music blog – Rare Bit Blogging

Holiday Blog Part 1 – Of grandeur, grenadines and gardens in Granada. And grief

22nd Feb 20246th Mar 2024 Rare Bit BloggingLeave a comment

This hill seemed to offer a welcoming smile at me on my way from Malaga to Granada

2023 was a hideous year on the whole. It was a year of endings and bereavements. Mum died in October and her sister died a fortnight later. At Christmas, my French landlady died, then one of my students died on Christmas Day. I played for my Aunt’s funeral, and for my student’s celebration of life. It was an upsetting and traumatic time and a lot to process in 2 months. At the start of 2024 I knew I needed to escape the Winter blues and the recurring negative thoughts quite urgently. I found playing the harp really torturous. I felt paralysed, unable to do much more than practice the bare minimum. There was no pleasure, no expression, no emotion. I stared into space a lot. I was numb. It was horrible. It was grief in one of its many guises.

I knew where I wanted to go and after scouring the internet every evening for a week, I had booked my flights and accommodation.

Excerpt from a travel guide I scanned through before leaving. I concur. Guitars were prevalent in Granada, a very musical city

I’ve had a soft spot for Spain since I went on a very short orchestral tour there in 2015 which involved a night in a hotel in Madrid, then a rehearsal and a concert in Valencia before taking the flight back to Blighty before I got a chance to say ¡Hola! I got a taste for Spanish life (even the coffee at the motorway services was great) and longed to return. I daydreamed over images of the Alhambra and Punto Nuevo and they were top of my bucket list.

I flew to Malaga where I had a 4 hour wait for a train to Granada. It was warm and sunny so I found an appropriate spot and soaked up the healing rays of sunshine. The inner greyness started to dissipate. It’s hard to feel miserable when you’re at a train station surrounded by orange trees. I was in no rush and had been in holiday mode from the moment I boarded the plane.

I had to change at Antequera where I had a 2 hour wait for the connection to Granada. Public transport was preferable to hiring a car. We arrived early at Antequera and I asked if it was where I was meant to change. No, it was the next Antequera – Santa Ana which was actually 10 minutes away. Good job I didn’t get off at the first one. When we arrived at the Antequera, the train door wouldn’t open. Panic! It eventually did and I was deposited in what I can only describe as Crewe station with no personality. A huge interchange, there was nothing there except some seating and toilets, and grumpy stern station staff. No newsagents, no cafe, nada. I found the exit and more sunshine.

Antequera Station Statue. Zoom in if you can

It’s all about the journey, not the destination but I was relieved to finally arrive in Granada at 5pm. I fully expected the Alhambra to be the first thing I saw in its much anticipated splendour but, to my dismay, it was nowhere to be seen! I got to my accommodation and felt reassured – the studio flat was lovely, airy, open and bright:

and the views from both sides were just what I needed:

I made good use of the lounger, even on rainy days. You can see the Generalife gardens in the distance beneath the third hill

I’d been up since 1am for my flight and wasn’t in the mood for eating out so I got some basic food from the local shop and had a simple supper in the flat. I had tickets booked for the Alhambra the next day. I slept like a baby.

I stayed in the Albaicín, a historic quarter located above the hustle and bustle of central Granada. The flat was nestled in a busy but surprisingly quiet pedestrian zone. Being perched on top of a hill meant an easy descent into the centre and a blast of cardio to get back home. I didn’t need to worry about exercise. After breakfast I explored the area, popping into peaceful parks and anyplace else which piqued my curiosity on the way downtown.

Tranquility and blue skies in the City Archive gardens

Guardian of grenadines. Or were they grenadines? I’m not entirely certain but let’s pretend

Then I saw it, at last:

It was imposing and much more impressive than I’d imagined. I couldn’t wait to get up there.

The Alhambra thoroughly surpassed my expectations. I hadn’t looked at too many photos as I wanted to experience it afresh with my own eyes. I couldn’t get over the scale of the site or the detail. Everywhere I looked there were intricate designs and unexpected surprises:

Then there were the gardens:

Generalife gardens. The Spanish do gardens brilliantly

I walked a lot that day. There were benches and seating dotted around where I could rest awhile and regain a sense of peace.

There was a lot to take in and I would have definitely returned for a full day, pausing longer to admire the intricacy of the architecture and the elaborate patterns.

I enjoyed a surprisingly good coffee from the kiosk in front of the Alcazaba. I was served a small perfectly formed cafe con leche and asked if I wanted anything else. I thought for a moment and said 2 new feet in my best Spanish. The barista laughed. Bereavement caused me to go inwards, losing the more outgoing and daring aspects of my nature, as well as my sense of humour. If I was in an extrovert mood, I was able to engage with the locals, and at least attempt to cobble together some words and Duolingo phrases.

The next day I headed into the city centre to see the other major landmark in Granada – the Cathedral. It was immense, a huge sprawling edifice:

It was an interesting visit and I’m glad I saw it, but nothing could compete with the sensory feast which had sated me the previous day. I paid a quick visit to the tourist office on my way to the centre to ask if there were any concerts or plays on while I was there, as well as asking for information about the cathedral. The assistant’s eyes lit up. She gushed about the Royal Chapel which was in a separate building. The way she described it was compelling. She said it was a spiritual experience.

It could have gone one of two ways – delight or disappointment and I’m afraid my verdict was the latter. I think it’s the way she sold it to me but her description conjured up divine images of golden light and rainbows in my mind. Along with paintings, artefacts and sculptures, there was a crypt down a flight of stairs bearing 5 small safely guarded coffins. I’m not sure what I expected but that wasn’t it. I was still under the spell cast by the magic of the Alhambra, and I’d seen my unfair share of coffins.

True dat. Wise words from the Cathedral guide

As you can see, the weather was perfect. That’s the other thing about Spain, there’s so much light, and grey days don’t last long. It wasn’t too busy either. I don’t think I would have enjoyed it as much in the oppressive heat of summer with hordes of tourists.

