Sunday 12th December 2004

'Poverty is a great enemy to human happiness:it certainly destroys liberty; and it makes some virtues impracticable, and others extremely difficult'

I found this quotation in the immortal Boswell's Life of Johnson; it is so very true - it is difficult to retain any kind of dignity, freedom or virtue when suffering from perennial poverty. I am so horribly poor again, at the moment, and I have been reminded of these depressing facts. When my resources dwindle to a certain point I find it almost impossible to think about anything important or worthwhile - I just worry all the time. Hopefully I can survive the next few months until various plans I have mature (fingers crossed) and put me in an altogether more solid situation, materially speaking, next year. In the meantime I am trying to hang on to some sense of proportion and keep thinking about important things like music. I am about to set out on my Christmas cruise up to Shropshire, so I went to Evensong at Christchurch this evening to enjoy a last burst of typical Oxonian atmosphere. It was enhanced by meeting young Mr. O'Donovan on duty at the main gate, who was full of enthusiasm for all his musical experiences in his first term at the university - the energy of youth! They did Purcell's Rejoice in the Lord Alway, which was delightful to hear and rather better than when we used to do it at St. Giles's. I shall miss Oxford for a while - despite the rather cold and dank weather, the place has been rather atmospheric in the last few weeks, with a nice Christmassy sort of feel, but a change is as good as a rest, and I am quite looking forward to my approaching voyage. I have been having a go at piece for band on the theme of Trafalgar - I was given the idea by a message from one of the readers of this column; I'm sure lots of people will have the same idea, anyway. I thought I might try sending it to the Royal Marines' band - it's rather breezy and somewhat in the style of Sousa, at the moment., so perhaps they'll like it. I know I'm writing rather a lot of 'light' pieces at the moment, but it's not because I've completely lost interest in 'serious' music - just that lighter works for specialised areas of music-making seem to me to have slightly more chance of a performance. I only wish someone would commission a big serious piece from me right now - that would soon get the creative ideas going, I'm sure. I am pleased to say that young Mr. Christmas from New Zealand is visiting our fair country at the moment; I feel

encouraged by the presence of an ally on the same soil. Welcome to Britain, James - have an excellent time!

Wednesday 24th November 2004

I am terribly excited, as I have just received two purchases I made through Ebay. Now - this is not an advert, but although I had heard of Ebay before, I hadn't discovered how incredibly useful it was until recently. You can find the most obscure, out-of-date, items, generally at quite modest prices. The trouble is it's terribly tempting and one is liable to spend money you don't have. And I really don't have any at the moment! I have located a number of old British films and TV series I would love to have on DVD, and am having to restrain myself. But I did purchase a DVD of the delightful version of E. Nesbit's Five Children and It which was on TV a few years ago, which I am looking forward to watching again. And I have finally got a CD of Peter Dawson, which I am listening to right now - it is superb! I have always loved hearing him sing, ever since his songs used to be on the radio when I was a kid. Listening now, I realise that he did actually have a truly magnificent voice. I can't think of any baritone at present who even approaches him - not just the sound, which is glorious - but the technique and style. Even when he's singing material which is frankly corny, he redeems it by his fantastically simple and noble delivery. The only recent singer I can think of who had a similar approach is Dame Janet Baker, and of course she's retired, now. And when he sings things like The Fishermen of England, Sons of the Sea, The Road to Mandalay, etc., he evokes a lost world of old-fashioned patriotism and romance which is long-gone. I don't care if people call me old-fashioned and 'politically incorrect', I think that old-fashioned, British Empire view of the world was far better than the mean-spirited, meally mouthed hypocrisy that passes for a culture nowadays, and I only wish we could go back to it. Concepts like dignity, honour, love of country and pride are what we sorely need today - and for me Peter Dawson's singing instantly summons them up - so I shall continue to wallow in this new record with great pleasure. I find it quite magical.

Sunday 14th November 2004 - Remembrance Sunday

It's turned absolutely freezing, the last few days, which has been a bit of a shock. But I've found that once I get the stove on the boat going properly, I'm quite warm and cosy; the only problem, I suppose, is how cold it is when I get up in the morning. But then most of my life I have lived without central heating and been accustomed to arctic temperatures first thing, in the winter, so I think I can cope. And having a fire/stove reminds me of all those years ago in the 70's when I lived in York and had an open fire; it's a bit messy and more an effort, but somehow much more appealing than other forms of heating. I gather suitable logs in the woods along the river and saw them up. I feel a bit like a wild man of the woods, sometimes, and get funny looks on the towpath - people are so unimaginative. The lovely thing is to have bright sun and clear skies, despite the temperatures - Oxford looks superb in these conditions.

Today I went along to the Remembrance Sunday event in St. Giles's - for the first time as a spectator rather than as a participant in the St. Giles' choir. It was quite moving, and the parade of civic and university diginitaries was quite impressive. The whole occasion is so poignant, but as usual I felt that it was pretty much a minority activity - coming back through Cornmarket Street, people were already gathering to get on with the really important things in life, like shopping. At least one person out of a hundred was wearing a poppy, and I'm pretty sure that if I'd asked most of them wouldn't have known it was Remembrance Sunday, or even what that was, or have cared about it if they did; as half the people in the street in central Oxford at any given time appear to be foreigners or 'ethnic minorities' with their own - separate - 'cultures', I suppose it's hardly surprising most of them are completely unaware or indifferent. Every year I feel this more and more - what purports to be a 'national' occasion is in fact largely irrelevant to many, if not most. It's sad. I still get a strange sense of comfort from watching the ceremony with the Queen at the Cenotaph, though; I suppose it connects with my childhood and the Britain I remember feeling a part of in those days. I remember going with my mother once and being late, and the gun went off for the two minutes silence, and believe it or not, everyone in the street in London stopped and stood still in silence until the second gun went off. Can you imagine that, now? Oh well - I've said all this sort of thing before, so it's pointless going on about it - I'll only get castigated for my 'distressingly right-wing' views again.

