate in Westminster showed that Labour are all in this together with the Government. As for my (hardly unique) personal situation, can I get an answer from any politician on the subject? No. Why do they give them e-mail addresses when they never use them?

The strike, or the thought of losing money (typical Scot), had another effect; I was struck down by a mystery virus, which resulted in my missing the BBC SSO on the Thursday night and Friday’s recital at Kilmardinny Music Circle. It’s just as well I get paid so much that I can afford to throw money down the toilet. Recovery was a slow process, so Saturday and Sunday were written off, too, though I did manage to start Christmas shopping. Isn’t the Internet wonderful? Then winter arrived.

After two days of snow, ice and public transport, I was ready for the knacker’s yard. I had to go to rehearsal on Tuesday togged up for a trip to the Arctic (in 1911) and, although I enjoyed it, I arrived home smarting from the loss of nearly £20 for dinner and a taxi. Wednesday brought brief respite from the haemorrhaging of money and the inclement weather before the mother of all storms hit Glasgow like a bunch of bigoted morons on a day trip to Manchester.

Although I was very much alive in 1968, I don’t remember the great storm. There have been many nights subsequently when I thought my window frames were going to be sucked out of the wall and sent into orbit around the nearest earth-like planet, but few stick in the mind the way Bonfire Night 1996 and Boxing Day 1998 do. I can’t say if it was worse today (I’ve not heard of any church spires being blown down in the centre of Glasgow, for example) but being sandblasted by salty rain is not something I’ve ever experienced. It’s the little things that let us know we’re alive.

So, we’ve had almost everything this week: rain, wind, hail, sleet, snow, ice and sunshine (not necessarily in that order, but sometimes simultaneously) and thunder and/or lightning have been forecast. I don’t recall seeing any fog. There’s still time.