By day 3 I had started to relax properly and the internal chatter/list making had slowed down and was getting quieter. I felt moments of peace. That’s my ideal holiday – when I’m able to shelve my worries.

I didn’t go to Spain to grieve or with the intention of processing recent events. I went to escape and forget about everything, to draw a line under that chapter. It worked.

Despite having lived in France and South Africa, I’m not particularly well travelled. I used to drive a lot for work, so I enjoyed staying at home when I had time off. Holidays weren’t really a priority. Then I had a brilliant 5 night break in Malaga 2 Christmases ago which gave me confidence to explore just a bit beyond my comfort zone (2 destinations, train logistics) and it’s given me a boost. I did manage it all and with no mishaps. Everything went smoothly. It was an opportunity to gain closure on last year’s losses and anguish and I feel much better since I got back. I feel stronger and definitely more independent. Most importantly, my holiday has shifted my grief to a more manageable level. I’m already planning my next trips.

Meanwhile, onwards to Ronda…

Sheeps and Leeks and other Welsh Wonders

17th Aug 202325th Aug 2023 Rare Bit BloggingLeave a comment

I was treated to dinner at Sheeps and Leeks in Caernarfon at the beginning of August. I had no expectations when I saw the quirky shop front hidden away in one of the city’s side streets. Pink neon lighting gave the exterior a slightly sleazy glow. A curious collection of small plants was growing on the window ledge inside the restaurant.

The kitchen is as open as the atmosphere – the vibe was busy but relaxed amongst the stacked stainless steel pots and pans. It was as though we’d walked into a friend’s kitchen. We were greeted with warm smiles by the team before they got their heads down again to prepare an incredibly intricate collection of culinary delights.

Simple elements – don’t be fooled, it was anything but!

I’d never experienced a tasting menu before. I’ve got some catching up to do and this was the ideal introduction. It’s the perfect concept. Sampling such a vast array of tastes and textures was sensational. Each dish had been lovingly conceived and every element was plated with great care and attention.

I don’t eat cheese but I was told the doughnut was very good. My first dish was an all-in-one-go steel spoonful of luxurious lamb. It was like experiencing food for the very first time. I let it melt in my mouth. My tastebuds danced to the tune of the flavours that developed on my tongue. I could have cried it was so good. Amuse my bouche it most certainly did.

Next up was the stand out dish for me – soup! Let’s be honest here, it’s often a dull dish which gets overlooked. Not so at Sheeps and Leeks. I didn’t get a photo – I was too busy enjoying it. The intensity of the flavours was incredible. An unexpected sphere of herby liquid was concealed at the bottom of the bowl. It brought it to life. The focaccia was crusty, light and full of flavour.

The maître d’ was a friendly modest man possessed by a passion for every single plate with which we were presented. His detailed explanations of each dish added another dimension to the simple menu. I’m still in awe of how he retained all the information about each course as well as the wine list.

The decor at Sheeps and Leeks is unapologetically quirky but without an ounce of pretence. The brick effect wallpaper gave a retro feel to the small dining room (20 covers) and photos of chefs and culinary paraphernalia adorned the wallpaper.

Back to the food. The fish was as fresh as the August weather outside (15 degrees), as were its accompanying crab and cucumber salads. The beautifully presented pork cheek melted divinely. Crumbs of crackling were crumbled on top and the meat rested on a pillow of silky smooth aubergine.

More than the sum of its parts – pork, peas and cabbage never looked, or tasted, this good

Every component ingredient worked in harmony together. It was a tour de force of culinary balance.

Two desserts you say? Now that’s my idea of heaven! I actually loved the zingy palate cleansing yogurt pre dessert more than the star of the show, which was also excellent. I’d never have thought that 4 such simple ingredients as rhubarb, strawberry, yoghurt and mint could sing together so harmoniously. Wow. No photo again for obvious reasons, but here’s the main dessert to give you an idea:

We had delicious decaf coffee which tasted just like the real thing and petit fours to complete our experience.

One of the best things about Sheeps and Leeks is its lack of airs and graces. It genuinely is all about the food. Although it was high end dining, it was a homely relaxed experience. Brick wallpaper and soft lighting does that. I’ll definitely be going back. Meanwhile I’m on the forage for tasting menus here in Yorkshire…

My happy face in my happy place – fine food land

Winter Writing Challenge

14th Dec 202114th Dec 2021 Rare Bit BloggingLeave a comment

Day 14 – A Walk in the Snow Makes my skin glow I feel nervous at first – Will it get worse? Will I get stuck in a drift? Too much snow to shift? Does ice lie beneath? I grit my teeth I put on my warm hat And that is that.

Once I’m out There is nowt Can stop me From feeling giddy It’s all white It’s alright Don’t fight Snow’s delight

Snow’s amazing At transforming Even a mild Mannered man to a child- like state of play No more grey Clouds today May they stay away For ever and a day

Eira Lynn Jones Professor of Harp RNCM – 1992-2021

13th Dec 202128th Mar 2022 Rare Bit BloggingLeave a comment

HAPPINESS IS A JOURNEY NOT A DESTINATION.
For a long time it seemed to me that life was about to begin – real life but there was always some obstacle in the way, something to be gotten through first, some unfinished business, time still to be served, a debt to be paid. At last it dawned on me that these obstacles were my life. This perspective has helped me to see there is no way to happiness. Happiness is the way. So treasure every moment you have and remember that time waits for no one.
Souza

Eira has played a significant role in my musical and personal journey since we first met when she became professor of harp at the RNCM in 1992. I was in my 3rd year when she arrived fresh from her studies in the USA. She made such a strong impression on me with her crystal clear imaginative ideas on the shape she wanted the harp department to take. She was artistic director of two International Harpweeks which took place while I was a student. Both events were exceptional and exciting. It was a big deal to have the spotlight on the harp and that it was happening up North. I was studying with Frank Sternefeld at the time and I learnt so much from Eira. She initiated the RNCM harp ensemble and our smaller quartet, Fir Chlis with Mary Ann Kennedy, Manon Llwyd and Kathryn Rees. We had some amazing adventures and we went on tour in Wales – we were even on Welsh TV!

