I had a brief chat yesterday evening about the Cantata Of Saint Dunstan, which was to have been premièred in April this year at the fiftieth anniversary Mayfield Festival. Something or other untoward happened, though (I’m getting hazy recollections of a global pandemic – glad that’s all over!), and the first performance ended up being shelved, but that is still quite different from being binned.
So the plan was to shift the whole thing to next April, but as we seem to be still in the throes of a pandemic which affords us only the smallest of chances of being well and truly back to normal by spring next year the performance has been pushed back again. In theory we might have been able to perform the work with a smaller group, but there is safety in numbers in non-professional choirs, and the piece was definitely written with a decently sized choir in mind.
Still, these things happens, and although we have now pushed back over a year the choir are still rehearsing the piece and it appears to be going well. Like the book and other things, when the time comes for the results of my labours to see the light it will definitely seem like revisiting the past.
There are still a few links to write for the concert, though, which will give me something to do over the next week or so, keep pencil to paper, and I have begun to realise over the past month or so that I really do thrive when I am up against a commission and a deadline, else I can just tend to waft around indecisively. Or do I?
As for the rest of it, I have been keeping my spirits up by watching the events over the pond, which have finally rendered political satirists redundant. The press conference in the car park between the crematorium and the pornographic bookstore was a stroke of comedy gold in itself, but then to have your possibly deranged spokesman melt at a subsequent briefing makes you want to bow down before whoever is writing the script. And, to paraphrase Oscar Wilde, to lose Georgia once may be regarded as a misfortune, but to lose it twice is carelessness.