I've almost finished a little Magnificat for trebles, to go with the Nunc Dimittis I wrote a while ago. Now I am wondering if it's worth giving it to any of the choir directors in Oxford. I'll see. Apart from that I have produced two of my new baritione settings of Edward Thomas, though for some reason they are going very slowly - I need to be in the right mood to work on them. The more I go into his poetry, though, the better I think it is.

Tuesday 2nd November 2004 - All Souls

It's now that strange time of year that I rather like, again - when you get a series of festivals like Halloween, All Souls (the same thing?), Bonfire Night and Remembrance Day, all of which seem to relate to death, darkness, the onset of winter, but also remembrance of the past, the evocation of hope and light in the darkness. I had a bit of an epic trip down to Abingdon yesterday and back today, in rather trying conditions (tempestuous weirs, a strong stream, etc.), to fill up with diesel and water and get new batteries, and I made a special effort to get back in time for the Requiem for All Souls at Magdalen, which I managed to do. This year it was the Faure Requiem, and they did it with an orchestra. Apart from taking the first movement too fast, which I remember Mr. Ives always does, they sang it really well and it made a tremendous effect - the baritone solo was pleasant but a bit thin, the treble solo was amazing. The atmosphere of the service is always very powerful, and it's always packed. There is something about the stillness of it all, with the priests standing behind the altar and incense going up in clouds, and those powerful and poignant words on death and resurrection, all done in a very dignified and ceremonious but untheatrical way, that is always very moving. Although I find it impossible actually to believe any of it, literally, nevertheless somehow I find it a worthwhile and cathartic experience; perhaps it is simply that it is good to have a special occasion to remember the dead - one's own, as well as others' - and share the experience through a collective ritual. It's that idea of ritual again - we need such things to deal with the aspects of life that are beyond ordinary rational comprehension, perhaps.

I am very slowly progressing with my new settings of Edward Thomas poems for baritone; I started, in October, appropriately, with a poem called October, which perfectly captures that strange feeling on a beautiful day that you haven't quite penetrated to the heart of it - 'I cannot bite the day to its core' - is how he puts it. Now I am doing The Glory. Apart from that I have done a string version of my hack 2nd carol fantasy, which might perhaps earn me a few more pounds some time. Also my Music-Hall medley for brass band is ready, and should go onto SibMus soon, though as Americans generally haven't heard of music-hall, I don't know if there will be much interest.

I went to the OUPS Lucie-Smith reading; it was OK, but perhaps just slightly disappointing; the atmosphere was much less interesting, with no real chance to talk to people after, and his poems, though sometimes quite striking (particularly the ones about works of art) didn't really excite me all that much; the worst ones were the 'erotic' ones - partly because the effect of an elderly and overweight man reading erotic poems out was a bit embarrassing and also because he seems to have regarded sex as some kind of rather distasteful, joyless business akin to physical violence or perhaps all-in wrestling. Very strange.

Friday 22nd October

I had a most pleasing and encouraging experience today - after seeing a poster in the Radcliffe Camera, I went to a meeting of the University Poetry Society. It was quite impressive - a sort of semi-party atmosphere in the bar at the Phoenix Cinema, with people just reading poems from the floor. There were some quite talented writers there, and though most of them were undergraduates and less than half my age, I didn't feel too out of place. It was the first time for ages I felt in contact with the sort of thing I expected Oxford to be about when I moved here - poetry, music, art and high culture.. The organisers were very friendly, and pressed me to come to some more of their events, so I think I will. They have a reading by Edward Lucie-Smith, who I didn't even know was a poet, soon, so I'll attend that.

Thursday 21st October

Getting back from Windsor was quite a palaver! I just hadn't realised how much difference it makes when the river starts running fast and the weather turns cold and wet. I used up about 3 times as much diesel as usual, and had to go in an awkward trip round into the canal to get some more. The weather has been generally awful, with torrents of rain, which is making the river quite dangerous - today I had the rather thrilling experience of my gear cable breaking, which left me drifting down the middle of the river quite fast, out of control. I managed to dig out the anchor and was attempting to wield it when fortunately two girls came by and kindly grabbed a rope I threw them; I ended up against a tree in a very odd position, sticking out rather, and had to spend the night there while a local friendly engineer (who turned out to be a percussionist) located a new cable. And of course, during the night a howling gale blew up, so that I was awake half the night, imagining I was about to drift off again. The situation is now solved, but I am absolutely exhausted. As the engineer (and everyone else) says, boating is a 'learning curve' - and a half!

I was gratified to see that my latest little light offering in the form of the Second Christmas Carol Medley has sold a couple of copies already on sibeliusmusic.com. At this rate I will never be rich, but at least it's something. Pity the serious music doesn't sell.

I am beginning to think I won't make it back to Sri Lanka this winter, for financial reasons, mainly. I may even stay on the boat around Oxford until near Christmas, as I have discovered the Oxford Canal is going to be closed for several weeks so I won't be able to get it back up north for an overhaul until then, and maybe go to Edinburgh in the New Year - I always enjoy being there.

