Author: Rare Bit Blogging

I played for an outdoor wedding this morning. I don’t often play outdoors as our weather is so unpredictable and conditions can be unkind to instruments. Somehow though, this wedding slipped through the net.

It’s 24 October 2025, not an outdoor wedding kind of date. When the couple booked me, it was a scorching hot June evening. Of course I could play outdoors, especially since there’s a covered bandstand!

As the heat of summer ebbed away, I started to fret a little about the wedding. In all honesty, I thought it would rain and I also thought that the couple would realise exactly how cold it was unless we were blessed with a late October heatwave.

I started weather watching 5 days before the wedding. Rain? Brilliant! Phew! 2 days before I checked the weather for the venue. Cloudy with sunshine. Shit. Temperatures? 7 degrees at 11am, ceremony time.

In an attempt to calm myself, I reasoned that I had surely played in colder churches. I have a 1030am church wedding this December so it’s practice for that too. I asked colleagues for advice.

I deployed a strategic plan which included a hot water bottle, thermals, 2 piping hot flasks, extra gloves and wrist warmers, a towel, and rubber mats for my harp and amp.

On the drive to the venue, I debated feigning an accident, being struck with a case of food poisoning or suffering a vehicular malfunction. The faintest hope I had that they’d decide it was too cold was dashed upon arrival. They were setting up outside.

With a leaden sense of resignation, I took my gear up, shivering as I went. It was damp and the tall trees obscured any rays of warm early morning sunshine. Were there heaters in the bandstand? Were there heck.

I took my harp up 45 minutes before play time, unpacked and gave him a perfunctory tune. I didn’t want to stress him anymore than necessary and he was already quite sharp. I put the heavy cover back on and I waited.

I genuinely don’t know how I did it but I kept it together and actually played well. My focus was razor sharp. Survival mode I guess. That and the brisk early morning chilly air.

After the ceremony I threw the covers on and moved inside as quickly as possible, aware that the warmth of the room in which I was playing for the drinks was in significant contrast to the bone penetrating damp coolness which had the guests all a-shiver. I didn’t retune. No way! My harp had been incredibly tolerant and forgiving of my misdemeanour!

The groom came to thank me and mentioned how cold he had been during the ceremony. I politely bit my lip.

Needless to say I’ll be updating my contracts with a clause for outdoor performance stating a minimum temperature of 16 degrees.

I haven’t had much time to write. I’ve been quite busy with wedding fayres (more on that anon) and I’ve had a couple of new students begin their journey with the harp. I’ve been feeling quite tired. I recognise the lethargy which accompanies the arrival of Autumn. Much as I love the bright green acorns which feel like crunchy marbles underfoot and the smooth glossy chestnuts, the crisp fallen leaves and the fascinating fungi

and tantalising toadstools, an instinctive part of me wants to restock my freezer, batten down the hatches and make like a squirrel. See you in March? I wish!

My close friends came to stay in September and we had a cultural blast at the Yorkshire Sculpture Park, soaking up each piece from an inspiring new exhibition by William Kentridge. It was so good, I’d go back in a heartbeat.

See my Instagram for more photos and a couple of videos.

We went on to the Hepworth where there was a playful exhibition by the late Helen Chadwick. It was fun and cheeky and it evoked all the senses, including repulsion at a giant Perspex tower filled with putrefying foodstuffs. I wonder who got the job of topping it up and more importantly, of emptying it after the exhibition finished. There was also an obscenely enormous chocolate fountain.

Mid September I had my harp serviced near Wrexham and to while away the waiting time, I went for a woodland walk at Erddig. I’m sure I visited as a child but I have no recollection.

And so to work. The past 2 wedding fayres have been abysmal with barely any engagement. I love playing the harp but the older I get, the less I feel like hoiking it in and out of the car, especially if it doesn’t bring in any business. I honestly don’t think it’s my playing. I practice a lot, regularly, even when my heart isn’t really in it. I turn up anyway. My bookings are right down for 2026 and I’ve done something I’ve never done before – I’ve accepted bookings for weddings taking place in 2 and even 3 years time. It’s that bad!

Freelancing is difficult at the best of times but it seems extra tough at the moment. Last week a student had booked a lesson on Wednesday and on the Monday she cancelled. None of my income is secure and while I’m ok financially, I won’t be if I’m not careful.

