“We do on stage things that are supposed to happen off. Which is a kind of integrity, if you look on every exit as being an entrance somewhere else.”

Tom Stoppard, ‘Rosencrantz and Guildenstern Are Dead’

This weekend just passed The Girl and I finally got to see a play again at The Belfry here in Victoria (for the previous failed attempts – see here).

Actually – that should more accurately be: ‘Half a play’!…

Oh dear!

In all of my (and latterly, our) many years of theatre going I can count the number of performances out of which I have walked on the fingers of one hand… and still have had spares! It is not something that I like to do and nor is it something that I feel comfortable about doing. As a thespist myself I think it is jolly bad form to give up on any creative performance at the interval (it is no co-incidence that a fair amount of theatre for and by young people has no interval – thus reducing the opportunity for audience members so to do).

I have very occasionally ducked out of a school production – usually because the whole thing has been a huge error of judgement on somebody’s part and well beyond the capabilities of those involved. I have equally occasionally removed myself from adult (and professional) productions when the piece itself has turned out to be deeply disappointing – though this has happened but extremely rarely.

In this case we found ourselves at a loss to know what to make of the play – which is an even more rare occurrence. I would feel guilty that we had not prepared ourselves adequately in advance to know what we might expect, except that our frantic visits to the InterWebNet at the interval did not really turn up any rationale for boycotting the piece.

I am not going to name the play – or the author (though he is Canadian). It is not a new play; having been around for several decades. Previous reviews from elsewhere in the world seemed reasonable. The work is billed as a Black Comedy, though it seemed to us to lack a basic requirement of a comedy – namely the delivery of laughter. The first act seemed to me to essentially consist of the same ‘humourous’ twist repeated over and over.

We found it impossible to empathise with, or to believe in, either of the characters presented to us, or indeed with their situation. Even once we realised that the second act must contain some sort of plot/character twist that would somehow justify the inertia of the first act – we did not feel that the piece (or the characters involved in it) had done anywhere near enough to have earned our continued engagement.

We thus absented ourselves for the second half, went across the road for a coffee and struck up a fascinating conversation with someone whom we had not previously met…

Much more entertaining!

Doddie Weir
1970 – 2022
RIP

Very sad to report that the much loved Scottish and British and Irish Lions lock forward, Doddie Weir, passed away at the end of last week at the age of 52. Doddie was a fixture in the Scottish squad at around the time that Rugby turned professional in the 1990s and was a fan-favourite with the Murrayfield crowd. He turned out sixty one times for his country, played for the Barbarians six times and went on the 1997 British and Irish Lions tour to South Africa.

Weir is known just as much, however, for the time after his retirement from the game. It was announced in 2017 that he had been diagnosed with Motor Neurone Disease (MND), with the prediction that he would be unable to walk within a year. Instead of sitting back to await the inevitable Weir threw himself into campaigning and fundraising to help find a cure for MND, setting up the “My Name’5 Doddie” foundation which had, by June 2022, raised in excess of £8 million.

The “My Name’5 Doddie” foundation website obituary includes the following:

“Since making his condition known, Doddie has championed the campaign for more to be done for sufferers of the disease, both in terms of finding a possible cure, and with the treatment and welfare of patients and their carers.

Doddie’s work over the past five years saw him recognised with several honours and accolades, including an OBE, presented by Queen Elizabeth II for his services to rugby, MND research and the Borders community. He also collected Honorary Doctorates from both Glasgow Caledonian and Abertay Universities, as well as becoming a recipient of the prestigious Edinburgh Award. Within sport, a trophy named after him is now contested between Scotland and Wales, and he became recipient of the Helen Rollason Award at the BBC Sports Personality of the Year ceremony in 2019.

He also became a best-selling and nominated author, oversaw the design of his own distinctive tartan, and was captured on canvas by artist Gerard Burns, the painting now hung in the National Portrait Gallery in Edinburgh.”

A giant of a man in every sense and a Rugby legend, Doddie Weir will be sadly missed.

…from a lost season (see previous post).

Whatever I personally feel about this time of year (and of the month of November in particular) there is no denying that there are some pretty images to be captured. Being a sharing kind of guy I always like to pass such things on to the gentle reader (or viewer!).

