I'm now ensconsed on the train home - slightly later than anticipated due to one of the solo violas spectacularly de-tuning in the middle of the piece, forcing a restart.

The second half comprised:

- the one with two flutes and a violin

- the violas

- the violin, flute, oboe and squeaky little trumpet one. Lots of fun, although in reality despite lots of earnest sawing from the violin and tootling away on the flute and oboe, all you can hear is that trumpet. Good job he was pretty sound. In the wrong hands I suspect one of those tiny trumpets could be a serious eardrum hazard.

Thought for the day, prompted by the multiple soloist scenario: how much artistic weaving about is too much? In the two flute piece, the first flute stood rooted to the floor, barely dipping at the crucial cadences. Whereas the second flute did the whole knee-bend (they were all standing) and weave about thing. Meaning that there was a disconnect between what you were seeing and hearing. Most troubling.

I'm not sure where I stand on all that artistic emoting. There was a clarinettist I was at university with who would peer over the top of her music stand at the audience in a most annoying manner, as if to say "I'm playing this for YOU... and YOU and YOU and... [Ba-ba-baaaaa! Ba-ba-ba-ba-ba-ba-ba-ba-baaaaa! Sorry. Carried away for a moment there]. Not that I prefer the cadaver look, mind you. It doesn't seem right for a tremendous sound to appear to emanate with zero input from the player. I have no idea what I do, either. I'd like to think it was a happy medium, but who knows? I daren't ask anyone in case they tell me.

-Interval-

So far we've had:

- the one with the three comedy oboes. You know the one: it's also got a couple of french horns sounding like they've wandered in midway through a hunt, tantivvying across the rest of the music like they haven't worked out what's going on.

- the one with all the strings. Last time I heard this was at Prussia Cove with the KCO lot, where we had a glorious abundance of bass instruments. So it was done with a fairly regulation quota of fiddles and violas but about seven cellos, a bassoon and a bass. Of the two versions, I have to say I preferred the Prussia Cove one for its humour.

- the flute, violin and demented harpsichordist one. I don't know about two skeletons copulating in a cupboard. This one's more like a frenzied skeleton orgy.

Anyway, the five minute bell has gone, so I must tuck away the rest of my mince pie (nasty) and mulled wine (nice) and hie me to the balcony.

I have treated myself to an evening of Brandenburgs tonight, at St Martin in the Fields. I only rarely go to cultural things by myself, but this was a last-minute decision with no time to book tickets. So since I was only buying for one, I find myself in something of a prime spot (the front corner of the balcony) making up the third in a box of three, and no doubt discombobulating the couple that were expecting to have it to themselves...

I haven't picked up a programme (damn!) So will be none the wiser as to which Brandenburg is which, since I know they are not playing them in order.

from the train

A startlingly swift finish in the office (le grand fromage obligingly departed just after lunch) and quicker-than-expected packing means that I am already on the surprisingly empty train bound for Family Central.

Of course, now that I no longer commute, I've got out of the habit of always having a novel in my handbag. This means that I am bookless for the whole of the next hour and fifteen. Hmm. Plus my mobile phone decided to pack in this morning after several years of worthy service, so I am feeling slightly cut adrift. Well, apart from the two Blackberries, that is. And the pristine new phone sitting snug in its box in my suitcase. But apart from those things I'm practically in the dark ages. Nearly.

The charming parentals have formulated the plan-to-end-all-plans for Christmas day. More on that anon should it come to pass.

They are also picking me up from the station, which is helpful as I am burdened with many presents. And my oboe. And laptop. And a bunch of other unnecessary things. This is my first carless Christmas, which didn't occur to me at all when choosing presents. So I've managed to pick at least two that are spectacularly unsuitable for lugging around on trains, being variously heavy, large, fragile or a combination of these things.

Righto. I've successfully killed a proportion of the journey. Time for a bit of looking out of the window. Yay!

The Family Reunion

In preparation for my own festive family reunion over the coming days, I went to see TS Eliot's The Family Reunion at the Donmar Warehouse on Monday with lovely Nick who buys lots of theatre tickets and sometimes invites me along.  Now isn't that nice of him? 

The cast was a fairly impressive who's who of British acting, including Sam West, Una Stubbs, Penelope Wilton and Sir William Lucas from the BBC Pride and Prejudice (kept expecting him to clap his hands and exclaim "Capital, capital!".  But he did not.)