By mid August, a familiar sense of dread starts to descend to accompany the subtly shortening days. When September arrives I feel a little better since a fair few warm bright days remain before the clocks go back heralding the cold dark months.

Try as I might to see the positives of autumn and winter, I still struggle every year. My hands and joints have felt great this summer. It’s been a really good vintage and the feast of long warm sunny days have been a balm for my being.

I had to adapt my exercise routine mid July. I bought some 8kg dumbbells in April as I’d hit a plateau. I could manage some of the basic exercises with them. It’s so empowering feeling my body get stronger as I get older. However I started getting hand and wrist pain and realised I wouldn’t last long with a busy August. They’ll still be there when a quiet spell arrives.

I’ve been doing some deeper work on myself. I felt stuck in my grief process amongst other issues. It’s never easy to undertake this work but it’s vital in moving forward.

Yesterday was particularly rough after some poignant discoveries about my core complexes. I wrote, did some painting, went for a walk

and did some more painting before going to my creative writing group. On days like these practice is nigh on impossible. Being around people really helps even though solitude can seem preferable. What emerges during the writing process is always surprising.

My tailbone is 95% better and I did a bit of running in the rain and some plyo by the stream this morning. That really puts me in a good mood and helps me focus. The slide is a regular event but not the disc.

Last week I tried a different ride at the playground. It’s a spinning disc placed at an angle. I was curious what would happen if I stepped on it so I did. It seemed to challenge my balance which definitely needs improving.

It started to spin. It spun faster and faster until I fell at a fair speed onto my back. Probably not the best thing for osteoporosis but life goes on. Luckily there’s special padded flooring on the ground in the park probably to cushion any falls. It still hurt like hell. I swore softly but emphatically, got up, dusted myself off and a few minutes later, tried the climbing frame with a mesh of ropes strung across it. If at first you don’t succeed, try another playground ride. I’m determined to try the disc again, even if I have to sit on it. Apparently that’s what you’re supposed to do.

Play is really important and even more so as I get older. Life can get pretty intense and serious, and laughing at myself is something I try to do little and often.

I played my last wedding of the summer season last Sunday and it was a belter. What a way to go out. It was at a venue in York which got me in a sweat already since it meant driving on the motorway, something I rarely do these days. It was the bank holiday weekend too with lots of events happening around Leeds.

I set off very early but it meant I got there in plenty of time to unload calmly, find parking, have my breakfast and put my face on followed by my performing hat. The couple had requested quite a tricky piece of music for the bride’s entrance so I knew I needed to be on form.

I tried my harp and the acoustic there is so complimentary. My harp sounded amazing! Everyone was super friendly and helpful. I had a chat with the florist who was a real tonic, a very lively vibrant woman. This helped me relax. Her Dad grew up in Dolgellau, not a million miles from where my Dad was born. It’s a very small world. She had an eye catching dragon brooch pinned to her tie. I should’ve known.

I felt I played really well. I somehow managed to pull out the stops and perform. I don’t do that very often. Weddings seem to be more about stamina and endurance so it’s reassuring to know I’ve still got it when I need it.

The bride and groom were really lovely and they offered all their suppliers a gift and a card:

Yesterday I gave a consultation lesson to a very talented 10 year old boy. I gave the lesson a lot of thought since he’s already at a high standard in piano, singing, drums and flute. I decided to take a creative approach rather than go old school and I think it went well. His Mum messaged me to say he’s hooked and they’re going to rent a harp. Their dining room is swiftly becoming the music room.

Today I put my teaching hat back on to give a lesson to a student who’s been coming for 2 years. She had no musical knowledge at all before starting her lessons. Now she’s fluent and she’s even considering buying a pedal harp. She’s absolutely hooked and her enthusiasm is contagious. She’s a keen athlete and regularly does ultramarathons so I suggested we could go up West Nab to celebrate her accomplishments by sharing some chocolate she bought me from a trip to Japan earlier this year:

It’s been a good week.

I’ve really been enjoying my practice again. It’s been quite tough to practice for any longer than 3 hours but I’ve got a wedding coming up through an agency and the client has requested a lot of tunes that aren’t on my regular list. It’s been great to revisit some old favourites but I knew I’d struggle with the harder ones if I wasn’t doing a lot of serious practice.

