Rare Bit Blogging

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.

The past fortnight has been a kind of living hell and at times I’ve really felt I’m having a nervous breakdown. At the end of week 1 when the joiner left on Friday afternoon, I finally had time to assess after 4 non stop days of mayhem and confusion. The place was in chaos, a complete shambles. I stood in what used to be my kitchen and I took stock.

I did some research and tried to work out what the hell was happening. There’s a process when you’re fitting a kitchen. It’s what I expected when I booked him. RIP (!!) out the old kitchen. Plastering. Painting. Electrical and plumbing work. Fit units. He had started to fit units on some pretty dodgy looking walls. The electrician had put in some recessed sockets and filled around them over brand new drawers. Look:

I had offered the joiner dust sheets. He had some in his van he said. I haven’t seen a dust sheet to this day except the one I draped over my washing machine after cleaning the grit off.

I can go on about the errors that have been made but it’s pointless. I’ve had 4 heated discussions with him during which he blames everyone else (most especially me), he over explains, goes off on a tangent… Everything is a problem for him, an inconvenience. I just want the job finished and him out of my house. I booked him based on work he did a few years ago. It was only a small job and he was great. Not sure what’s happened.

It’s the first time I’ve chosen a new kitchen. I knew it wouldn’t be easy but this is another level of stress and anxiety. Over the weekend I woke in tears at 2am fretting about the mess he was making, about how he was hacking up my beautiful brand new kitchen, mercilessly butchering it into badly cut bits. I couldn’t find a way out, a solution.

It was too late to find anyone else so I reconciled myself with getting clear updates each morning and before he left.

He said he likes it when his customers go on holiday and let him get on with it. I’d love to go on a 4-6 week holiday but I’d have ended up with a kitchen with gloss doors 🤢

I’ve tried lots of tactics with him but nothing really works. I can’t get through to him. It’s his way or no way. I’ve had to remind him I’m the customer more than once. It’d be easy for me to blame myself but one really can’t tell how someone’s going to behave until they spend an extensive time in one’s home.

I’ve adopted a new routine. Practice in the morning then get out of the house and far from his horrible energy. This week I started choosing tiles, a ceiling light and new blinds. It helps. It keeps me focused on how it will look and feel. I’ve waited 12 years for this kitchen and I’m determined he’s not going to ruin it for me. By 4pm he’s gone and I can reclaim my space.

At the end of the day it’s just a kitchen!

In other news, look what my next door neighbour and I did yesterday: (after practice obviously 🖐🏻 🤚)

I’ve wanted to get a new kitchen for 12 years. I replaced the bathroom a year after I bought this house and that was pretty traumatic. Being without a WC for a fortnight was a test of resourcefulness and memories of that time remain.

I’ve hesitated about committing, but after an initial conversation with a joiner last September (yes, 9 months ago) and multiple visits to 2 kitchen showrooms, the units arrived at 8.30 on Tuesday morning. A small skip arrived soon after. The worktops arrived on Wednesday afternoon. Downstairs is pure chaos. It’s like my house has been turned upside down and shaken vigorously.

I started packing my seldom used kitchen gear up about a month ago and by 8am on Tuesday I had boxed and bagged up the last of my essentials and moved them upstairs.

The joiner started work last Wednesday, dropping the ceiling and putting up plasterboard. He started ripping the old kitchen out.

All I have left in the kitchen is my fridge freezer and washing machine.

He started assembling the units on Tuesday. He’s a great joiner and I have no doubt about his skill and workmanship. On Wednesday afternoon I commented that one of the side panels looked shiny.

He said yes, that’s the finish. So I said but that’s shiny, it’s gloss. He said no, that’s the finish, it’s what they call white. 🤨 Long story short, we checked the packaging and GLS WHITE is printed clear as day on all the boxes. My heart sank. I asked for matt white. After some discussion, we called it a day. He said he’d check his paperwork.

The wrong finish has been ordered. We’re back to square one. I’m living upstairs mainly, where I have a kettle, microwave and toaster. With no sink since Wednesday I’ve got my head around washing dishes in the bathroom. It’s weird but I’ll make it work. Thankfully it’s salad season and I’m pretty resourceful when it comes to food preparation and menu ideas. I’ve factored in one takeaway meal from my favourite place next Sunday when I get back from my wedding.

Everything takes twice as long and I can’t find things. Practice is really challenging with all the hammering and drilling, the banging and sawing. I’m grateful the joiner doesn’t listen to music while he works. Small mercies. He makes up for it in banter with the electrician who said his ears were ringing by close of business yesterday.

In the greater scheme of things, this is just a minor inconvenience, I have to remember that. I’m so relieved I’m not too busy this summer.