These are quite seasonal:

…and that mountain is still visible (though by no means so every day!)…

There is good, if somewhat nippy, walking to be done – in Centennial Park for instance:

“Two of us wearing raincoats
Standing solo in the sun
You and me chasing paper
Getting nowhere
On our way back home”

Lennon/MacCartney
The other day I was in Sidney, engaged upon the purchase of some comestibles. On returning to the Lexus – the which I had parked under a small tree at the far extent of the car park – I observed that a murder was in progress. A murder of crows, that is…

No sooner than I had mounted the vehicle and fired up the big V8 than one of their number flapped lazily down and took up residence on the bonnet (hood!). He looked me in the eye as a sort of challenge and let it be known that he felt disinclined to move even when I revved the engine a little. Had I not started to reverse gently out of the parking bay I think he might well just have stayed there.

Cheeky bu**er!

It is a pretty extraordinary thing – particularly here on the west coast of Canada – but we do seem to have skipped a season this year.

Completely…!

I know…! With climate change so much of the world’s weather seems to have lost track of what were once familiar patterns. It has become the norm to read of unprecedented weather cycles or events. The ‘new normal’ is clearly that there is now nothing normal about anything.

What a strange and unsettling time to be alive.

Regular readers of this journal will already have picked up references throughout this particular year of weather patterns not occurring as expected. The spring here on Vancouver Island was wet and cold and dank – and seemed to be stuck in that state for ever, instead of flowering into spring and early summer as is usual.

It wasn’t until we packed our bags and  set off to Europe in July that the weather here in BC really picked up. One result of this was that exposure to the heatwaves that afflicted Europe throughout the middle of the year came as a considerable shock to the system for travelers like us.

When we returned to Canada summer seemed finally to have arrived. At the southern tip of Vancouver Island the season is usually warm and dry – with little or no rainfall for the three summer months. It was good, finally, to be able to get out into the garden to do some barbecuing and entertaining.

Come the dog days, however, when the temperatures usually fall away and the summer drought is broken by the first welcome showers of  the advancing fall, the temperatures remained stubbornly in the mid twenties Celsius and there was no rain in sight. Serious concerns about the lack of rainfall were voiced and gardens and agricultural lands alike began to shows signs of stress. An Indian Summer can be a wonderful surprise at the end of a disappointing season, but when one follows an already extensive dry period farmers and gardeners start to worry.

Naturally, when the weather finally broke in late-October it did so in true ‘wet’ coast style – with yet another Atmospheric River providing us with many days rainfall in a few hours, accompanied closely by the autumn’s first wind storm.

Then, as we crossed into November, the temperatures dropped abruptly – as did the first snowfall of winter. I know that some gentle readers will still – even after all this time – cling to the notion that the whole of Canada is a snowy wasteland for much of the year. There are indeed some good reasons for so doing. Here on the west coast, however, that is not the norm; winters in Victoria are not unlike those in the south east of the UK for most years.

So – we seem to have skipped autumn (fall) this year and gone directly from late-summer to winter. I’m not sure what Mother Nature will make of all this, but I have a feeling she will adapt to it with rather more sang-froid than do we.

Brrrrr!

…surely some mistake! How could such a thing be possible?

It has been sometime since I last mentioned the noble game of Rugby Union within these scribblings. ‘Too long!‘ – I hear you cry – and you are absolutely correct; a great deal has been going on in the sport and I am remiss not to have made mention of at least some of it.

The Girl and I have been greatly enjoying the Women’s Rugby World Cup – the which is about to arrive at its climax down in the Land of the Long White Cloud. The standard has been exhilaratingly high and the matches have for the most part been gratifyingly exciting. It also helps that the time difference means that live coverage (thanks TSN!) has been primarily in the evenings here in the Pacific Northwest. Jolly good show.

We found ourselves in something of a quandary with regard to our support last weekend when England went up against Canada in the first of the semi-finals. The winner would face either France or the hosts – the Black Ferns – in next weekend’s final and all four sides were in with a very good shout. Canada put up a terrific performance against the Old Country and pushed them to the last – losing only narrowly… though – it has to be said – not as narrowly as New Zealand, who won at the last gasp by a single point.

