My new phone decided to install a software update in the middle of the night. Probably somewhere along the line I unintentionally agreed to this, but I did not realise that said phone would restart and beam radiant white light into the bedroom at three in the morning.
Having roused myself enough to turn the phone over, it then began to make a soft click every ten seconds or so. To my befuddled mind, however, this sounded ominously like water dripping through the ceiling, especially after the heavy rain of yesterday, and even once I had worked out what was going on I was unable to drift off again.
So I have been up since five o’clock, another of my surprising early rises, busily writing introductions to the various pieces for this month’s Anghiari Festival. Some of those pieces are very well known indeed, while others should be better known.
The piece that has really grabbed me thus far is Elizabeth Maconchy’s String Quartet No.3. I am in the minority of people who have not only heard this piece before but actually own a recording, even though I cannot remember when I last listened to it.
Well, shame on me for not listening to it more often. I think that I am going to dig out that CD later today for a proper spin when work is done, for I was reminded of what I have always thought, that Maconchy’s voice is proper stuff, intelligent, tautly expressed and rewarding.