Thursday 14th October 2004

This boating business can be quite exhausting - specially at this time of year, when it starts getting cold and wet, and dark comes by soon after six. Tonight I am moored under a little bridge on the very junction of the rivers Thame and Thames. (I have a theory that the name 'Thames' comes from the conjunction of 'Thame' and 'Isis' - making 'Thamesis', the Latin name for the Thames). I left Reading this morning a bit late, and only just made it this far. I'd hoped to get a bit further, but what with huge torrential downpours, etc, I only just made it to Benson Lock in time to catch the lock-keeper before he went home at 5. It was getting very dank and dark by the time I got here, and I was cold and aching all over; I was only too glad to get the stove going and warm up, prior to cooking some food and administering a general sedative in the form of half a bottle of wine, after which I felt much better. What it is about merely standing at the tiller for hours that is so tiring I don't know, but I think it must be to do with the exposure, specially on cold and wet days like today (tomorrow is going to be similar, apparently). Boating is clearly a spring and summer activity, so my plan to pack up by the end of this month was a good one, though owing to my dire financial position I still don't know if I will be able to go back to Sri Lanka this winter. All will be decided in the next week or two, I hope.

In moments in between voyaging I have been having fun working on a Music-Hall Medley for brass band. I really think some of my music for band deserves performing, and I would have thought a selection of favourite music-hall tunes should go down very well. It's worth a try, anyway. I have also been greatly enjoying listening to a boxed set of all of Bax's seven symphonies on CD from the library. The performances (under Vernon Handley) and recordings are authoritative, and add a new dimension to pieces I have been listening to on rather mediocre recordings since the late 60's. There is something so distinctive about the sound world, and the imaginative world, of Bax that I have always found completely compelling; it is so familar to me now that it feels like something coming out of my own inner world - the sense of identification is overwhelming. I can't understand why his music isn't rated more highly than it is - but in a way that's nice, as I feel it can remain as something private and special for me.

Monday 11th October 2004

I am writing this moored across the river from Windsor Castle.

I decided to go on one long trip down river before probably packing up for the winter, and one of Mr. Allwood's excellent singing competitions at Eton gave me a good reason for coming down here and having a jolly Sunday afternoon and generally a weekend in Windsor. As the engine etc, seemed finally to be working properly (at least, that's what I thought), I felt confident enough to embark on the wider waters down here. In the end things turned out to be rather more eventful than expected, as is often the case with boats, I have found. The journey should have been a fairly straightforward 3 days (it's amazing how one adjusts to these extraordinary waterborne timescales), but on Thursday I found myself stuck at Radley, only a few miles down from Oxford, unable to start the engine at all. After wasting several hours fiddling around I had to resort to calling out Oxford Cruisers yet again, which resulted in a new starter battery and a bill for £112, which I could ill afford. Then I was able to start off again, but having lost so much time, what should have been a leisurely progrss turned into a mad rush, trying to get through as many locks as possible before the lock-keepers went off duty at 5pm. I nearly gave up in despair, but remembering Nelson, I pressed on. Amazingly I made it to within one lock of Windsor in about two days and 3 hours. It felt like a truly epic journey, and by the end I was completely shattered, but had a certain sense of achievement. Luckily the weather, though cold and windy, was beautifully bright and clear, and I must say that England has rarely looked more magnificent than it it did from the river on this journey. Seeing it all from the river gives a totally different and far more satisfying effect than anything you could see from a car or even a train. It made me think of the the Thames as what it is - a great river of history winding through our collective past and through landscapes rich in association.

The first night I managed to stop at Dorchester (the Oxfordshire one, not the one in Dorset) - arriving rather late, as it was getting dark, the misty murky mooring was rather atmospheric, as was the walk through an Iron Age encampment by night to the salvation of the Dorchester Co-Op wine shelves for sustenance. The little town, with it's ancient abbey, is one of those backwaters that still preserves a sense of old England, specially since the by-pass diverted most traffic from its winding main street. It is really a most charming and likeable place - wling back to the boat through it's silent streets, with the smell of woodsmoke on the air and lights shining from thatched cottages was rather special. I could have done without the seveeral cowpats I trod in in the process, though.

Once I really got going on the trip down river, it was surprising how smoothly it went, and how relatively used I got to dealing with the locks (21 in all). One of the few truly frightening ones was at Marlow, where there is a terrific weir that pulls you sideways as you're trying to get in to the layby - most alarming - and then the sluices are very fierce. The lock-keepers vary enormously, too - some are very jolly and helpful - others positively off-hand. The amazing prospects, not to mention the houses, on the way down are quite something. It never ceases to amaze me how people manage to find such incredible places to live in - I particularly liked some of the converted Victorian and Edwardian boathouses - the sort of place I would love to dwell in if I ever had the money.

Magnificent vistas at Henley

A night by Tesco's at Reading

Wild winds

Saved at Bray by helpful boaters

mooring by Eton boathouse and morning walk to College Chapel (weird experience of Boveney by night)

singing comp.

retire exhausted but happy/ woken again by terrifying boat in the night

finally made it round to Windsor proper/ moving evensong at St. George;s with men's voices; Sumsion and Walker

evening with castle looming over all and endless stream of huge planes at 30 second intervals

Thursday 9th Sept. 2004

It has been the most fantastic weather for the last few days; yesterday I moored on the sea-cadets' pontoon at Radley again (no sign of the sea-cadets, as usual). Yesterday and today have been just the most idyllic, radiant late summer or early autumn days - cloudless blue skies, baking hot sun, cool breeze. Today I moved down a bit to opposite Nuneham Park - an old stately home in superb surroundings - the whole scene opposite my side window resembles something from some print of scenes of rural England; nothing nasty and modern at all. It's all a dream, I know - but a nice dream, nevertheless. If I could stay in places like this and never have anything to do with our ravaged towns and cities, I think I would calm down a bit.