The mouth-watering final thus pits the Red Roses (currently ranked no: 1 in the world and on an unprecedented winning run of 30 victories) against the Black Ferns (current World Champions).

We can’t wait!

Where the rugby surfeit comes in is that the Men’s Autumn Internationals are now also under way. Since they are not being shown on the BBC this year (boo!) we have had to subscribe to DAZN to see any coverage. Having paid up we are determined to get value for money – and the schedule last weekend made that possible.

Having watched the Women’s World Cup semi finals on Friday evening – through to 1:30am PST – I was back in action for the second half of the Scotland/Fiji game (Scotland took a somewhat unconvincing win) which started at 6:15am on the Saturday. This was followed by Wales/All Blacks at 8:15 (back to school for Wales) – Ireland/South Africa (yet another famous win for the Irish) at 10:30 and France/Australia (the French – but again by a single point) at 1:00pm.

That’s a lot of rugby in 24 hours!

I didn’t have the energy to watch the England/Argentina game on Sunday (again at 6:15am!) and it sounds as though the England side felt much the same way.

I should also mention the English Premiership. Sad to see both Worcester and Wasps forced into administration and relegated this season. I feel sure that both will be back where they belong, though there are clearly financial questions to be answered across the whole of the Premiership. Rugby Union only relatively recently joined the ranks of professional sports and there is still much to be done to make things work reliably.

On the other hand, Bath Rugby (our team!) having been terrible last season (finishing bottom!) have now won a couple of games on the trot. I do so hope that this is the start of a major turnaround.

“Certification from one source or another seems to be the most important thing to people all over the world. A piece of paper from a school that says you’re smart, a pat on the head from your parents that says you’re good or some reinforcement from your peers that makes you think what you’re doing is worthwhile. People are just waiting around to get certified.” 

Frank Zappa

Well – Frank may be right in general, but in my case at least I am no longer ‘waiting around’.

A couple of posts ago I detailed my online Citizenship Ceremony, the which I ‘attended’ on Zoom about a week and a half back. It was a delight to finally have achieved Canadian citizenship and to be welcomed into the community.

As I explained in that post: as part of the ceremony I was obliged to cut up the Permanent Resident card which until then had enabled me to return to the country should I have to leave it for any reason. I now need to apply for a Canadian passport, so that I can once again come and go without let nor hindrance.

Before that could be done, however, there was one more occurrence for which to wait – the arrival of the all important Citizenship Certificate. Prior to the pandemic – when the Citizenship ceremonies had been conducted face to face – the certificates were presented as soon as the oath had been taken. Now that the ceremony is carried out online the certificate is send via Canada Post subsequent to the event – and one is warned that it may take two to four weeks to arrive.

Considering how long the whole process had taken to that point you can imagine my surprise when last Wednesday – just six days after the ceremony – my certificate and other documentation popped into our post box.

This has been by far the quickest part of the whole process which – considering that Canada Post are involved – is nothing short of a miracle!

…no – not actually!

So – a couple (or more) of posts back I mentioned that we had finally plucked up the courage to return to the theatre here in Victoria for the first time since the start of the pandemic. On the very day of The Girl’s birthday we had tickets booked once again for a matinee at The Belfry.

I further mentioned in that post that we had had a phone call from the theatre – on the morning of the performance – informing us regretfully that as a result of an unspecified illness (not Covid – or so they said) that day’s performance would be cancelled.

After a little too-ing and fro-ing we managed to get our tickets rebooked for the following weekend and on the anointed day duly trundled our way into town to see the show.

We eschewed the refreshments in the foyer cafe – eager to keep our masks firmly on – and took our seats for the performance. A short while after the stated start time the Front of House manager appeared to make an announcement. There would be a short delay – she declared – because of a technical issue. We were welcome to retreat back to the foyer for ten to fifteen minutes whilst things were sorted out.

Ten to fifteen minutes later we were back in our seats and hoping to see the house lights go down.

