So it is 3:57 in the morning and I am just through the door, but I cannot go to bed yet because I accidentally poured myself a glass of red and it needs to be dealt with. I think I have earned it today.
Many other people have earned themselves a glass too, and I hope they have had at least one each while I tried to find a route home (M3 – closed, M4 – blocked, M40 it is…) and then, after the briefest of stops, ran my mother to the airport.
This evening, after a year of preparation, was the Parliament Choir performance of Belshazzar’s Feast as part of Southbank Sinfonia’s fifteenth birthday concert, and where to start with the many joys it contained, from the music itself to that wonderful fifteen minutes when I alone in the Festival Hall sat and listened to Benjamin Grosvenor run through his Gershwin to the sheer fun of having so many SBS alumni together?
Would that we were able to spend so long on every piece of music so that it could be so eloquent and confidence in performance, but would that every piece deserved it, of course. Am I the only person whose thoughts have turned to the Bach B minor Mass?
When I put my glass to bed, in a few relaxed minutes, I shall sleep the sleep of those who left the house at nine in the morning, have driven hundreds of diverted miles and finally made it home just before dawn, but when I awake the music in my head will already be the next piece even if the most vivid memories will still be of Belshazzar.