Soon after mum died I had a wedding just before Christmas and somehow I ended up with a playlist. It was horrendous, quite traumatic. Even getting the music in order was enough to make my brain implode. I vowed never to do a playlist again. At the wedding breakfast I couldn’t breathe and I remember thinking “just smile, keep smiling”. I hated every minute of playing. I had absolutely no freedom.

There was one song in particular which got me in a sweat and it’s on the list for this coming wedding. I can’t look at it. It reminds me of that time. I really don’t think they’ll notice it’s missing from the 60 odd songs they’ve chosen, so long as all the others are there. I’ve taken it off the music lists on my website. It’s a piano piece. I’m also playing the music in my chosen order along with some of my favourites so it’s not a playlist as such.

It fascinates me how certain music can throw one back in time so vividly. Same applies for smells.

So yes, practice is a safe place again and I’m more able to listen and hear and not get caught up in the doing. Playing for weddings is tough and I fell into a pattern of zoning out. It’s hard to focus for 3 hours. Sometimes I couldn’t remember what I’d just played. My mind was elsewhere. Now I’m more interested and involved.

I haven’t lifted heavy weights since mid July. I love weight training and I really value keeping fit and strong but I was getting hand and wrist pain. I’m sure I’ll pick them up again once wedding season winds down.

My sister gave me this photo when I was visiting recently. It was amongst Mum’s belongings. I had recently moved to Lyon and I needed some headshots for a concert I was playing back in the UK. Seeing it again reminded me of my unshakable love and passion for the harp and music. It was taken many years ago, way before the era of the internet and social media and their trappings. I love the innocence and the twinkle in my eye which I believe is still there.

I’ve been someone’s target before and that feeling when I realised it’s happening again was uncomfortable. Someone has taken a dislike to me and they’re not shy about letting me know. I have given the matter much thought. It upset me at first as it’s a person I can’t avoid seeing. Now I’ve come to terms with it and I’ve realised it’s not my stuff.

I have choices and after I apologised twice for something I didn’t say that upset them, they’ve found another reason to hold a grudge. It was only a couple of days ago that I was told exactly what had upset them (words spoken by a tradesman whilst on my property which they overheard), and even then it was indirect – I was told by their partner. I have again given it much thought and decided not to say anything, but now I’ve changed my mind. By saying nothing, my position is unclear. By speaking my mind I risk putting myself in the line of fire but I clarify my intentions and maintain my integrity. Easy!

The trouble is I can prepare and rehearse a short script but in the heat of the moment I crumple and all sorts of unplanned words slip out of my mouth ineloquently. I’m also worried I’ll keep talking and say too much.

Right I’m off for as long a walk as my feet will permit. I’m really looking forward to escaping this uncomfortable environment for a few hours. It’s a new feeling for me, feeling unsafe in my own home, and I really don’t like it.

I’ve been painting a bit more, y’know, crap art, just for fun, and I love the feeling of the brush in my hand and on the paper. Try painting your emotions, it’s great! (No photo!)

I’m having a creative Saturday. After I get back I’m baking a cake

and writing a letter, then either a movie or some reading. Sheer joy!

Today is my birthday. After no weddings in July, I had 2 yesterday. I rarely do 2 gigs in a day but the timings worked. The evening booking came at Easter and I really wanted to do it. It was a first for me, a Walimah, so an Islamic celebration to follow a ceremony in the gardens. They had a violinist for the ceremony. Music was a really important part of the day.

There were 150 guests all dressed in their finery. The women wore stunning saris and the men their best suits. Children were well behaved but allowed to be children. I kept thinking what fun it must be for them to attend such a big party until past bedtime. No alcohol was served and it was extremely civilised. The speeches delivered by some of the closest family members were well wishing and emotional, packed with advice for a long and healthy marriage.

Earlier in the day I played for a church ceremony, the polar opposite of the evening celebration. It was a solemn service in a beautiful church. Variety is the spice of my job.

With this in mind, I was tentative about making birthday plans as I knew I’d be tired, especially after a busy 3 hour evening do ending just shy of 10pm, but I did want to mark the occasion so I booked myself a late lunch somewhere I’ve wanted to try for over a year, Norman’s Neighbourhood Kitchen in Kirkburton, a mere 20 minute drive away.

I was greeted warmly by the owner and my waiter Ted. It’s a fairly small room with around 40 covers and it felt like being in someone’s kitchen/dining room.