Instead we were again treated to the presence of the Front of House manager. This time she admitted that there was yet again an unspecified illness (again – not Covid related, supposedly) and the show would not be able to go ahead. Ticket refunds through the box office etc, etc…

Well! This was – frankly – bizarre. I have never before – in all my years of theatre-going – been bumped out of a theatre after the advertised curtain-up time. It would have been nice to have received a proper explanation.

Sadly, we really wanted to see that show but were unable to get tickets for any of the subsequent performances since they were all already sold out.

Hmmm!

Yesterday was a momentous day – and not just because the tory government that has afflicted the UK for longer than I have been keeping this journal appears finally to have plunged itself into a death spiral… though that is indeed a very splendid thing!

Should – incidentally – you want chapter and verse on just how momentously this epochal event will undoubtedly go down in the annals of history once the dust settles, I commend to you Jonathan Freedland’s excellent piece in the Guardian, the which can be found here. Freedland draws the connection all the way from the Suez crisis in 1956, through the joining of the Common Market, the decline of Britain through the 70s, 80s and 90s, to Brexit and on to the current attempts by the free-market zealots from the right wing who have taken over the nasty party… to buck the very markets that they espouse!

I did but a single unit in economics at college way back in the very early 70s – but even I could see that this was never going to work.

Anyway – exciting as this all undoubtedly is, for The Girl and I (yes – I know… ‘me’!) the day had a different import. Finally – at the end of a process that has taken nearly as long as the unraveling of the tory project in the UK – I have become a Citizen of Canada (as trailed in this previous posting)… the which I proudly add to my treasured British citizenship.

Hooray indeed!

The citizenship Oath Taking ceremony itself was carried out – as in the way in these frangible times – on Zoom. This naturally lent proceedings a slightly strange atmosphere though – as with most things Zoom related – it all seemed work out reasonably well without ever coming close to that which a proper face to face ceremony would have afforded. The slightly unreal symbolic cutting up of my Permanent Residency card (rendering me temporarily unable to return to Canada should I have to leave it for any reason) and the strange twist of having to swear allegiance to the monarch (something that as a Brit I have never been called upon to do – as is also the case for native Canadians) was followed by the somewhat forced singing by the massed Zoom ranks of ‘O Canada‘ in a mixture of English and French.

Somehow – in these strange and perplexing times – this ceremony felt not only appropriate but also unexpectedly touching. I am most happy now to add being a citizen of ‘here’ to my armoury.

The Girl is and has always been – of course – the entire reason and rationale for this long and unforeseeable journey. To her – as ever – my endless gratitude and thanks.

“London is a riddle, Paris is an explanation.”

G.K. Chesterton

High time to put to bed – once and for all – the trickle of images that I have been slowly posting of our trip across the pond back in July.

On our last full day in Paris we visited the Musée de Montmartre, the which is located – as you might expect – in Montmartre, a little to the north of the Basilica of the Sacré-Cœur. The museum was founded in 1960 and was classified as a “Museum of France” in 2003. The buildings in which it is housed were formerly the home of several famous artists, including Pierre-Auguste Renoir and Suzanne Valadon.

Here are some photographs of our day:

In the late 19th century, the lower section of Montmartre was home to many cabarets, such as le Chat Noir, le Lapin Agile and le Moulin Rouge. Many posters, stage designs and the reknown Shadow Theatre at le Chat Noir were created by the artists who lived in this Bohemian quarter of the city.

…random ramblings on a recent rag-bag of topics from the Pacific northwest…

First things first… ‘Tis once again the time of year to wish The Girl a very happy – if slightly belated (in real world, if not in blog-world terms) birthday! Yay! Happy B-day!

Life here on the west coast of Canada trundles along in its usual way. We are both busy and things are returning to some semblance of order now that the western world has decided that COVID is over and done with (even if it isn’t!). Secure in the knowledge that our multiple vaccine boosters and immunity from having had a dose of the lurgy make us a little more protected than we were before, we have on occasion stepped out to eat and to attend other public social events.

We even decided that it was safe enough to go back to the theatre – a least for a few months until the ‘immunity’ wears off. We had tickets for a play at The Belfry for The Girl’s birthday but the performance was cancelled at the last minute due to ‘illness’ (now, what could that be?). Our tickets have been rescheduled for this coming weekend, so let’s see how that goes.