Friday 3rd September

What a curious sort of life I seem to be living nowadays. An hour or so ago I arrived at a place called Bablock Hythe, about three hours up river from Oxford - it's mentioned in Matthew Arnold's Scholar Gypsy, so has a certain aura for me. It is certainly an idyllic place, quiet - with high trees overshadowing the wide river and rustling in the wind. I had an almost surreal experience drinking tea in perfect last summer sunshine, watching the ripples on the river and listening on the radio to the hypnotic Californian evocations of John Adams' The Dharma at Big Sur, for electric violin and orchestra (it reminded me of John McLaughlin and the Mahavishnu Orchestra - now there's an historical reference for you!). There are certain moments like this that are almost perfect. But then other days are absolutely horrible - I had one of my worst days for ages on Tuesday, for no completely obvious reason; I'd been intending to go to London to the Proms, but by the time I got into town and sorted out a money transfer at the bank, seeing the awful state of my account somehow threw me into a terrible depression; even worse, I suddenly felt that going to London was an unnecessary extravagance, and became paralysed with indecision. This is something that happens to me a lot these days - I get into a complete quandary about the most stupid things, and simply cannot make my mind up what to do; I sort of 'go to pieces'. Also I've noticed I can't seem to cope with the smallest amount of difficulty or stress. It just shows that even after having managed to change my way of living quite drastically in the last year, it doesn't actually solve the fundamental problems of my life.

Monday 30th August 2004

Well - it's been a very up-and-down few days. The technical problems with the boat reached a head on Friday when the engine started making horrendous grinding noises (they'd been happening a bit for a few days), and began to emit smoke. I just had to stop immediately (I'd only just started), and moor again, just round the corner from Bossoms. That morning I had already found it impossible to start the engine, and the starting battery was flat. To make things worse it was pouring with rain. Fortunately Bossom's were able to charge the battery up for me, but their engineer had gone off on a long weekend and wouldn't be back until Tuesday! So I started resignin myself to hanging around for 4 days without any power or running water, when the Environment Agency launch turned up to tell me off for staying in one place too long; fortunately they were able to give me a number for a mechanic from Oxford Cruisers, at Eynsham, who turned up surprisingly soon, and discovered the grinding noises were from a knackered water pump on the cooling system, and that the engine had been over-heating because the drive-belt was being sprayed with oily water and was slipping. He put in a new pump, and also checked the batteries and charging system, which are apparently working, but designed for charging while cruising rather than standing still. The whole thing was horrendously expensive, but I was so happy the engine was working properly again and hadn't been completely destroyed that I didn't care. After he'd gone I set off merrily down river, when to my disgust, after only a few minutes, steam started coming out of the engine compartment again! It's like some sort of curse. Steam from the engine seems to have haunted me ever since I got onboard, and it is so frustrating, as I am unable to go much over dead slow, which is not only limiting on travel, but means I am not charging the batteries. I really thought after the new water-pump that the problem would have been solved - but evidently it hadn't been. I have been wondering if it was something to do with all the water in the bilges getting heated up by the drive shaft, or something. Either that or there is still some sort of leak. Basically the whole engine needs a proper service, and I am getting thoroughly sick of this friend of Gordon's who's supposed to have been coming for weeks, but hasn't. It is no fun at all living on a boat wthout proper power. I tried baling out some of the bilge water today ( a very messy procedure), but it didn't seem to make much difference. If this chap doesn't come very soon I shall just have to take the boat up to Oxford Cruisers and get it serviced properly there. It's all such a pity, as all the annoyance and inconvenience of the engine problems has been spoiling the actually rather enjoyable water-borne life, and has been totally distracting me from important things like doing the TEFL course, trying to earn some money, and working out what I am going to do this winter.

Friday 20^th August

sea-cadets' mooring at Radley

Yesterday started off so well, on my mooring at Radley, but ended up rather badly, moored opposite Christchurch Meadow, feeling rather down. In between I was quite upset by a message from my ‘live journal’ page, which I’d almost forgotten about, from some complete stranger who decided to inform me that my views were ‘distressingly right-wing’, and implied that I was suffering from some sort of emotional damage, owing to a difficult family background, or words to that effect. I do find this sort of thing quite disturbing - I know I ask for comment on ‘Musings’, but what I mean is comment on the ideas or thoughts I put forward, not comments on me as a person. I mean, if I come across as some sort of disagreeable ‘right-wing’ loony, why do people bother to go on reading this journal at all? But to make sweeping judgements about someone you don’t know based on reading some of their diary is so presumptuous, not to say rude, I think. Still - I can’t say I’m especially surprised, but it’s strange how hurtful unpleasantness from complete strangers can be.

Thursday 29^th July

Holst Choral Symphony on Radio 3

Also Sargent recording of Hymn of Jesus on Friday.

