Classical Jaz

This time, Portobello, Edinburgh’s seaside:

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Thank you – Blackford Hill was duly ascended:

Journal

I’m hoping to climb Blackford Hill at lunchtime to-day; the weather forecast this morning wasn’t encouraging, and I haven’t brought a waterproof, so we’ll see …

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How long does it take? It seems to have been years, and we have yet to arrive. Meanwhile, we can’t move forward, because we could be doing different jobs real soon now …

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Back when Woolworths was closing down, we made a number of shopping trips to grab bargains. I made some purchases which I probably otherwise wouldn’t have done, including the DVD of “United 93″. It probably isn’t a strong endorsement of a product for it to feature on the shelves of a dying retailer (I noticed plenty of copies of Lee Mead’s CD). I continue to be passionate about anything aviation related – sadly, for aircraft to play a significant part in a movie, it has to be depicting either war or a disaster …

I think that “United 93″ told its story well, from a particular perspective. The confusion on the ground was effectively communicated, and then as the focus shifted to events on board United 93, I felt that what we were given was as reasonable a reconstruction as we could have hoped for. I was reminding my son (who was one at the time) that on that day we were staying at the Malcolm Sargent House in Prestwick. We drove through to Ayr, to spend some time in a park. Radio 2 was playing in the car. We could sense that something had happened. Normal programming had been suspended. There was a report of an aircraft crashing into one of the World Trade Towers, and then that every flight in the USA had been grounded. It was only when we got back to the house, and saw on the television in the sitting room the horrific footage, that we began to appreciate the enormity of the catastrophe.

It was the towards the end of the Proms season, and I tried that evening to listen to a broadcast of Verdi’s Requiem, hoping for some meeting of music and emotion. In truth, I was disappointed, but I was probably too distracted by having to supervise my children playing. I do remember, probably later, Leonard Slatkin, then chief conductor of the BBC SO, introducing a special performance of Samuel Barber’s “Adagio for Strings”, explaining how for Americans it was played at times of great sadness.

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Yes, Ian, I did manage to find a way out, and thanks for the prayers …

Yesterday, I took daughter to the orthodontist, who tells her that she should have 4 teeth extracted, and a brace fitted. Daughter is understandably anxious. Just to complicate matters, however, she is due to have an MRI in September, and MRI scanners and braces don’t get on too well together. So we’re waiting until the autumn before the work on her teeth starts. Then, the braces have to be in for more than a year – not too sure that the doctors will be happy about not scanning her for over a year.

The September scan is important. The doctors have found something which could be cause for concern …

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I guess that the budget of the Psychology Dept in our local hospital doesn’t stretch to a receptionist. There were signs saying to take a seat in the waiting room, but I would have appreciated talking to a real person, even if only to confirm that I was in the right place. And trying to park my car in the full car park, I read a sign telling me that if I had difficulty parking I was to leave the car somewhere safe, with hazard lights flashing, and inform a nurse (where?) of the situation. Fortunately, I’d been to this hospital before, accompanying my children, and so knew that there was another car park round the back.

I don’t want to say too much at this stage about the actual consultation. It may have been intended as a screening exercise, or to gather information, or just to enable the service to assert that they’d seen me.

But the real refreshment came as I was leaving, and trying to find a shortcut back to my car. A voice cried, “Are you lost?” to which I replied in the affirmative. I was told that I probably wouldn’t get back to the car park by the route I was taking, because the gate was probably locked, but I could try jumping over the wall. I thought that he was joking, but he pointed to a place where I might have a sporting chance. I elected to find another route …

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I have recently learnt that when an elderly person bequeaths his or her house to his or her offspring less than seven years before being taken into care, to avoid his or her assets being plundered to pay for that care, it is termed “deliberate deprivation”. Which has started me wondering if the council has a phrase for the actual plundering …

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Last night, son and I found ourselves watching “Snog Marry Avoid?“. It was on BBC Three after Dr Who, which three of the five members of our household enjoy. “Snog Marry Avoid?” turns out to be a make under show, persuading young women that instead of wearing too much makeup and too little clothing they should go for a more natural look. I thought, from the perspective of a middle aged male, that the programme has its heart on the right place.

There was one young man experiencing a make under. POD (the Personal Overhaul Device) tried to cover up his body modifications with a kind of suit and hat. POD suggested that he looked like a banker – the lad replied yes, except that POD had got one letter wrong …

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Thanks, Deeleea, for the link – it looks interesting …

Somewhat encouraged, these days, as I read “Giving Hope and a Future”, the story (so far) of Bethany Christian Trust. And reflecting that the same part of the world (Edinburgh, Leith) is described in “Trainspotting“. I lived in Leith, once (well, more than once). And, at some point, I possessed a first edition of “Trainspotting” (I think), but recycled it, because I was uncomfortable having it in the house …

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