Fast forward some 14 years – I reconnected with Eira during a difficult time in my life and I asked to go and play for her. Off I went with my harp to her studio in Stockport for a consultation lesson. After an extremely encouraging but realistic lesson, she suggested I come to the RNCM to complete a masters degree. I said yes. She thought I was kidding. Thanks to her support, I enrolled at the RNCM as a mature student in 2007 and I was able to dedicate all my energy to the harp and music after a rocky period during which I came close to giving it all up.

FAITH
When you walk to the edge of all the light you have And take that first step into the darkness of the unknown You must believe that one of two things will happen:
There will be something solid for you to stand upon, Or, you will be taught how to fly.
Patrick Overton 1975

I looked forward to my weekly lessons with eager anticipation. Being held accountable was priceless. I was highly motivated and I dedicated countless hours to improving myself as a musician and harpist. We listened and talked a lot and Eira inspired me with her artistic ideas and her faith in my skill as a musician. I studied reams of repertoire and had some exquisite experiences playing solo works and chamber music as well as preparing orchestral parts. Harp class was a very steep learning curve about constructive feedback. Some tough hands were dealt around discipline, and my musical ideas were challenged persistently which led to my growth. She encouraged me to be myself and to express myself with my harp but always at the service of the music.

Eira cares for each of her students – she is empathic and compassionate whilst maintaining a healthy sense of detachment. She was there to congratulate us when we achieved the desired result and to console us when we didn’t. She continues to mentor students beyond the RNCM years and even though we don’t talk as often these days, when we do we pick up as though we’d spoken yesterday.

Happy faces – surrounded by some of my harp colleagues

I enjoyed a vast array of extremely enriching orchestral opportunities at college. Orchestral playing was my true love and Manchester was the perfect base to reinforce that passion. A year long course became 2 years when I realised I wasn’t ready to perform a final recital yet. I was enjoying life in Manchester again, allowing myself to be steeped in that melting pot of music, culture and the arts. I also relished being surrounded by a sisterhood of harpists half my age – they were so energetic and supportive, and their carefree enthusiasm was contagious!

The collage Eira made for me as a leaving gift. A montage of 30 years of musical memories

I was fortunate to work alongside Eira on several occasions, in particular with the Hallé when they performed works involving multiple harps. Performing operas from Wagner’s Ring Cycle under the baton of Sir Mark Elder were pinch-me moments. They were truly awesome experiences where I could observe and learn, and enjoy complete immersion in music. Eira is a consummate professional with great integrity, and her love and respect for music is immense and steadfast. She shares this with her students with open hearted generosity.

This image has an empty alt attribute; its file name is b39e7f93-04bd-4e99-99f9-7e7d6ebff938_1_105_c.jpeg — It was always a delight to work with Eira’s students and working with Helen MacLeod (1980-2018) was no exception. A true professional, and a wonderful harpist and human being.

“Success is how high you bounce when you hit bottom”
George Patton

Student life wasn’t always rosy and chicken sandwiches became an institution. When times became too tough, it was reassuring to know I could contact Eira and soon be on her sofa with a glass of wine and a freshly prepared plate of comforting sandwiches lovingly made by Steve. I swear they were the culinary equivalent of a homely hearty hug. No matter what challenge I was facing, whether it was musical or personal, our dialogues never failed to appease my agitated emotions.

An unforgettable rehearsal of Stravinsky’s Firebird with the Hallé in the presence of the Queen

Eira’s prowess as a teacher is exceptional and she is held in high regard throughout the UK and internationally. Her ability to adapt to each student is a rare gift. Her knowledge of the repertoire seems limitless and her head was, and still is, constantly brimming with new ideas for her latest compositions and creative projects. Her ability to construct cohesive programmes for recitals, exams, auditions and performances is extraordinary, demonstrating her deep understanding of the performer and the works to be studied.

While I tutored at the Early Music Shop, I worked alongside 2 of Eira’s graduates, Louise Thomson and Alice Kirwan, and we invited Eira to act as artistic director for 2 Camac harp weekends which we organised in Saltaire. She tirelessly shared her love and enthusiasm for the harp and it’s no surprise that she’s in high demand as a guest tutor. Experiencing her deliver tuition with such clarity to a large group of absolute beginners was a memorable sight. Most of them had never seen a harp before let alone play one and I’m not sure they even read music! Most impressive of all was that the participants went away with radiant smiles and a sense of achievement, inspired to continue their journey with our fascinating instrument.

Watching Eira teach is a lesson in itself. Stagecraft is another one of her fortés and you’d never guess she was shy!

I can’t write about Eira without mentioning Steve. Steve is her rock. He’s her husband, personal chef, chauffeur, barista, recording engineer, technical support, sommelier, librarian, travelling companion, the list goes on. Steve is a placid, dependable, calm character who balances out Eira’s creative nature. They work so well together. They’re a dream team, a marriage made in heaven, possibly quite literally!

All packed up and raring to go and make music!

Teaching comes with its own challenges. Eira rarely left us high and dry and after class we would often congregate in the refectory to ease out of teacher/student mode while relaxing with a well earned drink. “STEEEEEEEEEVE”!!! we exclaimed joyously upon his arrival. Following this enthusiastic outburst came a chorus of giggles that resounded through the huge space as he approached his giddy welcoming committee cautiously. He arrived to whisk Eira safely to her next destination. Her sense of relief was tangible. Another long teaching day was nearly done. The atmosphere changed as she became more relaxed, safe in the knowledge that it was nearly time to head home to recharge her batteries and enjoy some quiet time.