Friday 23^rd July 2004

A new chapter has begun! Which sounds rather melodramatic, but is my way of saying that I have finally got a narrow boat and started my partially waterborne existence as of now. Well - actually, not quite now, but over a week ago when I took over the keys of the boat and got on board in a place called Stone, in Staffordshire. Since then I have been engaged in an epic voyage lasting nearly 9 days, travelling slowly down the canal system at the regulation 3 mph! It can’t be more than 100 miles as the crow flies, but is probably at least double that taking into account the manifold curves and divagations of the various waterways. For some reason I had the idea that the canals were mostly straight, but nothing could be further from the truth. I have lost count of the number of blind curves, often featuring very narrow bridges, I have negotiated, often with another boat appearing round the corner at the last moment. Amazingly I only crashed into two other boats on the way, but after being severely berated by a belligerent middle-aged woman the second time, I started using my (rather loud) horn freely, which contributed to the noise pollution problem but saved one or two more nasty incidents. Fortunately I had the assistance of various crew members much of the way, but the last couple of days on my own have been utterly exhausting. Standing at the tiller for hours out in all weathers and concentrating on keeping in a more or less straight line, not to mention dealing with locks and swing bridges is quite something. It must have been a truly hard life to be a working boatman. I also feel I have breathed quite enough diesel fumes to last me forever. However, in many respects the whole thing was a marvellous adventure, and was fascinatingly different from quite what I expected, and better. I arrived back in Oxford, finally, by boat, as I had fantasised about doing for years, this afternoon, and sailed round, with some trepidation, into the river and to my moorings on Port Meadow, about 3 pm. It was a bit tricky getting into my spot, but fortunately there were a couple of chaps working on their boats who helped me; although one of them was obviously worried my boat was going to crush his very small one if the river went into spate - not so surprising, as Narrowboat Salaga weighs about 14 tons, and probably about 14 times what his does! I secured it to a jetty with three ropes and will consult with the authorities as to the best solution to the situation. One thing I found all the way along is that boat people are nearly all very friendly and helpful, which was pleasant and somewhat reassuring; there is something about the pace of it all, and the generally very peaceful environment of the canals that seems to attract a certain sort of person - though it was noticeable that the retired middle-class couples with palatial and pristine boats that they obviously saw as extensions of their houses were distinctly less friendly.

Arriving at Stone - a small town in Staffordshire - on Sunday to take possession of the boat was distinctly nerve-wracking - in fact it all felt completely unreal; I had been contemplating this step for so long that when it finally came to it I had the sensation that I was going to wake up any moment and find it was all a dream. In the end it all passed off quite smoothly, though Mr. Simms, who we were buying the boat from, seemed in a bit of a hurry and I didn’t quite digest all the things he said about the various technical points I needed to know. Fortunately there was a man living on the next boat who worked in the local boat-yard and who turned out to be a great help. Stone was quite a likeable little place, with a bit of a northern post-industrial feeling about it. The mooring on the canal was definitely of that ilk.

(photo)

I wandered around buying various things I needed in a happy daze, and spent my first night on the boat quite happy from the combined effects of half a bottle of wine and some excellent fish and chips. It was all rather strange at first, but quickly felt quite homely. I had a day or so to wait until Gordon, my first crew, turned up, and had plenty to do cleaning the boat, which was frankly a bit of a tip. Also some cleaning and polishing on the outside brought out quite an unexpected lustre in the ‘British racing green’ paintwork! One thing I noticed was that after only a day on board I started finding the ground moving about under my feet and felt a bit odd; this effect lasted for the whole of the journey down to Oxford and a bit after, before it wore off - something I didn’t really expect on inland waterways.

Gordon arrived rather late on Tuesday, so instead of the afternoon we set off at about 7pm - perhaps not such a bad time, as we had to begin by turning the boat around - quite a palaver when your not accustomed to it and you’re on a narrow canal lined with other boats. This we managed without serous disaster, the had a bit of advice while going through our first lock; not quite as terrible as it looks, though it’s fairly easy to get muddled. (photo)

Fortunately it was only at the second lock that we had an appreciative audience, sitting outside a pub - luckily we managed to avoid any public humiliation and so set off down the canal for the open country.

(photo)

It was rather exhilarating, if alarming, to find ourselves surging off down the canal at last; I thought Gordon had better start with the tiller, as he’s at least driven cars for years, whereas the most advanced vehicle I’ve ever driven is a supermarket trolley. The engine seemed to be functioning quite well, though we soon discovered the full extent of the small problems we’d been warned about in the survey - firstly, form the powerful smell of diesel that hung over proceedings, which was to do with some sort of faulty fuel injector things, and then, much later in the day, when clouds of steam started coming out of the engine compartment; it was rather dramatic, but fortunately Gordon managed to bring us to a halt fairly promptly and we were able to top up the leaking water cooling system, after the engine had cooled down a bit. (In the end we had to do this all the way down to Oxford, which was a bit of a chore, but at least got me used to dealing with the at first rather terrifying behemoth powering the boat.

We progressed southward without much other incident, apart from the odd near miss with other boats and bridges, and I was able to familiarise myself with steering the boat - again, one of those things that’s a bit terrifying but largely a matter of familiarisation. Gordon finally had to leave me at a place called Atherstone, but at least he was able to help me through 6 of the flight of 11 locks for which that place is celebrated. So I got through a couple on my own, then moored and left the rest for the morning.

I really liked Atherton - it was a remarkably old-fashioned-feeling little town - apparently scarcely changed since the early 19^th century; for example, I went into a cobbler’s to get a new watch-strap fixed, and it was really like something from Dickens, with a diminutive apprentice in an apron and a big fat sinister-looking ‘master’ emerging form stygian depths in the back of the shop. Anyway - there was an excellent fish and chips shop, and what with that and a bottle of wine I was all set to celebrate my first night alone on a voyage through England. And it also just happened to be the First Night of the Proms, which made it all the better. There was a tremendous performance of Elgar’s The Music Makers - despite the conductor being Leonard Slatkin - which I found truly inspiring. What a fabulous piece that is - I can’t understand why it isn’t better known - perhaps because you need to know the rest of Elgar’s music fully to appreciate it?