On the online booking form there was a question “is this a special occasion?” In a moment of spontaneity I replied that it was my birthday. Upon arrival there was a card on the table from the Norman’s Team and a complimentary glass of fizz, which they happily exchanged for an elderflower spritz. This was already turning into a memorable lunch and I’d only just sat down!

The mouthwateringly varied menu arrived. My choice of starter and dessert was easy, the main less so. Then Ted told me there was a special of lemon sole with pickled onion monster munch sauce. That didn’t help. In the end I opted for the prawn crudo and beef tataki but I hadn’t realised Ted hadn’t taken the lamb off the order. Bring me food and I will eat it.

The tuna tart was exceptional, with unbelievable waves of flavour from such a tiny delicate creation. I wanted 4 more.

The beef tataki didn’t look that appealing but my tastebuds danced with every punchy mouthful.

The prawns were delicious and the textures played on my palate. Peas popped in contrast to the soft yield of the tender citrus cured prawns. I was mightily impressed.

I baulked ever so slightly when a 4th dish arrived and I realised what had happened. I was comfortably full but there was no way I was sending this back:

It was a playful plate of soft slow cooked tender meat bathed in a luscious sauce, served with zingy pickles and creamy herby yoghurt. The crunch of nuts kept me diving in for more. And more. I finished the whole lot, every splash of moreish sauce mopped up appreciatively.

Desserts are my weakness. I follow Norman’s on Instagram and I spotted the cherry chocolate creation earlier in the week.

I crossed my fingers it would be on the menu – it was. It was outrageously good, so much texture and flavour with a hint of soft nuttiness from the sesame. The sorbet was cool and flavoursome and again the texture was perfection. I just had to sample the off puttingly named beef fat fudge

and it was one of the highlights. Addictive stuff. All washed down with a flat white accompanied by a cannolo. More food!

I can honestly say this was one of my most memorable dining experiences. The bill arrived in what I thought was a book but it was an old videocassette cover:

When I got back I chilled out and replied to some messages before getting ready for the cherry on my cake, a West Nab sunset:

This week’s theme was a trip to the greengrocers. We picked a fruit or vegetable to write about. I chose a kiwi fruit 🥝

Ode to a kiwi fruit 

Oh kiwi oh kiwi oh yes yes, mais oui. OUI! 

You’re green and you’re hairy, you look pretty scary 

Oh please let me in beneath your brown skin 

Exotic. Erotic? Delicious. Nutritious.

More vitamin C than there’s salt in the sea

You’re sweet and you’re soft, I hold you aloft 

I feel you. I peel you. I slice and I cut

I gobble you down cos you’re good for my gut.

Life’s all about timing isn’t it? I really didn’t want to go away with my new kitchen so near to (yet so far from) being finished. I’m ever so glad I did. July is unusually quiet so I booked a small cottage in North Wales, about 15 minutes from my sister’s place. I haven’t seen them since December.

Every time I go back, part of me expects to go to the house where I grew up, or the house where Mum lived before she moved in with my sister. I still secretly hope my nephews will be in primary school, all sweetness, innocence and light, with a healthy dash of sugar and spice. Going back “home” never really feels like a holiday since much of it is familiar.

It took me quite some time to switch off and let go of the challenges I’d faced during the previous weeks. The accommodation I found was small and quite basic but it had a hot tub which I’d never experienced. The rural setting looked perfect for my needs. It was just far enough off the beaten track to feel like a retreat, yet within easy driving distance of 2 towns. The gardens were glorious. I felt the tension melt away on the first morning, sipping my coffee at the small table outside, gazing up at the trees swaying in the light breeze.

It took me couple of evenings to pluck up the courage to don the dry robe (provided) and switch on the giant bathtub. I disrobed and tentatively stepped into the hot bubbling water. The jets felt amazing, gently pummelling my knotted muscles into submission. I overheated a bit but soon recovered, glugging thirstily on my water bottle.

The garden was brimming with wildlife. At dusk, a juvenile badger would appear, circling around and snuffling out the peanuts my host had scattered on the lawn. A highlight was watching its frenetic antics from the tub.

I saw my first ever kingfisher. Gosh it was fast, and loud.

I explored the area and found a really good walk near Ysceifiog. There was a small nature reserve and a lake. I never knew!

