As it transpired, my morning journey yesterday down to Staines was not the only time I would get on the wrong train on Monday.  I ended up on the Uxbridge fork on the Piccadilly Line and my journey back from Westminster took nearly two hours, but that and my eye-aching tiredness were the only blemishes on what was otherwise a pretty satisfying day.  I slept well, as you might expect.

It is back to the composing desk today, as the deadline has been brought forward on one of my pieces, which means that it will go to the top of the composing list for now, but there are ideas running around my head for that, so I am sure that I can make some decent headway over the next few days.

Until this evening, though, I am still up in London, a little playing and some tuition, and also an interview with one of the Somerset papers.  Although I have only been in London since Saturday night it feels as though I have been here for ever, and the West is definitely calling, and I think the forthcoming week in Shepton will be, writing apart, spent in rest and relaxation.

For all the pomp, ceremony and satisfied inward glow of yesterday’s events, I am, as I think I have already intimated, quite relieved now to be looking forwards to the full performance in November.  It is time to focus my energies on raising interest in that performance, for it could, I think, be very big indeed, and I cannot wait to hear the full cantata in the flesh.