It turned out to be the hottest day of the year to date, 35C at 1730, rather hot for what is supposed to be a temperate climate here in the UK. So the same temperature outside as we are supposed to be inside, which does not leave that much room for manoeuvre.
Left early in case trains were spouted. In the event semi-spouted so I ended up catching the usual train, around 1745. No aeroplanes to be seen anywhere, but there were three train spotters at the town end of the platform at Clapham Junction. And two young gays who chattered about their not so private life all the way. Subsequent tube train not crowded at all; perhaps the heat was keeping people at home.
Picnic'd in Cavendish Square next to a young couple who thought it fun to feed their crisps to the pigeons there. Just like the seagulls at Portree (at Skye) when someone threw most of a bag of chips down onto the low tide mud. Heaving ball of birds for a few seconds, then nothing.
Hall fairly full and the yellow flowers noticed at reference 2 were going the distance. Fairly fancy audience with, for example, a chap a bit behind me explaining about his glory days as a foreign correspondent and about his playwriting wife who had first nights. Some fairly fancy clothes too.
A nicely pitched warm-up talk from the pianist, who explained, inter alia, that she was very touched and pleased to have so many friends and relations come to her birthday concert. Nicely turned out too, with a smart black dress, keeping (for an older person) a proper amount covered up. She had elected to use a Fazioli piano, which I thought did rather well. A slightly sharp, harsh tone which I thought suited Bach well. Oddly enough the last Fazioli, noticed at reference 3, was for someone else from Canada, on that occasion from Montreal. Perhaps there is a tradition over there, or an important teacher who promotes them.
On this occasion, I made good use, for once, of my good view of the forearms and hands, which seemed to add quite a lot to the proceedings. Not because I had much idea of what they were up to - apart from a lot of crossing over - but because they were very expressive. Hewitt did a fine job, taking around 90 minutes.
The director himself turned out to give her her flowers and a good part of the audience stood up to clap. Including the middle aged chap in front of me whom I thought had been bored and not been paying much attention. Which all goes to show one should not jump to conclusions on scanty evidence.
Trains still semi-spouted on exit, with hints of the guards disease having spread from Southern, which resulted in a stop-over at Raynes Park, to pick up the 'Dome' noticed in the previous two posts and to decline a rather battered, if original copy of Durrell's quartet, original in the sense that it was the proper Faber, omnibus edition. Declined as we already have a properly, if privately, bound copy of the very same edition, in rather better condition, although I rather doubt if I will ever read it again. At least that is what I had thought until I checked. What we actually have is the very same omnibus edition, reprinted in 1972, first published in this form in 1962, in its original paper binding. I had conflated with some other book altogether. Maybe the Raynes Park version had just knocked around a bit more. This memory business is getting tricky.
And to accept a magazine about houses and gardens, which scored with BH for some reason which I do not now recall. And she is not presently present to remind me.
I suppose Southwest Trains thought that, having lost the franchise, or not having cared to put up the money that Southwestern Trains thought to put up, they would duck the guards problem and leave it to the new lot. So Southern had it last year and we get it this year. I have said in the past that I quite like the idea of having guards on the trains, particularly when they are crowded, but I have been reminded that the underground trains have been guard free for a while now, with door closing and train setting off being under the control of a member of the platform staff, armed with black and white lollipops, communicators and whistles, which seems to work OK. But then you do need to have platform staff, which might be an issue out in the country.
To which I add the argument that at a time when, for one reason or another, we are starting to have serious trouble providing decent work for all us people of the middling sort, it does not make much sense to bear down so hard on head count. There must be some better way. We don't have to put up with all the speculators and all the chaps from financial and legal services sucking so much of the juice out of the system - in some large part by flogging off large parts of it off to the Arabs and to the Chinese, on commission. They call it the efficient allocation of capital, a euphemism the various money lenders of old did not bother with.
PS: notice how the French find it necessary to pluralise their word for debut. Why be simple when you can be complicated - as a lady baker in Amboise in France once explained to me. A place which was hot when we were tenting there, and hit 37C earlier this week. Set to make a paltry 27C today.
Reference 1: https://psmv3.blogspot.com/2017/01/more-goldberg.html. The last Goldberg, well over a year ago now.
Reference 2: http://psmv3.blogspot.com/2018/07/die-schone-mullerin.html.
Reference 3: https://psmv3.blogspot.com/2017/04/more-cheese.html.
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