On day 3 I got a message from Menna, my friend from youth orchestra days, and we’ve been friends since. She’s also a harpist and she now lives in California. She was visiting her family and asked if I’d like to join for a walk up Moel Famau, the mother hill of the Clwydian Range. They’d landed that morning, then straight up a hill. Hardcore. I jumped at the chance to see her with the added bonus of a walk too.

We added Moel Fenlli on at the end. I think I might start Moel bagging.

It was great to see her and I’m definitely going over next year.

It was good to catch up with my sister and her family, although we’re both still a bit griefy. On my last day we went to choose a gravestone for Mam. I mostly remained silent. What is there to say? The showroom (?!!) was hot and stuffy and the astroturf felt odd underfoot and looked peculiar in the small room with its range of headstones. When Dad died I was living in South Africa so visiting the graveyard wasn’t an option that was regularly available. A polished stone doesn’t hold much meaning for me. Beautiful sunsets and a sense of awe and wonderment at nature offered far more consolation. So did alcohol but that’s an old story.

We left the gravestone place and my sister needed to pick up some stuff in town. It was hot and I was drowsy. Neither of us had eaten. When we got back to hers we had an argument and both retreated for a couple of hours. Grief plays out in strange ways. We’re alright now. It was a misunderstanding.

I needed some coastal energy and I went to a beach I walked last December. It was quite different in the warmth of summer. Gratuitous photo dump:

Never a dull moment. It reminded me of when we went on primary school day trips to Rhos on Sea in summer, exploring rock pools and learning about nature at the coast.

Time evaporates when I’m away and I hadn’t been to my favourite, Moel Arthur. I indulged in a cheeky little sunset on my final evening:

and the following morning I squeezed in an early walk back up with Menna before checking out:

I came back exhausted but refreshed and I’ve had 3 really good days with renewed vigour and enthusiasm for the harp and teaching.

Here’s hoping the next blog post will be called Kitchen Bliss. Get away!

I’m typing this in my kitchen where I’m sat at a small table. My kitchen table might emerge from its safe hiding place in the shed this weekend. Tiling commences tomorrow. The joiner will not be involved! I’ve been recommended a tiler and so far he’s very helpful and communicative. Fingers crossed.

I look up and see glimpses of a real kitchen. The lighting makes the world of difference especially on dull dreary days (where’s the sun hiding?) and I was right to ask for 10 ceiling lights contrary to advice doled out by both the electrician and joiner. There are also lights under the cupboards above the worktops where I prepare my food so I don’t need my specs to chop 🤓 It’s a far cry from the plug in table lamps I used for years – the depressing dull glow from the energy saving ceiling bulbs was worse than having no light.

I was also right to choose tall units all the way to the top of the ceiling. I have so much storage space. I’ll keep you posted on my progress in keeping the work surfaces uncluttered. With a compact footstool I can reach the upper cupboards where I stash gear I don’t use very often.

The dishwasher is an absolute luxury. I don’t know how I’ve managed without one for so long.

The energy in my house has changed dramatically since the joiner’s last visit on Monday. He couldn’t wait to get to his next job. I’m so relieved he’s not here. I have pondered at great length about my misjudgment. It’s been a steeeeeeep learning curve. If I ask you to do some work for me, I will ask all manner of questions and I won’t care if I come across as awkward or demanding. And there’s no such thing as a stupid question.

I was told by the joiner and the kitchen shop that my boiler couldn’t be housed in a cupboard. My plumber came to pipe the gas hob and he asked why the boiler wasn’t in a cupboard. I told him what I’d been told. Of course you can put it in a cupboard, he said helpfully. I told my joiner who took me seriously when I told him that’s what my plumber said. He started umming and aahing and got his tape measure out, measured for 5-10 minutes before saying he’d look into it. I had asked more than once about a boiler cupboard, but then when a bloke says it’s doable… I believe that’s bare faced misogyny right there. It’s been unbelievable. This is one of way too many examples when I’ve been dismissed or made to feel like an idiot, most likely because I’m a woman. I actually challenged him about it. He just went off on a tangent. Classic.

I reckon it’ll take another 6 weeks to finish everything, but at least I can use most of the kitchen. This experience has done nothing to inspire my confidence in getting any more work done on my house. I’d love to renovate my living room but there’s too much at stake with my harps in there.