Following the grim (as in cold and wet) spring and early summer, concerning which I posted at length earlier this year, the weather finally got its act together and we are enjoying a most pleasant Indian Summer. Temperatures remain in the 20s C and we have had no rain to speak of for several months. The garden could really do with some to be honest, but I guess it will come soon enough.

Apropos of very little, I feel that I should extend my commiserations to those who yet reside in the UK. Though I try not to comment on politics in these dark days it would not be – I believe – controversial to describe the UK political establishment since 2016 a a complete sh*tshow. However, even by such measures the new incumbents of 10 Downing Street might just prove be the worst and most dangerous yet.

Why do I care? Well – last week’s shenanigans wiped a considerable chunk off my monthly pension income as the chancellor carelessly crashed sterling and sent exchange rates plummeting (or soaring! – depends which end of the chain one is at). The subsequent recovery has been encouraging, but the knowledge that this ruling cabal’s dangerous ideology might well cause permanent damage is chilling to those of us who have no say in the matter.

In a strange Hitchcock-ian coda: yesterday I was out in the garden, underneath our deck (the which forms a sort of veranda across the whole width of the back of the house). It was impossible to miss the fact that – out in the stand of trees that border our property to the east – a huge and raucous convocation of birds had gathered. I could not actually see most of them, as the trees are tall and there is plenty of foliage. They were making sufficient noise, however, that it was impossible to ignore them. Quite startlingly so, in fact.

I took one step out from the cover of the deck and immediately the whole gathering took off. There must have been thousands of them (clearly of more than one species). Their parting darkened the skies for a moment or two and then they were gone – and a sudden and total silence descended.

Now – I wonder what this portends?

I have been completely remiss in leaving unfinished my posting of images from our wanderings abroad during the summer – for which I heartily apologise. I shall remedy immediately…

Whilst in Paris we took a day trip to Fontainebleau to visit the Château, a residence for French monarchs from Louis VII to Napoleon III. Neither I nor The Girl had previously visited Fontainebleau but – given that I have a long-standing interest with Bonaparte – we were both very pleased to be able to rectify that situation. The palace is spectacular!

Anyway – here be pictures:

…come to he who waits!

Well, well, well! That is certainly the case in this instance.

Just this morning – as I sipped an almond milk latte in the company of some of the other members of our regular Thursday torture fitness class – an email popped into my inbox (yes,  I check my emails all the time – particularly during term-time).

This particular email hailed from Immigration, Refugees and Citizenship Canada (IRCC) and it contained an invitation to attend – in about three weeks time – an Oath of Citizenship Ceremony. This is effectively the final step on the road to Canadian citizenship, the which can be reasonably rapidly followed by an application for a Canadian passport.

Hoorah for that!

Having documented the Permanent Residency (PR) application process through which I went back in 2014/2015 so thoroughly, my efforts during this application for Citizenship have been lacklustre to say the least. I see from the only post on the subject to this forum – the which dates back to early October last year – that I actually submitted my application in July 2021. That October post was prompted by the acknowledgement of my application that I received from IRCC some three months subsequent to its submission.

In January of this year I received a further correspondence to the effect that I would need to make and to attend an appointment with the Commissionaires here in Victoria – for the purpose of having my fingerprints taken and certified. This I duly did, before the previous communication blackout was resumed. Today’s communique was the only other contact that I have had. The IRCC does like to keep one in the dark.

Oh well! I can’t really complain at the fifteen month wait. There has been a pandemic on. Of course, I have no idea how long it will now take to get a passport – and as I have to cut up my hard-earned PR card as part of the Oath of Citizenship ceremony (truly!) I clearly won’t be planning any overseas travel for a while.

Anyway, some celebrating will be in order pretty shortly – and I will doubtless report thereon in a future missive.

By the way – to any Brits concerned that I am selling out and abandoning my heritage by taking a Canadian passport, do rest assured that – just like The Girl – I will enjoy dual-citizenship.

I will still be a Brit – whatever that may yet be worth!

Eddie Butler
1957 – 2022
RIP

Further sadness this week at the news of the passing of Welsh rugby player/captain/journalist/peerless commentator/iconic voice of Welsh rugby.