Eira is blessed with an inexhaustible sense of curiosity and her musical journey has taken her to a myriad of exciting destinations across the world. She has a particular affinity with Greece and all things Greek. She has taught several Greek harpists, many of whom have thriving careers. An accomplished chamber musician, she loves working with her Greek flautist Anna Mari Rosa and Eira has even learnt Greek. Eira has never lost her sense of curiosity and she’s always keen to learn new skills. Filakia Eira!

Emotional

Inspirational

Resilient

Artistic

Soon after my arrival at the RNCM Eira gave me my Happy Box. Inside was a small book of quotations called The Real Meaning of Success and a small tortoise made of stone. Eira is a fervent advocate of slow practice and she often reminded us of Aesop’s Fable about the tortoise and the hare – the tortoise always wins in the end. I filled my Happy Box during my 2 years at the RNCM and many of those happy memories involve Eira. She gives so generously to her students, inspiring us to be the best version of ourselves as musicians and human beings.

Eira always encouraged me to embrace the journey. I’m so excited to find out what Eira does next on her journey.

Eira – thank you so much for all you have taught me and shared with me over the years. From the Heart – Rhian

Winter Writing Challenge

13th Dec 202114th Dec 2021 Rare Bit BloggingLeave a comment

A couple of weeks ago my friend and mentor Gareth Boot (Google him) suggested I join the above challenge and I must admit I’ve really enjoyed getting back in the habit of writing regularly again. Gareth helped me kick a 30 a day smoking habit and a month later I gave booze the Boot too! He’s inspired me to walk and run over 1,200 miles for 2 years in a row and we’re revving up for my professional challenge in 2022. The challenge was set by Kate Beddow – thanks for the inspiration Kate if you’re reading this! I much prefer writing with a Bic and a pad of A4 paper but I can’t share those scribblings so here we go. Much of it is stream of consciousness writing. I’m including a few posts written when time got the better of me as well as the half hearted can’t be arsed entries too…

Day 6 – Childhood memories of Winter

When I was a child, Winter was wild and sometimes mild. I often smiled and laughed with my big sister as we played in the snow during the school holidays. We built a snowman and Mam came and inserted a nasal carrot and coal buttons in the appropriate places. She topped him off with my red and white striped beanie hat before marching me upstairs straight in the bath before I caught my death.

Mam was something of a tyrant. Well she had to be with 2 unruly feisty characterful girls to bring up while Dad worked away. Dad wasn’t around much when we were small, much to my regret. Mam was nicer when he was home for 2 months, then he went back to sea for 6, and I wished I could go with him with every bone in my body. I was Dad’s girl, still am. Dad was fun. Dad was funny. Mam was stern and never shy with a sharp slap when we were bad. That’s what she said and I believed her, and I often thought Dad stayed away because I was bad, because I was naughty. I give her credit, she raised me to be a good girl and after several bouts of counselling and therapy, I’d say I’m getting there, although I have my moments.

Now where was I? Ah yes. Winter. My sister and I revelled in a delight of snowball fights but I almost always came out worse off as she’s my senior by almost 4 years. On the rare occasion I did try to retaliate when I caught her off guard (tactics!) I inevitably got in trouble with Mam and I’d take refuge in the safe comforting darkness of the cupboard under the stairs, right at the back behind piles of toys and books, hidden behind a jumble of long coats. “Rhian! RHIAN!!!” her cries crescendoed. I knew I was for it.

My sister was slim and incredibly athletic and she could be a bit of bully. We fought hotly and I remember the time I drew blood. It was an oral wound. Mam went ballistic. Life was unfair. My sister was never in trouble with Mam. So it seemed.

Dad was the household chef and when he was home, we ate like princesses. In Winter we ate steaming bowls of simple vegetable stew punctuated with luxurious nuggets of lamb that had been gently simmered for hours, creating a delicious watery broth full of flavour. Small globules of fat glistened invitingly hinting at how much flavour lay within the liquor. The tender meat melted in my mouth. Everything did. It had been cooked for such a long time. A pretty plate of fresh bread and butter accompanied it and I always pleaded for the crust, my favourite bit, slathered with lashings of butter. Good job nobody else liked it. On a good day I got a pair of heels.

Dad’s food tasted of love.

I remember he had a tub of spice rub for chicken, a recipe shared with him by one of the Indian cooks on the ship where he was chief engineer. My juvenile palate couldn’t handle the heat and I’d regretfully peel the appetising charred reddish brown searingly hot skin away from the flesh leaving it to one side. After he died we scoured the house for that recipe to no avail.

Sometimes Father was home for Christmas and the aromas emanating from the kitchen were divine. He made a big fuss of the turkey and he started simmering the giblets on Christmas Eve to make his flavour-full gravy. On special occasions we ate in the parlour with its draughty bay windows and Christmas was fun. We’d pull crackers and laugh as we enjoyed the most important meal of the year. God I want a turkey sandwich now and I don’t even like turkey! But I only want one made by Dad.

After our meal we retired to the comfort of the living room, cosily huddled on the sofa as close as possible to the gas fire. The smell of hot polyester was alarmingly comforting. I was brought up in my mother tongue, Welsh and one Christmas, after a particularly enjoyable escapist film I uttered my first 2 words in English – “The End”.

NB – I had a fantastic childhood and this blog post is in no way a tirade against the way I was parented. I dare you to show me perfect parents or a family that isn’t dysfunctional in some way, shape or form!

