The problem with composing is that unless I am up very early in the morning it tends to get pushed back along the day until there is some free space.  On a day like yesterday it got pushed further and further back until, at the end, there was no space for it to fit in.  It had not all started like that, not at all.  I treated myself to a little lie-in and planned to spend the first part of the day writing and the latter half perhaps relaxing over some fresh cardboard.  Instead, by the time I made it to my computer, all hell had broken loose in certain areas, none of them musical, which then took up the rest of the day.

I had quite forgotten the sheer unalloyed joy of applying for a mortgage, that grinding necessity to delve into the nth degree of every piece of detail of your life, financial or otherwise, in order to convince people that you will not do something heinous with their money.  To cut a long story short, I am in the middle of remortgaging, and was staring down the barrel of having my application turned down because of an unpaid amount of £19 which had been incurred after I had closed down the relevant account.  Credit where credit is due though (puntastically), the very helpful person on the other end of phone went out of their way to make things better and, everything tightly crossed, all should be plain sailing from now on, although in these matters you can never tell.  I have not been quite so stressed for a while, though, and I include the death of my father in that.

So the lovely spree of work I had planned on This Light Of Reason did not quite come to pass, but the efforts I put in yesterday will hopefully buy me a little more spare time over the coming years to dedicate to the writing, so I keep reminding myself that, like buying a house in the first place, it will all be worth it in the end.  There was a little moment of joy in the afternoon, however, when a large box of review copies of board games arrived, including Uwe Rosenberg’s new magnum opus A Feast For Odin.  Magnum it is indeed, dwarfing all other boxes in my collection, and I am trembling with joy at the thought of playing it.

Picture

In real life this box is the size of a small house.

The weekend brings work with it for me, of course, and I shall be surrounded by glorious music over the next few days – Tallis, Gibbons, Byrd, Vivaldi, Durante – and some not quite so glorious, and I hope to find some spare time to continue my scribbling on the new piece and finish what is needed for the next Parly Choir gig so that, back in Somerset next week, I will be in a position to deal with those morning calls across the ether and focus on what really matters to me.

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