The next morning I managed to get through the remaining 5 locks without too much trouble, though it was a little nerve-wracking at first, doing them on my own - luckily I did have a bit of help from people going the other way. After doing 11 locks one after the other, I felt I had had a fairly good introduction to the process! I was then able to sail onwards towards far-flung Nuneaton, having arranged to meet my new crew somewhere on the tow-path on the way. Which, amazingly enough, duly happened, as I spied the two Nicks lounging under a tree, and sounded my horn in greeting. There was something curiously pleasing about hailing into view single-handedly at the helm of my boat - it must have looked fairly convincing, even if I didn’t really know what I was doing, when it came down to it. The two Nicks came onboard, and seemed to fit into their role very easily. Nick J. became quite involved in crewing the boat, and was soon able to take over the tiller for quite a bit of the time, which was quite a relief, really, as it was lot more tiring than I’d expected. Nick W. mainly supplied musical accompaniment on his guitar whilst lounging in the front deck well. And we were soon cruising along quite efficiently, apart from having to top up the water in the cooling system regularly, - but we were able to do that as we went along, after a while, which saved a lot of messing around. We stopped off at Nuneaton to get supplies. Again, it seemed curiously exotic, arriving by boat, as I noticed a lot of places on the journey did - travelling at that speed, and by an essentially 19^th century means, and above all away from roads and motor traffic, I found changed one’s perceptions of the country enormously, emphasising the regional accent and landscapes. Nuneaton was the first place since we’d started where there was a large ‘ethnic’ (Muslim) population - it was immediately noticeable how ghettoised they seemed - largely dressed in ‘Islamic’ dress, and living in one particular area - all the social and cultural separation of London, if on a much smaller scale. You’d have thought in such a small place there would have been more chance of integration - but, far from it.

Landscapes

Rugby

Braunston/Christians

G. Union/turning onto Oxford Canal

Second crew leave

Operating singlehanded

Stuck in lock

Lads help

Children raise bridge

Cherwell experience

Moor at Shipton

Lats stretch/ difficulties with bridges etc.

Return to familiar landscape

Last lock (Isis)

Czechs

Turn into Thames

Mooring - the mooring, by Bossoms’ Boatyard at Port Meadow, is quite an amazing location. I have always been fond of Port Meadow, and despite the way it is now blighted by the awful noise from the ring road, I still am. It is nice to have all that green space outside the windows, and horses and cows roaming freely over the huge expanse - in fact this sort of view is not at all uncommon first thing in the morning:

And while I was trying to mend my bike I acquired a new friend:

He seemed to think that bikes were edible - but he was very young.

Sunday 14th September 2003

Well - autumn seems finally to be here; though today it was actually still quite hot. The last few days the sun has shone and there has been that genuine 'golden haze' effect. I must say the countryside round here looks quite wonderful. The other week I was walking through a wood just outside the village when I saw what I am certain was a wild boar - a couple of deer started up out of the undergrowth, followed by a small fat creature, which I saw again for a second time briefly, and was definitely a small hairy pig! I knew that, having been extinct for centuries, some boars had escaped a while ago and were breeding in the wild, but it's supposed to be very rare and difficult to see one.I was quite gratified. It shows that once you get away from the villages and the roads in this area a lot of it is pretty unspoilt - specially with there being so many woods and even a fair-sized forest near, it is ideal territory for wildlife. Now I'm definitely planning to leave the area, and even the country, for while in the new year, I admit to feeling a bit nostalgic about it all - even though I am continually irritated by the suburbanisation of the region and the constant intrusion of traffic and plane noise. That's the tragedy of much of southern England - it's still beautiful countryside, but subtly blighted. (Not so subtly in the vicinity of motorways! I got away from the madness when I went along the Ridgeway, but you can't live up there all the time (well - I can't, anyway, more's the pity).

I have finished my English Medley, concluding with a rousing rendition of 'Jerusalem', and posted it on sibeliusmusic (see above); doing that finally gave me the solution for concluding a piece for brass band I wrote most of last year; it is called 'England - an Elegy', after a ratther touching but gloomy book by Roger Scruton ('liberal - left' readers please spit quietly!). I have nearly finished it and am quite pleased; it really deserves a performance, I feel - I wonder if it will ever have one? Sadly, this year I completely ignored the Last Night of the Proms, of which 'Jerusalem' is my favourite bit; I just can't stand watching/listening while it's under the control of that awful Leonard Slatkin (a mediocre conductor, in my opinion), and the dreaded Kenyon. I have watched it almost every year since the days of the Sir Malcom Sargent - so I hope to, again, if it is left intact by the dreary duo.

I have also started on the Christmas routine, with a carol medley for brass quintet. I will probably do other versions if it seems to go down well on SibMus. Maybe I will do a new carol if I feel inspired. Not that any of the others seem to have found much favour - apart from 'Rise up Shepherds' which has had one or two performances of some sort, somewhere or other, though I was not informed how they went. I would dearly like 'The Christ-Child's Lullaby' or the 'Cradle Hymn' to get good performances, not to mention some of the other more recondite ones. They are all on my sibeliusmusic page, also.

There have been terrible controversies again on that site, apparently; basically a re-run of the sort of thing that happened a couple of years ago, with serious, older composers with a lot of experience and talent trying to assert some concept of decent standards, and being insulted by ignorant youngsters in the name of mass democracy. It's tragic - it could be such a valuable resource, but the site is hopelessly undermined by its lowest-common-denominator inclusiveness (I'm starting to hate that experession!), which inevitably means abysmally low standards all round. I am working with young Messr.'s Christmas and Shirley on re-designing The Composer Collection site and Forums, so hopefully when that happens we can have another go at having a decent site for composers?