Grounded

21st Mar 202121st Mar 2021 Rare Bit BloggingLeave a comment

It’s Thursday evening already and I have no idea where this busy week has gone. Let’s roll back to last weekend when I went walking with my 2 bubble buddies, Gareth and Sue. The weather was very poor with strong horizontal winds and pelting rain, and there was even a bit of snow on the tops above the village. More than half way through our 9 mile walk I suddenly saw the stony muddy ground hurtling towards me. Things went into slow mo as they do when you fall. When I realised what had happened and became aware of the pain in my right elbow, I promptly burst into tears and swore prolifically. I swear that swearing helps ease the pain and dissipate any uncomfortable feelings. After wallowing in a muddy puddle of self pity and ascertaining that nothing was broken, I was back on my feet and on we walked. We got to a bench and I wanted to inspect my injuries but the rain started up again so we walked to the next village where we found a bus shelter to have a brew and a hot cross bun.

It was a good walk through some beautiful scenery but I was distracted and ready for home. Back at REH HQ I checked my elbow (grazed) and a bruise was developing nicely. I wasn’t in any pain though. Back in the day when I had lots of rehearsals and performances, I was quite averse to walking. I didn’t see the point and I took the car even for the shortest trips. Falling was a concern – what if I fell and sprained an ankle or broke a wrist? I wouldn’t be able to play and basically I wouldn’t survive. Well, I disproved this self imposed myth on Sunday morning by doing 2 very productive fruitful hours’ work with little pain or discomfort. So walking and running are here to stay, at least until the pools open again. Why deny myself the pleasure of being in the great outdoors at one with nature?

There’s definitely been a change in the weather and we’ve had more springlike days which always boosts the spirits. The feeling of warm sun is like a balm to the skin and seeing buds burst into blossom holds such hope and optimism. I’m counting the sleeps before celebrating losing an hour in bed next Saturday night. We desperately need a great Summer and while I’m sure it will be like no other Summer we’ve experienced, there are already indications that we will have more freedom than we’ve had during the past few months.

I finally had my bedroom painted in February. That’s been a long drawn out project. Pinning down the painter took some doing. Tradespeople have really benefited from our desire to make our home environments more pleasant places in which to spend the additional time we have at our disposal. Could I become a DIY person? No chance! I can do quite a lot if I set my mind to it but in the long run, it definitely costs me less to pay someone experienced to do a job that would take me months and would cause me so much angst and stress! I can play the harp. I’m fluent in music and I’m good with languages. I can cook and clean. Practicality, however, isn’t my strong suit and that’s why I’m prepared to pay an experienced and knowledgeable professional to do a brilliant job.

Anyway, my bedroom walls look great but I’m still sleeping in the spare room as I need to sort out the flooring. I got a quote for carpet and it prompted me to pursue the route I really want to take – having the old characterful floorboards sanded and varnished. I’m getting a quote this weekend. Everything seems to take twice the time I’d factored in. I’m looking forward to sleeping in my bedroom again and waking up to this spectacular view:

Up early before my shift yesterday, I had a strong urge to get out so off I went, my feet clad in trail shoes and I walk-ran 4 miles. It was so invigorating to be outdoors bright and early. Despite tripping over a thorny tangled tendril of undergrowth and finding myself on the floor AGAIN (I was grateful for a soft peaty landing this time), this outing gave me so much energy for the entire day even after I’d worked the late shift the previous night. I was chirpy, cheerful and chatty at work. I go on about exercise because I know how it now plays a fundamentally important part my life. I haven’t been out today – I’m grounded as I have a lot to do here and I need to save my energy for a longer walk on Saturday, and I have some practice to do tomorrow of course. And I don’t want to be grounded again!

Wednesday’s child is full of Whoa

5th Mar 20205th Mar 2020 Rare Bit Blogging

I fear that this blog post may include a Rare Bit of ranting but it’s my blog so I can rant if I want to and you, dear readers can read if you want to.

So far 2020 has been challenging to say the least. I do remember easier times but I was probably very young or blissfully ignorant. Or ignorantly blissful. I’m not sure. You tell me! The year has as yet failed to deliver the bounty I’d 2020 envisioned but it’s early days I reckon. Magic takes time to brew properly.

Last week I was very unwell and had to visit my GP more times than I care to mention as well as a specialist. I don’t do ill and I rarely visit my GP as (touch wood) I don’t need to. I am very healthy and I take good care of myself but perhaps I had been pushing too hard and my body made me stop and take stock? Whatever, I am back and on fighting form this week and ready to go low before rising up. Going low is a very important part of the process, it’s a sort of obligatory review so that I can improve my performance and enjoy some good times as I embrace my creative side. I haven’t really stopped since last Thursday. A sob is brewing, as is a bloody good stomp up and down some local hills.

Does 3pm on a Wednesday mark the start of my weekend? Does my week ever end? I haven’t figured it out yet but with the shitload of notes I have to learn, it’s more a case of an hour snatched here and there and if I’m lucky, a half day.

Work has been particularly challenging recently with some repercussions arising from my illness but I’ve felt confident enough to express my concerns to the right people in the right way and matters are now contained. Working part time in a rather alien job will always be a fine balancing act and in order to give my best performance there, I have to let go of worrying about my most precious musical assets – my hands. Tonight, as I prepare mentally for 4 days of exciting new dots, stripes and indications, I look down at the paper and cardboard lacerations from dismantling the reinforced boxes I struggle to crack open and allow them time to heal. I bemoan the sore soles of my Skechered feet. I never practice on a Wednesday evening. My head’s not right never mind my body.

Did you know I have a house in Wales? Wow, that’s amazing, you may well think. Lucky bitch, you may think. Think again. It’s the first house I bought, a quaint and characterful 2 up 2 down with small cottage gardens at the front and back. I’ve been renting it out since 2007 and it helped me finance my postgraduate studies and the mortgage for the house I currently live in. The latest tenant, a creative arty type who paid 6 months rent upfront at the start of her tenancy and looked good enough on paper, has turned out to be a bit of a nutbag. She stopped paying rent properly last year and has been receiving assistance from a government body. I am owed a significant amount of money, money with which I could do a myriad of wonderful things, top of the list a proper holiday. Did someone mention Santorini? I wish! I had to take the tenant to court last month, using up my precious paid leave. More money, more expense. I quite enjoyed the court experience though, despite my concerns beforehand. It wasn’t at all like what you see on telly and I felt pleased to have someone take my side and point out the error of her ways.

