I probably ought to check in and post something.  It has been a week, after all, but I barely know where to start with everything that has happened over these past days.

I finished High Flight on Monday, one of those rare pieces With Which I Am Pleased, and on the following morning I threw myself straight into the depths of a Missa Loquebantur Variis Linguis, of which more anon, no doubt.  Tuesday evening was spent back in Oxford in the company of three fellow musicians, one of whom is an extremely accomplished and talented composer, and it turned out to be an evening full of riotous fun and broad possibilities, even if those possibilities lie a long way off.

On Wednesday I turned in another day with my saxophonist, rehearsing interpretations and timings for our forthcoming recording sessions to the nth of a degree, so as to save time and get things right on the day itself.  We also put together the solo for Breathe Again, the piece that has emerged from the fragments I wrote about my father.

Thursday was spent in relative calm, visiting our favourite restaurant in Bath, kicking back and relaxing, while Friday and Saturday were spent with visitors, many happy hours passed hunched over board games.  This was simply wonderful, an opportunity to leave a hectic but deeply rewarding week of music in the background for a few hours.

On Saturday night, our visitors gone, I raised a glass or two (or three) to Nick Gale on the third anniversary of his death.  I am suffused with joy for having known such an effervescent person so closely and for so long, for being his friend and for so many other things, yet because of this I miss him beyond any words, desperately and daily.  Really we should have shared glasses of red wine into our old age, tired the sun with talking and sent him down the sky.

On Sunday I took a rare day off from my weekend church duties to spend the time in famiglia, Mothering Sunday coinciding with my stepfather’s birthday and providing an excuse for a gathering of this part of the clan.  In the evening I drove to London, and here we stand at the beginning of another week as I prepare to deliver a lecture on the works of François Couperin, meet a publisher, give singing lessons, accompany a choir rehearsal and do some writing – and that’s just Monday…