A song in my heart

There's been a fair bit of music around recently. Last weekend I was at the Bingley Live festival, where my friend's son's band Your Illuminations were playing. Oh, and the Manic Street Preachers, Pete Doherty and the Kaiser Chiefs, among others.

I was at an accoustic music night midweek at the art gallery were I did my Pollock shoe painting recently and was delighted to see my efforts are now up on the wall. That's a first!

Saturday saw me taking part in a Strum Like A Pirate day, with the two ukulele groups I belong to. Related to that, my drummer son and I have used each other as an excuse to go halves on a baritone uke, which is very pretty, as you can see, and much bigger than my trusty soprano one, which is lying on the floor in front of it.

I have done some writing, too, honest! More of that anon.

The bear facts

Yogi Bear

There was much hilarity at yoga yesterday. The room in which we hold our class is upstairs in the Methodist Church. Meanwhile, downstairs the Ladies' Fellowship meets for prayers and music, conversation and discussion, and sometimes a guest speaker. We have grown used to the gentle accompaniment of music floating up to us and they don't seem to mind us doing our thing in the Upper Room.

Of course, it's not always blissful. Sometimes the visiting speaker is a man with a deep, booming voice, and on one memorable occasion we were treated to the strident tones of the Duchess of Devonshire describing the wonders of Chatsworth at full volume - via a film, of course, not in the flesh.

Usually the ladies have a pianist, but yesterday's music was recorded - and loud. It began with a stirring rendition of 'Keep Me Travelling Along,' which was fine and made us smile. There was a pause, and some low murmuring before 'Teddy Bears' Picnic' filled the air, closely followed by 'Me and My Teddy Bear'. I'd been encouraging my ladies to focus on 'undisturbed calmness', but this was just too much. We just had to laugh. I can only guess at the theme of the afternoon!

Timeshifting

A summer afternoon in Northamptonshire

I'm taking Wednesday off to go to Staffordshire to visit friends and family, so I shall treat that as my Bank Holiday and I'm working today. Writing a blog post counts as work, right?

Over the weekend, we braved the weather and went to the nearby village of Woodford for its regular late-August music festival, called WoodfordStock. Over two days, lots of local musicians gather in the pub garden to make merry and raise funds for Cransley Hospice. It rained, of course, it always does; but the crowds turned up as usual because (a) we all love Carol, who organises everything; (b) we all know someone who has benefited from the superb palliative care the hospice provides; and (c) we love the beer, burgers, cake and sideshows that go alongside the music.

So we stood there and tried to ignore the capillary action of trouser leg on wet grass and the trickle of water making its way inexorably down the back of the neck. This year, proceedings were almost brought to a halt by the most extraordinary sky - my picture doesn't really do it justice - with rolling cloud formations that looked more like a seascape. No one would have been surprised if a giant hand had reached down and lifted us up.

We didn't stay to the end. We had to go home to dry off, before heading out to see son Joe and his band playing in town - mercifully indoors - as part of another festival, called Ctr Alt-Fest Delete. As usual, Ivory Yardsale played a blinder and a good time was had by all. You can't beat loud music is a sweaty pub.

As at Woodford, there was a 'What the...?' moment, with the appearance of a dapper man wearing a white coat and carrying a basket of seafood for sale. Suddenly we were back in the 1960s. Even under normal circumstances there is nothing on this earth that could induce to me to eat a prawn; but an ambient cockle? That's really going too far.

Ah - a long weekend beckons

It has been an uneventful week, other than the usual mix of work and wotnot. I've done quite a bit of word-wrangling and teaching, and managed to fit in a couple of urban walks, too.

Chief celebration, however, is that we have a new neighbour at the allotment - and from the start he's made on his digging I'd say he's going to be a welcome addition to our community. His plot has been untended for several months, so it's lovely to see the weeds coming down and the soil being turned.