Yesterday was eviction day at the Rare Bit house and you know what? She’s still there. She hasn’t budged. More hardship, more going without the small luxuries I might like to indulge in, and I’m scrimping on everyday basics I need. I’m fucked off. I’m seriously fed up. I might get to go back to court though.

I’m so fed up I’m going for a run. Running doesn’t solve my problems but it allows me to empty my head and rid myself of some of the aggressive energy I have pent up inside me. I’d like to do things to this woman which belie my kind and generous nature. You don’t fuck with Rare Bit.

I share a lot of Alain de Botton’s content on my Facebook page, somewhat selfishly as I enjoy checking his stuff out late at night after work. A lot of his work resonates strongly. Maybe we’re of a similar age. I wish he’d do a short video or write a piece called “Why do people act like arseholes?”

I finally figured out my 16 going on 17 year old cat has gone completely deaf. I googled it. Her meows have amplified in volume since Christmas. She can’t hear herself. I bloody can! She sleeps in a deep coma for hours on end and doesn’t hear me call her when she’s awake. She sounds aggrieved and frantic whenever she sees me. I’m afraid that other than an escorted walk round the block which she loves so much when the weather picks up, she’ll have to stay in to avoid being chased by dogs, cats and cars. Llwyd has always been bold, lolling in the sunshine in the middle of the street outside our house, strutting past the house at the end of the terrace with a pack of loudly barking Rottweilers enclosed behind just high enough fencing. Can’t catch me, she glares at them teasingly.

Let sleeping cats lie. Preferably on top of great music

I could moan about all my woes and make this whingeing Wednesday but I’d rather make it whoopee Wednesday which will lead to triumphant Thursday. Expression is the most important thing. Nobody wants to read about the shit you’re going through but it fucking helps to get it out in black and white. If you’re still reading, well done!

I bumped into the bin man again on my way to work today. We chatted and he said I’m always smiling. Little does he fucking know but in all honesty I feel better when I smile so fuck it. : D

Last Sunday, I played 2 solo spots in a concert I’d been looking forward to since I was invited. I had carefully chosen a programme of tried and tested pieces from my repertoire and I’d included a piece I’ve wanted to relearn properly which feels semi biographical. Illness prevented me from playing at what I felt was my best but I played the best I could have under the circumstances. Sounds like I’m making excuses and I detest that. A perfectionist with an obsession about detailed preparation, I felt more defenceless than usual in an unfamiliar situation. I winged it more than I like winging it and vowed never to play rough and ready like that again. Two days prior to the gig, I was in 2 minds about asking someone to replace me. I’d already been paid. It was like a rollercoaster ride gone wrong.

The performance was eventful to say the least but there were some special moments. It took place in a church with huge windows looking out on gardens with a labyrinth and there were snowdrops and daffodils.

Every half hour or so the heating would come on and I started sweating profusely. My harp dug her heels in and refused to stay in tune despite 3 efforts at retuning, blowing hot and cold back at me with a passion. I unwillingly refused to be seduced from my tuning efforts with a half dozen attempts by concerned individuals to ply me with tea and cake in the interval. I had to hold back on answering questions from curious members of the audience who were intrigued and fascinated by my harp. You’ll get a chance after the interval, I promised.

On stage, poised for Act 2, I got a sinking feeling when I couldn’t find my playing specs. Dashing around looking for them took almost 5 minutes but everyone was good humoured about it and I got a round of applause when I finally returned to the stage after finding them in the changing room and not with my harp, where I thought I’d left them.

My Q&A session began by spinning my harp around and asking “Have you ever seen the backside of a harp?” which prompted much gasping followed by a wave of laughter and several interesting questions. I thought my playing was poor by my standards, but my audience engagement has improved massively and I really enjoyed public speaking, maybe for the first time. The playing will follow suit for sure.

Time to run, need to work up an appetite…

I’m back! Hearing the hypnotic hoot of the owl which welcomed me as I stepped outside and seeing the moon slightly fuller than half way reflects my feelings. Problems? What problems? I don’t give a hoot anymore.

The Long Road to Freedom

11th Jan 202012th Jan 2020 Rare Bit BloggingLeave a comment

Just under a year ago, I took up running and hiking as an addition to my swimming classes. I had several reasons for choosing these disciplines and the most obvious reason was how accessible these forms of exercise are to me. Throw on a decent pair of shoes and some clothing appropriate for the season and off I could go.

Over the past 10 months, I’ve been experimenting, exploring, discovering new routes and seeing how far I could push myself in speed, distance and level of difficulty. Yesterday was a pinnacle in my journey so far. I walked the longest distance I’ve ever walked in my life. Read that again.

I wouldn’t have described myself as a couch potato before but I certainly had an aversion to anything that made my heart beat faster, preferring more refined epicurean recreations like cooking, reading and navel gazing, which I now describe as reflection since I recognize it also has massive benefits on my personal and professional wellbeing.

I’ve learnt I prefer exercising alone. I have more awareness and control over my emotions in these circumstances and I know just how hard I can push myself. It’s all about keeping myself safe. When I’m in danger, my inner child screams very loudly and persistently and she is almost always right. Listen to her and my world is my oyster.

I’ve been on a group walk and it was good, but as I’m relatively inexperienced, I did feel like I stood out. I didn’t have the right equipment and I was dependent on a bunch of rather nice complete strangers to keep me safe. A low point was finally having to wild wee within eyesight of 3 other walkers after hours of testing my bladder strength. One of the benefits was learning new routes locally, some of which I would never choose to walk again. Why would you plan a route that involves negotiating a boggy quagmire of slimy mud 3 miles into an 8 mile hike?

