Singing Big

So this was my Sunday. After months of rehearsals, our little chamber choir got to sing big, with two other choruses and a full orchestra, at the Royal Albert Hall. Being directed by a famous composer to a sold-out venue on this scale feels kind of a big deal looking at these pictures. At the time, I was focused on where to stand, watching for the alto entries, and soaking up the sound of so many skilled musicians. But my goodness, that hall looks big doesn’t it? I’ve sung here once before as part of 1300 voices. This time we were a smaller bunch, invited by the composer, and it felt even more of a privilege to be part of. It’s amazing the places music takes you. (Photos thanks to Edward Radcliffe)

To Return

There is something sweet about returning home from holiday, to familiar clutter, a favourite mug, and even the last petals on an old bouquet. We had the most wonderful Cornwall adventure; the fact that I’m happy to be home makes me feel I’m in the right place. Now, I suspect returning to work tomorrow won’t be quite such a sweet feeling..

Filling Google Reader’s Boots

My brother came round for tea the other day and shared the ‘shocking’ news that Google Reader is shutting up shop! Shocking for him at least, who has a lifetime of RSS feeds on there. I looked on blankly and topped up his tea. RSS feeds are something I think I should understand better (I have a link over there on the right after all!) But the simplicity of Bloglovin has allowed me to be wilfully remiss and it’s an easy way to keep up with all you lovely bloggy fellows. For once, my digital ignorance has worked in my favour! Thank you google.

The hi-vis army: reclaiming our commute

Queuing for the ferry every day you’ll see a lot of yellow. A neon jacket, a flash of fluorescent and even the odd bright orange sock. And the numbers in these garish colours only grow as you drive through the city on the other side. Impossible to ignore, sliding seamlessly through traffic, pedalling purposefully towards their carbon-free day. Smug gits. When you join these neon ranks it’s hard not to feel just a little pleased with yourself. Just a ten-minute spin and your heart’s racing, you feel full of fresh air, and you beat the bus! That alone makes it worthwhile.

Cycling in the city is speedy and ever-changing. There’s no guarantee a car won’t pull directly in front of you, even if they appear to have seen you; or they might overtake and then stop directly in front of you to make a right hand turn. Some drivers anticipate a bike and will stop for you to pass, or to make the final push up a narrow hill. After all, it’s always easier to stop and start in a car.

You can’t predict what a car may do, but you can make sure that all the cars around you know what you’re doing. Take up proper space in the road, don’t hobble in the gutter. Point to your turnings, take the proper lane on a roundabout, and smile! Car drivers don’t want to run you over, especially if you’re sticking to the universal rule of the road: don’t be a dick.

Too often I’m stuck driving city streets instead, and I know that ugly neon is the easiest way to spot a cyclist. I’m staggered by the number of people on bikes, in neon, with helmets. It might not be the most stylish look, but it is the smartest. With the promise of fresh air and fast riding, I relish the odd chance to commute by bike rather than car. And when I do, I might even wear a bit of yellow.

Book of Books

A grey day is a good one for finishing a book by the fire. And being a notebook fan, it’s probably no surprise to you that I have a book of books. I used to jot recent reads down in the back of my journals, but then they sort of all ended up in one place (what can i say, I like a good list). I made this notebook myself, having the good fortune to live with a bookbinder at the time (hi Kate!)

It’s funny how books attach themselves to the moment they’re read. To me, books are as much about the places they take you, as the places you take them. The story in the cover adds to your own: arriving in Trieste by train with A Heartbreaking Work of Staggering Genius, soaking in the bathtub of a lofty Cumbrian cottage with Freedom, or carrying a weathered Don Quixote over the Austrian mountains. Ian McEwan joined me in Desolation Wilderness, and I crossed the ocean with Jose Saramago. I lost JB Priestley on a plane, and left JK Rowling on a park bench. I’ve left some books behind, but held on to some pictures. There is something pleasingly neat about storing your memories between the pages of books. And if I didn’t keep a list, I’d probably forget both the book, and those moments surrounding each story.