This wilderness is disappearing

We have a few music events on locally over the next couple of days, included one that is being organised by number two son, so I think we shall be sitting back with a pint and letting the entertainers do their thing.

Have a good weekend, folks.

Celebrate the Small Things  is a blog hop. Visit Lexa's Blog for the rules, and then post every Friday about something you're grateful  for that week. Originated by VikLit) and co-hosted by L.G. Keltner @ Writing Off The Edge and Tonja Drecker @ Kidbits Blog 

The joy of shared space

I think I've told you before that on a Tuesday afternoon, when I'm teaching yoga in an upstairs room in the Methodist Church, downstairs the Ladies' Group meets for tea and chat, and quite often a guest speaker. At this time of year, our bending and stretching is often accompanied by carols and such like provided by a visiting choir.

This afternoon was our last session of the year, so I'd planned to include a meditation on winter - reflection and contemplation on seasonal stillness and silence: you get the idea. OK, maybe silence was unlikely, but I felt sure we'd have nothing more disruptive than choral accompaniment.

The lesson went well. As the end approached, we eased ourselves into a comfortable position, put our socks back on and wrapped up for the final quiet moments.

Of all the music I thought we might be treated to, I never for one moment anticipated boisterous Songs From The Shows. As we guided ourselves towards stillness, from the floor below came the unmistakable sound of 'June Is Bustin' Out All Over!' I silently sent the musicians peace and blessings, while encouraging my students to 'turn your focus inwards'. Hey ho.

Luckily, I had a bag of chocolate Santas on hand, so everyone went home smiling.

Business as usual

I've been writing my column for the March issue of OM magazine. This means I've been trying to think about spring and not New Year or the fact that it's raining and already dark, even though it's barely four o'clock. I've tried to be lyrical, but it's hard when you can't feel your toes.

The lovely Christmas break gave me plenty of time for reading and (thinking about) writing. I've got quite a few ideas for articles and stories; all I've got to do is place them, of course! I'm also toying with the idea of checking out Gumtree in case there are any opportunities there. Anybody any experience of this?

My yoga classes don't start until next Monday so I'm also trying to get ahead with my lesson planning - and there's talk of running an all-day yoga workshop with a fellow teacher some time soon. That should be fun, as well as challenging.

It's already nearly the weekend (I love short working weeks) and I'm looking forward to seeing The Divisional play on Friday night (with my son on drums), and then on Saturday I'm off for a bit of Stripping The Willow at a barn dance. Plenty of comic potential in the latter, I'm thinking.

The Divisional in the recording studio

Indulge me. Let my motherly pride take centre stage while I report that The Divisional, the band that son Joe plays drums in, have (has?) recorded a new EP featuring two tracks: ‘Insecure/Manicure’ and ‘Yew Tree’. The songs can be downloaded from their Facebook page, so if you get a minute have a listen and, if appropriate, ‘Like’ the site. Thanks.

I love the way Joe has been taught to play the drums. His wonderful teacher Glenn has not only guided him successfully through his grades, but has also encouraged him to play – and, importantly, to listen to – as wide a range of music as possible.

As a child, I learned to play the piano. Indeed, I passed my Grade 8 exam. But despite this, I wouldn’t say I’m a pianist. My teacher, a formidable woman who bore the forenames of Lena Prudence Anne, no less, taught me to pass exams, but I don’t remember ever learning a piece of music just for the sheer joy of it. Consequently, while I can still bash out a fair interpretation of Chopin’s ‘Raindrop Prelude’, I would struggle to play anything modern, and songs are certainly beyond me.

I don’t know why this should be the case. It’s not as though the actual notes are particularly challenging. There’s just something in my brain that stops me. Perhaps it’s years of having been told to master the right hand, then the left hand, then to put the two together, perfectly, exactly as written.

It’s a bit early for New Year resolutions, but perhaps I should put a reminder in my diary that 2012 will be the year that I learn something by Coldplay.