Last weekend I pulled out of a local walk. The description foretold a section involving mud (alarm bells) and nowhere to wild wee (even BIGGER alarm bells) and the pub where we were meeting would be shut when we set off, so no opportunity to empty my unpredictably temperamental bladder just before setting off. 6 miles without a wazz seemed way too risky. I’ve wet myself a couple of times while out running and I certainly don’t want to endure that with other people watching! Imagine the chafing from walking 5 miles in damp leggings. No thanks! The tipping point was reading that cake was to be bought. Go without cake, I said reassuringly to myself. Cake doesn’t matter, there’ll be plenty of cake to go around. I could buy one en route, from a bakery so it looks home made. Run out and get some ingredients and I can bake one tonight, even though I have a million and one other things to do. Insert exploding head emoji. She talked me out of it. She was right. I don’t regret not going and that route will be learnt another time.

Yesterday marked a new departure in my journey. I completed a walk of 13.55 miles. It didn’t feel that far as it was through some of the most spectacular scenery Yorkshire has to offer and it’s right here on my doorstep, well a 2 mile drive up a road that’s too dangerous to walk along.

I changed during that walk. Everything is different now. I realised I can have absolute trust in myself. I realised I’m capable of far more than I think. The walk started downhill. This is easy, I thought to myself. I got to my destination and knew I hadn’t walked enough. Off I went up a track I’d explored with the group. I got to the top and went along a different route towards the moors. Fear started to prickle. I had an unfortunate run in with a peaty bog last summer and didn’t want to repeat that incident. My curiosity got the better of me and a well worn track got me almost back to the village. Familiarity brought relief. At 2pm with darkness due at 4, I weighed up my options. Worst case scenario I could call a taxi. Pah! No cheating! Off I went, reversing my route at a fair lick. Hunger was nipping my heels but I didn’t want to stop until I got to the bottom of the moors where I knew I’d have a 3 mile uphill section past some ravishingly beautiful reservoirs.

Get there by 3 and everything will be alright. A man with his gorgeous pointer dog Brian wanted to chat. Be polite but MOVE GIRL!! Cold, windswept and tired, I gulped my coffee thirstily in one go and guzzled my energy bar with gusto. Boy had I worked up an appetite! My car within eyesight, I sat on the bench to take in the view.

Everything had changed.

That evening I felt like I’d thoroughly decluttered my mind and body. The feeling was a heady blend of pumped and knackered. Pumpackered (copyright Rare Bit Blogging).

At the beginning of 2020 I finally firmly closed doors on unfulfilling work opportunities that cause me stress and anxiety. Financially I’ve never been poorer. Personally my cup brims pretty damn full. I’m happier and more content than I’ve ever been. I’m desperate for a holiday and each distance walk or run feels like a mini break when I visit new places. In my harp practice today there is flow and freedom and there’s a playfulness in my work which has been lacking of late. It’s been like a creative release, unleashing vivid imagination, expressive storytelling and vibrant colour in my music. I’ve experienced incredible mental clarity – it felt like having a new brain. I would pay money to listen to me. At the end of last year I started to meet people who might pay me for my creativity in a way that I can manage.

If you’re facing some challenges in life, get yourself out there. Start small and push a little bit each time, but listen to your body and your mind – be careful with that one! There’s a few tricksters that can’t be trusted hidden inside us all. You’ll always find good reasons not to do it, but you might be surprised how much you learn about yourself if you do take that first step to freedom.

Thief!

18th Oct 201925th Oct 2019 Rare Bit BloggingLeave a comment

At work on Monday, I chased a shoplifter out of the shop. The fact he’d already stuffed his jacket with steaks is irrelevant. I’d spotted him on the CCTV monitor and buzzed for the manager. Seeing him make his way towards the doors, a surge of adrenalin sent me running along the aisles beyond the safe boundaries of the shop. I grabbed him by his sleeve. Behoodied, he turned and gave me a sideways glance before running for the bridge in the town centre. What would I have done? Tackled him and pinned him to the floor? Unzipped his jacket to liberate him of his precious meat? I half expected someone to help but it was too late. He was gone, along with a share of the profits. What fuelled me to risk life and limb for a rare bit hunk of rump? Anger actually. It flared up and when he turned to look at me, I wanted to scream at him to get a f**king job like the rest of us.

When I was about 10, I stole a sweetie necklace from the petrol station. I’ll never forget it. I was racked with guilt. I clearly still am.

Life’s been less eventful than last week. My wrist feels much better (thanks for asking) and doing very little practice was a wise move. I had an extremely fruitful fayre on Sunday, restoring my faith in them as a good business investment, the pinnacle being taking a deposit on the day. There’s no better feeling after a long hard day’s work flogging my wares, trying to convince potential clients that my harp and I really are the divine heavenly perfect finishing touch missing from their big day, and why wouldn’t everyone have live music at their wedding to make their day complete? Music is, of course, the proverbial cherry on the proverbial wedding cake but not everyone feels the same way I do about music and at the end of the week I often have to dig quite deep to keep my performer/saleswoman persona going. I miss my regular practice and, with fayre season in full flow, I’m going with that. There’s a lull until November and more paid playing work coming up, thank god.

A sense of play is fundamental to my wellbeing. I liken myself to a bowling ball swaggering playfully along the hardwood alley towards the ten (Twenty? Thirty? More?) pins of my life. Striking a few of them each week is a win. Today my focus is on socialising and my creative work. The cleaning can wait. Last night involved the cooking extravaganza I’ve been promising myself and I used up a lot of the veg I’ve been hoarding, some of it rather the worse for wear, bulk purchased to be incorporated into a mouthwatering menu of exciting exotic dishes. Running out of steam by 7pm, I made a jaw poppingly hot curry. The stew recipe I want to try will stew until next week. As for baking, I’m sure I’ve got a free rainy Sunday coming up. My current obsessions are food and exercise. It’s all about balance.