It feels slightly awkward to be mourning someone even so loved and well known as was Eddie Butler (in the world of Rugby Union at least) at this time when most eyes are focused more intently on Westminster Abbey and on the great state occasion that is the funeral of the UK monarch… one who graced the throne for longer than any previous king or queen.

There is here – clearly – a lesson on the dispassionate nature of death, which as we know well – “Waits for no man“…

I was not really aware of Eddie Butler as a player; back in the early 80s my interest in rugby was still at a very nascent stage. Later, however, his commentaries, his journalism, his narration of many a program eulogising the game and its various campaigns and tournaments (particularly in that wonderful Welsh accent that just seems right for such occasions) became a fixture in the sporting calendar as much as did the great game itself.

Yet another colourful part of the fabric of our lives has gone and will be sadly missed.

“Paris is always a good idea.”

Audrey Hepburn

Though it seems a long time ago now our trip to Europe back in July culminated in a few busy days in Paris, soaking up the culture and – as it turns out – catching COVID! These last few travel related posts will showcase some photos of the “City of Light” – starting with a miscellany of odd images…

Enjoy!

We celebrated our anniversary a few days early (it is on the last day of July) so that we had an excuse to sample another Michelin-starred Parisian restaurant; in this case the very wonderful Maison Rostang – billed on their website as “a mythical place”. Who are we to argue?!

Those who have been tuning in to these ‘broadcasts’ for any length of time will doubtless be familiar with certain themes that re-surface time and again with the regularity of the phases of the moon. One such is that of the writer’s (and his delightful spouse’s) state of engagement; to be specific, how busy we find ourselves at any given moment.

A quick glance through the archives shows that ‘state of busyness’ messages are posted pretty regularly and especially at two times of the year – just as August fades into September and the Fall – and then, slightly more desperately, as Christmas approaches.

This is in part, of course, due to our ongoing connections with the world of education. After the indolence of the summer months (should they indeed prove so to have been) the commencement of the new academic year and the return to a fresh term can be quite a shock. Trust me – it doesn’t get any easier the longer that one has been doing it.

So – the term has begun, I have a fresh faced group of students and I have been rushing around getting everything ready for the fray. Come Christmas-time I have no doubt that I will once again be running on fumes and anticipating complete collapse just as soon as the term has ended.

The Girl’s employ is not related to education but, for some reason, this seems to be a busy period for her as well. The end result is that we both feel somewhat weary. An element of this malaise arises from our having used up a considerable fund of energy (though delightfully so) on our our foreign travels during July and – of course – in fighting off the nasty bout of COVID that we picked in the process.

Once home again at the start of August we struggled to recharge the batteries in time for the launch of the new Anam Danu album – ‘Soul Making‘. Having been restricted by the pandemic lock-down at the time of our previous album release (‘Winter Blue and Evergreen‘) to merely raising a glass during a Zoom call we wanted to celebrate properly this time. It was decided that we should have a small reception, inviting close friends and supporters to help us with the festivities.

The Girl volunteered bravely and selflessly as prime organiser and she and the Chanteuse and I – with gratefully received assistance from old and dear friends – put together a rather splendid little shindig (if we say so ourselves). The highlight (should one discount the excellent finger food and beverages – which I certainly don’t) was a short performance of a few of the songs from the album. It was not entirely live – since we were obliged to use some backing tracks – but it was our first appearance in person in front of anyone and we were well aware of the significance thereof.

Come the end of the day, of course, we were even more exhausted tan before. Ah well – doubtless we will once again get into the swing of things.

Queen Elizabeth II
1926 – 2022
RIP

It is with great sadness that we mark the passing of Queen Elizabeth II – the longest serving monarch in British history. Our sincere and deepest condolences to the members of the Royal Family.

This is truly the end of an era. Her Majesty was crowned a matter of months before I was born and has been a constant presence serving the nation throughout my life – as she was for all those of us who hail from similar generations. In a world that has seen so many tempestuous changes hers was a stable and calming existence that brought some degree of certainty to the most uncertain of times. That the nation – and the world in general – is yet in such dire need of positive influences only makes this news all the more sad.

Requiescat In Pace.