I wasn't really sure what to expect from it:  it's written in verse of sorts, and has Greek Chorus sections - both of which facts I found slightly daunting.  Nick had sent me a crib sheet in advance which was pretty useful for keeping track of all the various dusty uncles and aunts.  But couldn't help much with the language.

However, the first half I found to be completely fabulous - the poetry of the words was glorious (I could mostly work out what people were getting at), and the atmosphere tremendous.  Unfortunately it got more and more bizarre as time went on, with lots of talk along the lines of '..and the crosses shall be uncrossed... and the circle shall be broken...'  or somesuch.

So when the matriarch started complaining about everyone leaving her alone in the house, it all became just a little too Cold Comfort Farm (something narsty in the woodshed!) and then slipped from tantalisingly ambiguous into slightly opaque.  However, given the heavyweightitude of the cast, it was an exceedingly well-delivered opacity. 

That's the end of culture vulturedom for now.  Although I confess I am typing this while listening to myself on the (only slightly dodgy) EC4 Music recording of Mozart Mass in C Minor.  But tomorrow will be subjecting myself to the hell that is South West Trains, armed with lots of Christmas presents that I haven't wrapped yet as I keep forgetting to buy tape.  Ahem.

Oooh - I've just reached the Et Incarnatus Est.  Big oboe bit!  I'm sure someone cleverer than me would be able to post a snippet.  But there you go, I'm not that smart at this technology lark.  Imagine a tremendously fabulous sound and pretend that it's me...  And not at all out of tune.  No sir.

Ugly duckling

I had dinner with the [Not] Sugar Daddy again the other night. He spent a reasonable amount of time scaring the waiting staff, then a bit more time accidentally wearing someone else's coat.

In between all this fun he found time to tell me that although I had been a pretty unfortunate-looking teenager, I was improving with age. I believe he was trying to console me about my single status (which does not, I have to say, trouble me unduly at the moment). I took the compliment in the spirit in which it was intended. Well, after I'd finished laughing.

Last night was Santafest 08.  There are already rather too many photos of the event lurking about for my liking, but I suppose if I will go galavanting about wearing a micro-mini santa outfit then I deserve whatever public humiliation comes my way.  My mum thoughtfully sent me a text in advance to remind me to wrap up warm.  I believe she may have been being sarcastic, for she has seen the outfit...

Anyway, I'm too sleepy to post more and have to go out again tomorrow night to take some bankers to watch Madness at the O2.  Given that the tickets are free, it has to score highly on the Entertainment/Economy scale, although I'm not sure that I'm exactly looking forward to it as such.  Particularly as they are threatening to do some of their "new material".  Come on, lads - nobody wants to hear it.  Just do Baggy Trousers again.   

The greening of Christmas

I cooked all my wrinkly apples into a pulp this morning to put on my porridge.  This is good in two ways:  firstly, it's tasty (and can I count it as one of my five-a-day?  Can I?), and secondly it helps to alleviate the guilt of having left all those fine English apples to go wrinkly in the first place.  Unfortunately I still have half a pan of pulp left now, so I'm going to have to come up with something else to do with it.  There's only so much porridge a girl can eat.

Anyway, on to business.  I am trying to put together my Christmas wish list of things to avoid excess effort and expenditure in my nearest and dearest*.  So far, the list consists of:

- a sewing kit:  I already have two needles, a bodkin and some scissors, so I'm thinking a tape measure, a couple of reels of thread etc.  My level of requirement centres more around button replacement and hem repairs rather than anything more sophisticated.  A tupperware box to put it all in would probably be handy too.

- art materials:  I have asked my mother to trawl my father's unused art supplies.  People give him lots of stuff which he never gets round to using so it's a kind of recycling.  Plus if I don't get round to doing anything with it myself then I don't need to feel too guilty as it wasn't bought specially for me.  Yay!

- door stop:  At the moment, I wedge my door open with a piece of folded paper, but it kinda spoils the look, yah?

- a folder into which I can put the recipes I tear out of the newspaper.  I'm a bit of a magpie for these.  I suppose one with clear plastic envelopes in it would be ideal - I'm not the tidiest of cooks.  You can always find my favourite recipes in my cookbooks by looking for the most heavily splattered pages.

Lots of love,

Jane x

* of course, if you are one of my nearest and dearest and have already bought something that is NOT on this list, rest assured I will still be happy to receive it...