Sunday 24th August 2003

Summer is reaching something of a climax, with a finally burst of warm weather to add to the quite horrendous temperatures we have had on the past few weeks. But there is a hint of Autumn in the air, so it won't be long now till the mists and mellow fruitfulness, etc. I have been 'on holiday'; which meant, now that I am effec tively banished from the Edinburgh Festival with the demise of my role as Independent reviewer, that I spent a few days in Shropshire and some more in London. I quite enjoyed the trip to London; although parts of that long-suffering city resemble - or in fact, are, - areas of the third world, some things haven't changed, and one or two have even changed for the better - for example, the congestion charge scheme has transformed the traffic situation in the centre, and it is a pleasure to take a (very cheap) bus nowadays. I revisited the Maritime Museum at Greenwich, and gazed once more at Nelson's bloodstained uniform from Trafalgar, as of yore. This week, after returning to Oxfordshire I went on a totally exhausting but enjoyable cycle to, along, and back from the Ridgeway. What an amazing place that is - in the heart of congested southern England, but remote and timeless, with some of the most impressive prehistoric sites in Britain along it, culminating in the great ditches and rings of Avebury. The contrast of that high, peaceful world with the insane nightmare of the traffic-infested lowlands was terrifying. Perhaps I shouldn't have cycled all the way from Avebury back here in a day (nearly 40 miles) - it was utterly shattering, but I was gratified I could still do that sort of thing, not exactly being in training for long-distance cycling these days.

On the musical front I am sorry to say I didn't even manage to get to a Prom when I was in London; it was partly that there wasn't anything terribly interesting on that week, and also it was just far too HOT! I have recently posted my large, fierce 'early' orchestral piece A Flame of Wrath' on my page at sibeliusmusic (see above) - with the customary lack of response (I think its probably my best and most original orchestral effort). Since then I have been amusing myself by writing another 'light' piece - an English Medley, to follow up my American one. Its been nice revisiting the old tunes, familar from the National Song Book of fond memory.

My plans for escaping from everything for some time are progressing; who knows - this journal, or a version of it - may be emanating from quite another, exotic, part of the planet, in the not-too-far-distant future. I won't miss the UK music scene much - not the composition side of it, anyway.

Monday 21st July 2003

Today was a very nice day - at least until later on; it wasn't boiling hot, but there was lots of sun and a cool wind - interspersed with the most fascinating cloudscapes; as I was walking across Blenheim Park the vista was amazing - big cumulus clouds (I think) in serried ranks off into the far distance, like a fleet of galleons in full sail, against a gloriously blue sky. And somehow for once the usual non-stop plane noise had miraculously subsided. The result was a perfect English summer's day. I often think when walking that way that, provided the planes shut up for a few minutes and you are not too near the A44, you are effectively walking through 18th century England - grass, trees and sheep, with a distant view of the palace to remind you of Marlborough's latest victories. This can still be such a beautiful country - if only we could stop trying to destroy it in the name of 'progress'. I feel I may appreciate it all better from a distance - my plans for a drastic change are proceeding; I am hoping to go and teach abroad as a volunteer in the new year - I am in contact with a Buddhist temple in Sri Lanka about helping them with an English and computer literacy project they are running. If it comes off I hope this will be the beginning of a new, better and more useful existence. If I can't be of use in my own country as a composer, perhaps I can be of use in a different way somewhere else?

The Proms have started again. I quite enjoyed what I saw of the First Night - the Chinese pianist Lang Lang played the Tchaikovsky No. 1. It was certainly impressive - he has a phenomenal technique, but I thought it was a bit flashy and melodramatic. I did enjoy hearing the piece again - its a much better and more original work than its incredibly hackneyed reputation might indicate. The only time I got the cane in my primary school was for humming along to the big tune in class when it was played to us; actually I was only doing it out of enthusiasm, but it was mistaken for 'messing around in class' - a terrible crime in those days. Now I come to think of it, the only time I got the cane in secondary school was also for 'messing around in class'.( And probably very good for me it was, too. A salutary reminder of the injustice of life and the consequences of lack of respect that some modern youth could well do with - but certainly won't get.) Yesterday they did Tippett's 'King Priam' - a work that I have to say still strikes me as excessively harsh and strident, but is still very vivid and original - it took me back a bit to hear it; Tippett was such a big influence on me at one time. I can't say that this year's Prom season is specially striking or original - lots of Prokofiev (again), but the 'heme' is quite interesting, if hardly original - Greek Myth. And there are a few good concerts. As I won't be getting any reviewing this year, it seems, if I go to any will be back in my proper place, as one 'the punters' in the Arena, where I started at the age of about 12 - happy days!

Sunday 12th July 2003

It has been extremely hot of late - for once midsummer has really been like midsummer. This is nice in one way, but is making things difficult in my allotment, as my poor vegetables need watering fairly frequently. However - they are doing quite well: I've had potatoes, courgettes, calabrese and lettuce, so far, and the french beans are well on the way; as for gooseberries and blackcurrants - I've virtually been bathing in them. I had so many blackcurrants I ended up making jam - something I haven't done for years.

None of this has anything to do with music. Musically the only thing of siginificance has been that I posted the Oxford Cantata on sibeliusmusic.com, where it has been greeted with the usual resounding silence. And I have been enjoying listening to the orchestral versions of two Vaughan Williams song-cycles - On Wenlock Edge, and Songs of Travel, plus songs by Elgar and Butterworth. I'd love to write an orchestral song-cycle sometime, though I suppose there's not much point. But I might just do it anyway.

And the Proms will be starting again soon; another year gone. For the first time for years I won't be going up to Edinburgh for the Festival - last year's disaster with the Independent has assured that. It's going to feel a bit strange - I shall have to spend part of my holiday in London. Still - if I do go to any Proms at least I'll be able to enjoy them for their own sake, without having to worry about having an opinion about them, which is a relief, in a way. Pity about the money, though.