We were lucky enough – on our recent visit to ‘abroad’ – to spend a couple of days in Bath, a city that long-time followers of these amusements will know has always been a particular favourite of ours. A quick search for ‘Bath’ in the archives of this journal will reveal plenty of photographs taken on previous such visits, but that need not (and indeed will not) stop me posting a bunch more from this most recent sojourn.

There are really three parts to the creative process. First there is inspiration, then there is the execution, and finally there is the release.

Eddie Van Halen

It takes, it would seem, somewhere around a year and a half to create and to release what I will persist in calling an album. That, at least, is our experience in Anam Danu.

The Chanteuse and I started working on our third album – ‘Soul Making‘ (to be released this Friday, August 26th) – shortly after finishing our last offering – ‘ Winter Blue and Evergreen‘.

As I have observed before in these jottings, it seems that I am able to write and record basic tracks at the rate of about one a month – and in the case of ‘Soul Making’ I wrote half as many songs again as appear on the finished product.

Once the basic tracks are complete The Chanteuse gets to work on the vocal tracks, which can take some time to record depending on the complexity of the arrangements. We then mix the tracks and carry out any final snagging before all is ready to be sent for mastering.

In this instance the release date of the finished product would undoubtedly have been earlier had The girl and I not gone on our trip to the UK and Europe in July. We decided to wait for the end of August for the release itself so that there would be enough time on our return to mount a campaign to try to draw attention to the release in advance of the event.

Anyway – the time is finally upon us. As of Friday ‘Soul Making‘ will be available on the usual streaming and download services (including Spotify, Amazon Music, Youtube, Apple Music, iTunes and Bandcamp). The best way to locate these links is to browse to the music section of the Anam Danu website.

We hope that you enjoy our music. If you do so, please recommend it to others.

We thank you!

On our first visit to the old country in three years (and not knowing when we might be back) there were certain things that we wanted to be sure to do and to see. One such was to visit an English stately home. These properties – many now in the hands of the National Trust or English Heritage (and thus preserved for the nation) – are not only somehow quintessentially English but also play an important role in the cultural life of the nation.

After some consideration we agreed to spend a morning at Hatchlands Park in Surrey, the which we had not previously visited in spite of its relative proximity to places that we know well. Wikipedia can, as ever, provide useful information about the estate.

Herewith some photographs from our sojourn there:

I am not sure why it should be so, but there is something about an old fashioned beech wood that just whispers ‘England! to me:

“…to the show that never ends”

Emerson, Lake and Palmer

Though it did look for a while there as though the show might end after all…

Welcome back indeed to the Brentwood Bay summer season of Music in the Park. This year – for the first time since the COVID pandemic struck in 2020 – we have again been able to indulge ourselves with the weekly free concerts that have for such a long time been such a splendid feature of life on the Saanich peninsula. I have no doubt at all that similar stories can be told for other al fresco summer music seasons on the island – but the Brentwood Bay events are local to us and much beloved by all of the communities in these parts.

Now, you might – with good reason – cavil that there is little point in my writing about this splendid seasonal entertainment… when the concert series has just finished!

Good point – well made!

The thing is, of course, that we were out of the country for the first part of the season and sufficiently badly stricken with the hideous lurgy that we were unable to attend the first couple of events subsequent to our return. We did, however, get to enjoy the final two weeks of the program and I did not want to miss the opportunity to raise a cheer to mark the occasion.

We are particularly grateful for the return of this relatively safe form of entertainment. The Victoria Fringe – in a somewhat truncated and localised form – is also upon us, but frankly we are very unlikely to partake of any of the offerings. One weighs in the balance the risks of sitting in a small, crowded venue with others who may have contracted the virus against the desirability of the fare on offer. Frankly, nothing in this year’s festival moves us sufficiently that we are prepared to take that sort of risk.

The same is true of the local music scene (when not in the parks!). Local venues such as the Mary Winspear in Sidney have started booking acts again, but one really has to want to see something to overcome the reluctance to expose oneself to another dose…

I guess such things will improve slowly over time and, though we do somewhat resent the way that a huge chunk of experience has been denied us, we also acknowledge that these are our choices.

I guess that life was ever just such an ongoing battle of risk versus reward.