The change to British Summer Time meant an even earlier start than usual to my Sunday as I drove up from Somerset.   Heading east I was treated to spectacular dawn colours, all yellows, reds, pinks and oranges as the leaveless trees, silhouetted against the arriving light, looked for all the world like objects cut out of black paper and placed against the morning sky.

On the other side of the world the stars aligned to bring the first Ferrari GP victory since 2015, and in a straight fight too, so despite being very tired indeed the combination of vibrant sights and colours here and a triumphant burst of rosso corsa over there made for a decent start to my working week.

I am still listening to the Berlioz Messe Solennelle, continuing to find it overblown although with some moments of interest and occasional beauty.  I can’t deny, though, that I am looking forward to getting today’s class over and done with so that I can listen to something that tickles my fancy a little more, probably some Bach again.

For various reasons last week was on the tricky side, although with elements of delight, so perhaps the arrival of more light in the day will bring, well, more light.  Saturday marked the six month anniversary of my father’s death, and the point at which my patience with the notary in France has officially run out, so Tuesday will bring a war council with my brother and a bi-pronged attack on that particular epidemic of laissez faire.

Despite it all I am still managing to get notes on paper, and the short orchestral piece is already more substantial that I might have hoped.  Getting something, even a little, done every day is so important for a writer, and on the days I cannot deal with thematic development or bitonal harmonic strata (yes, just as lovely as they sound!) simply tapping the dynamics and articulations into the score represents some kind of progress, and the piece emerges detail by detail revealing its colours slowly and in growing depth, a little like a dawn.

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