To socialising then. Last week I invited an interesting customer for a coffee. On Saturday I went on an 8 mile hike with 30 complete strangers. Once past the flush of inadequacy and awkward hellos and as long as I’m not the centre of attention, I’m fine. I’m really trying. Maybe I’m trying too hard.

Looking out this morning at an exquisite sky the colour of parma violets, I’m feeling ok about this time of year which can be challenging for many of us. The nights have drawn in and daylight comes at a premium. With less playing work than I’d like and significantly fewer gigs than last year, I might need to take on some extra shifts at the shop. Most of the time I’m ok with that and I veer between excitement and fear about exploring the new possibilities ahead of me.

Every time I cross the bridge over the stream that leads me to the shop, I pause to watch the ducks. Wearing a face like thunder, I lock my creativity safely in my car for the journey home which involves ranting and singing loudly after a few minutes post shift solemn silence. I watch the rowdy antics of my funny feathered friends. I listen to their comedic cacophonous quacks, and solemnly remind myself of the alternative – motorway journeys.

Have you ever worked on a shop floor? Looks easy doesn’t it but let me tell you it’s really hard work! My concern is always my hands, swiftly followed by my head. At times, I have to stop myself from nutting some customers and I’m learning not to take things personally at work.

I’m not much of a taker but I’m a thief too. I thieve from nature. I thieve from the handful of customers that vibrate on a higher frequency and I absorb their energy to power me through my shift. I still remember the man in a pink shirt who came in on a miserable September day and radiated joy and good vibes. We need more of that. My aim at the shop is to dish that out more generously than I receive it.

M came in and as I was chatting away with him, conscientiously doing his packing, we heard a woman’s voice. I checked my mobile and it wasn’t pocket phone. Was it the voice of god? Was she a woman after all? No. I’d been propping myself up against the till and had obliviously pressed the button panic button on the safety device I have to wear around my neck. Speak to her! exclaimed the manager. Slightly freaked out after my eventful day, I did and apologised. False alarm. Oops. I always worry I’m going to get sacked for being too slow and talking to customers too lengthily. My paranoia led me to believe somehow HQ had seen I hadn’t followed the protocol I learnt way back when I did my induction. For f**k sake.

Deadlines

11th Oct 201911th Oct 2019 Rare Bit BloggingLeave a comment

And so it happened. The thing I feared most since I started my Proper Job happened. I jammed my hand between the wall and a heavy roller cage laden high with cases of beer, wine and spirits. There’s irony for you. I was heaving and hefting, huffing and puffing to get the bastard thing up the ramp into the fridges and, assisted by K, got my hand jammed just above my wrist. Time froze, as did my wrist afterwards, plunged into ice water in the canteen sink. Lightning quick thinking from K – thanks. The shock and shooting pain brought sorrowful sobs from deep down inside. Five minutes later, ice pack on wrist and dosed up with ibuprofen, I was back at the tills. With over 2 hours left of my shift, I asked if my role could be limited to lighter work, a more desirable option than going home and having to call someone in. Being busy helped keep my mind off the disaster that befell me but as soon as there was a lull in traffic, tears started pricking my eyes as I saw what’s left of my playing career wash down the drain. Don’t worry, it’s just bruised and a bit sore today but I can play a bit. I love a bit of drama me.

Proof that running makes your legs longer?

I’ve never taken my hands for granted. I’ve always been super careful but this year I’ve taken more risks. I’ve become more active physically and pushed my swimming harder, starting weekly lessons on top of my pool fitness classes in July. It’s a time saving idea, so I get a double session in twice a week which saves time fannying around in the changing room. This also gives my callouses time to recover and I think the chlorine hardens the skin on my fingers. With a very wet Autumn upon us, weather is no excuse since it’s often drier in the pool. The irresistibly addictive endorphin rush is the main reason I’m hooked on swimming, as well as running and walking. I often arrive at the baths grumpy and ridden with angst about the future. An hour and a half later I’m a hyperactive gregarious mass of energy, giggling as I bounce out of the leisure centre, whooping in my car as I drive home to get back to my work.

In September I completed my 100 miles walking and running. My friend and mentor Gareth instilled the idea in me, and getting so close in August with 87 miles in the bag, I decided I’d give it a go. No pressure as I had a lot of work to do, but the idea was niggling away in the back of my mind. Feeling a bit aimless about my career, having a target and anticipating that sense of achievement made me want to get up in the morning. So on the morning of 30 September, I notched up 100.9 miles. Think about that. I don’t think I drive 100 miles in a month these days, and that’s another story. I would have bettered my 100 but I wanted to celebrate my achievement with a flask of coffee by the res and a slow ceremonious absorbent stroll.

It was a spectacular morning and my elation was immense. I was at peace.

It’s difficult to describe Gareth Boot. He’s a bit of a chameleon. With his generous support, coaching and mentorship, I’m now almost 2 years sober and smoke free. I’m fitter than I’ve ever been and with his support, I feel equipped to face life’s challenges. If you need assistance with any aspect of your wellbeing, take a look at garethboot.com and drop him a line. He’d love to hear from you so long as you’re not an arsehole! With his lovely partner Sue, they run a company called Better 247 which focuses on all things wellbeing. Sue does a gorgeous banana cake too, amongst an ever expanding range of other delicious vegan recipes. Gareth took me on a run earlier this week and I notched up 10.34 miles. Me! It wasn’t pretty but that doesn’t matter. I did it. That’s what matters.

Since the incident at the shop, I’ve really got my head down and started to face the issues I’m avoiding around getting creative work. I can play the harp. I can write. I’m good at languages and I can cook, and clean if I must. The bigger issue is telling people about myself and getting people to hire me. My business skills are improving but I’m not a natural saleswoman. I’m aware of my talents and my weaknesses and that’s a good starting point.

What’s an introvert/extravert creative to do?