Sunday 6th July 2003

I know it sounds ridiculous, but the reason there hasn't been much in this journal lately is that I just can't think of anything to talk about - there has just been nothing happening, musically, or otherwise, of any intererest whatsoever. Which is a bit pathetic, really - but there you are. I suppose the one thing is that I have completed the Oxford Cantata, which will appear shortly on my sibeliusmusic page. I need to print it out and send it to people, I suppose, but these scores have so many damned pages! And my printer isn't exactly state-of-the art - it'll take ages to do. I think I'm quite pleased with it, but it is always difficult to judge when you are still so close to a piece. Its the kind of music that would be received with complete contempt by the 'academic modernist' establishment, but which, if it got a performance, I think would appeal to quite a few 'ordinary' music-lovers; in any case, its definitely 'what I meant'. At the moment I have absolutely no idea or impulse for a new piece, so I presume it will be back to transferring old pieces onto sibelius. Thank goodness I have wrtitten so much in the past - with luck it should keep me going for years, yet.

Apart from this I have been struggling in general with an even more advanced than usual sense of being in a rut. The Oxford piece is quite appropriate, in a way, as I have been feelingly increasingly that my move to Oxford hasn't worked out as I'd hoped, and that I may have to leave the place soon, at least temporarily; a sort of 'strategic withdrawal', perhaps. Its pity, as there are still many things about the city I like, but it doesn't matter where you are, if you don't feel you are achieving anything. However - I have some quite radical and drastic plans which I haven't matured fully, as yet, for changing this situation. We shall see.

Sunday 22nd June 2003

Midsummer's Day has come and gone, amazingly enough; for once the weather really was like midsummer - Oxford looked especially splendid, and there were many carousing undergraduates with balloons, etc, falling about the streets, as it was the last day of term and of the year. I went to Magdalen's end-of-year evensong, where they sang Britten's Rejoice in the Lamb - a tradition, plus Stanford in G, etc. It was really very good, and they all put everything into it. Its always a rather touching occasion, as its the end of the academic year, when some of the choir are leaving for ever. I had to cycle all the way back (10 miles), as the only train I can take after a service on Saturdays isn't till 9 pm (the service finishes about 7!), but it was worth it. Unfortunately I also had to cycle in to Oxford today, to work, which was a bit tiring; it wouldn't have been so bad if I hadn't been threatened with being thrown into the canal by a thug on the towpath, because I had almost crashed into him and his 3 friends coming round a corner under a bridge. I wasn't going very fast, it was a complete accident, and I succeeded in not hitting anyone (difficult on a narrow towpath), but apparently that made no difference to this extremely unpleasant person. It was the sort of thing I would have expected in London, not in Oxford - but there you are, everywhere seems to be getting the same nowadays. The experience didn't exactly make my day.

I have been working on the last movement of the Oxford cantata, and am quite close to finishing it, though there are a lot of details to be sorted out, plus the piano reduction to be added. I think I am quite pleased with it, but its so difficult to judge when you are still this close. There are certainly several moments that work quite well and I think capture the effect I was looking for.

In between bouts of Dyson and Finzi I have been indulging in listening to a bit of Richard Tauber - even though so much of the repertoire he did was a bit tacky ('Jealousy', for example), his artistry is so great that it somehow doesn't seem to matter. I have started getting interested in some of Busoni's Bach arrangements, too.

Monday 16th June 2003

Summer has finally come and it is really quite hot. Some of this journal disappeared recently in a major computer crash, but mainly I just haven't felt like keeping it up, for one reason or another. For some reason I have decided to have another go; also I've done a bit of redesigning, so there are some other sections to the site again, plus a new guestbook where you can leave comments if you like. Preferably reasonably civil ones. After all, even if I do talk a lot of nonsense on here and no-one much reads it, it can't do any actualharm, I suppose, to have a 'presence' online. I have decided to start the whole thing anew, so here goes.

Recently I have felt the impulse to write a new fairly substantial piece; its called An Oxford Cantata, and sets five texts relating to that city, in a 'deeply unfashionable' musical style, as usual. I have used two Hopkins poems - Duns Scotus's Oxford, and Binsey Poplars, plus some of Matthew Arnold's Oxford verses from The Scholar Gypsy and Thyrsis, an early poem by Oscar Wilde called Magdalen Walks, and a rather nice discovery - a poem by Edith Nesbit called New College Gardens. Its for baritone solo, choir and small orchestra. I have a faint hope one of the local choral society might like to do it.

Apart from this I have been doing the usual thing of converting scores into sibelius software form and posting them on my page at sibeliusmusic.com (see link above), where they can then languish in obscurity, but theoretically available to the world. One interesting thing was hearing a new recording ofQuo Vadis, by George Dyson on Radio 3 yesterday - rather a nice piece; its good that he is starting to be appreciated again. It shows that people are prepared to take 'deeply unfashionable' music seriously again - so maybe there's hope for us all, yet! Probably not, though.

The countryside is glorious round here at the moment. In the last few weeks nature has exploded - the amount of wild flowers is incredible - I've never seen so many; there are a few which I am still trying to identify, but I have recently found bryony, bladder campion, wood anemones, celandine, various speedwells, etc, and it is lovely to see masses of ox-eye daisies, poppies, cornflowers and, just today, scabious. At least it shows the amount of chemicals sprayed over the countryside must be relatively little in this area. The woods and fields are at the best - in fact it would be truly idyllic if it wasn't for the almost constant plane noise from the local airfield - or Oxford Airport, as it is known; its not so much the regular flights, but the people doing flying lessons droning backwards and forwards that makes it intrusive. And though the country looks ideally rural, there is actually rampant suburbanisation going on, with grossly inflated house prices and little genuine rural life at all. Its all BMW's and Range Rovers round here. Still - on quieter days when you can get away from traffic and suburbanites you can still capture something of the timeless atmosphere of old rural Oxfordshire, if you know where to go.