March Adventure

For my New Year's resolution, I promised myself that I would undertake a new adventure at least once a month.  This didn't have to be something as dangerous as swimming with sharks or parachuting out of an airplane.  I just wanted to make sure that I exposed myself to new experiences, new people and their lives.

In January, you may remember, that I went and visited the Metropolitan Police Air Support Unit in Loughton, Essex.  In February, I participated in recreating Michelangelo's Florence Pieta at the Mall Galleries in London.  I was Mary Magdalene!  This month, I volunteered our family home as a base for a semi-finalist in the Windsor Festival International String Competition.

When I first volunteered our services, I imagined it would begin and end with a clean bed, a warm shower, and a few hot meals.  I had no idea that we as a family would become so emotionally involved.

During the week of 11 March, we were told that Meng Feng Hsieh would be joining us and would be arriving at Heathrow airport on 18 March for us to pickup.  We knew nothing more about Meng Feng.

A quick google search revealed that Meng Feng was a he, that he was 23 years old, that he was from Taiwan and after studying in Singapore from the age of 16, he was currently in his last year of study in Zurich.  We also learned that he played the cello.  By watching his numerous YouTube videos, we quickly concluded that he played his cello very well indeed.

We subscribed to his YouTube channel, liked his fan page on Facebook and sent him a friend request on Facebook along with an introduction message.  We know knew what he looked like but weren't entirely sure about anything else than he was allergic to shellfish and didn't eat beef.  We didn't even know if he spoke English (although given that he studied in Singapore and Zurich, it was a fair bet that he did).

Armed with his name written on a sheet of paper and an image of his face from Facebook seared in my brain, I awaited his arrival at the airport.  He was easy to pick out as he was the only one carrying a cello on his back.  I should have guessed!

We chatted easily as I lost my way to our house from the airport, Terminal 5 and I having never met before.  Meng Feng hadn't slept well the night before so he crashed as soon as we got home.  This is going to be a breeze, I thought to myself as I prepared our dinner for the evening.  We took Meng Feng to St George's Chapel to attend Evensong with us and listen to Sebastian sing with the choir.  Meng Feng was very impressed with Sebastian which impressed Sebastian which impressed the hell out of me.

We then attended a small but perfectly formed drinks reception that evening sponsored by the Windsor Festival at the McDonald's Hotel.  We met some of the other host families and their corresponding competitors.  It was a friendly and jovial atmosphere.

That night we shared our evening meal with Meng Feng.  He fit into our family like pair of custom made leather gloves.  He laughed with us.  We shared stories.  He told us about his family and how he had gotten into the competition.  He told us about his studies and his dreams.  He told us what the competition meant to him.  And slowly but surely our hearts melted and we fell in love with him.  And he with us.

And then he went upstairs to the room we had designated as his rehearsal room (aka Sebastian's bedroom) and he began to practise his cello.  And our world tilted ever so slightly on its axis.  We stopped tidying up the dishes and listened.  We sat down on the sofa and listened.  Abigail went to bed and fell asleep to the beautiful music Meng Feng made.

It is hard to believe that just a young man and a cello can have such a profound effect on the lives of this ordinary family.  In that moment, I knew it was our job to do everything possible to make his dream of winning this competition come true.

Tuesday was spent rehearsing.  I am not just talking an hour or so.  I am talking about playing all morning.  Then practising for an hour with his pianist.  Then practising several hours in the afternoon.  We took a brief break to attend a reception at The Guildhall in Windsor hosted by The Worshipful Mayor of the Royal Borough of Windsor and Maidenhead Councillor Colin Raynor.   Then back to practising.

Our home was filled with beautiful and passionate music.  Our neighbour's homes were filled with beautiful and passionate music.  Our hearts were filled with beautiful and passionate music.

The next day dawned early for me.  I was up at the crack of dawn, showered and dressed, ready for the big moment.  At 2:00 pm we arrived at the McDonald hotel and the designated rehearsal room which was exquisitely furnished with everything and anything a person could need before a moment like this.

Meng Feng was the picture of poise.  I couldn't detect a single nerve, not a wobbly finger, not a shortness of breath.  I on the other hand was a bundle of nerves.  My heart felt like it was going to beat our of my chest and my stomach felt like a 1000 butterflies had taken flight.  I asked him if he was nervous.  He said no, because nerves wouldn't help.  I asked if he knew what his competition was playing.  He said no, because it wouldn't change what or how he played.

We walked across the street to The Guildhall.  The place was packed but I had a perfect seat.  Meng Feng took to the stage and played Bach, his first piece.  I held my breath through the entire thing.  It was exquisite.  then he played Beethoven.  My knuckles turned white and I became dizzy.  Then he played his piece de resistance, an emotional roller coaster of Dvorak.  My eyes filled with tears as he finished.  My applause hurt my hands.

I was so proud of him!  He couldn't have done it any better.  I had felt every note, every string, every movement, every beat, every breath.

That evening we took Meng Feng to see Abigail perform in her school play, a very modern interpretation of Romeo and Juliet.  She was brilliant with the comic timing of a professional.  Meng Feng had become a member of our family and was along for the ride.  He applauded Abigail the same way I had applauded him.

Late that evening at 9 pm, we made our way back to the Guildhall.  All 8 semi finalists had finished playing,  the juries votes had been tallied, and the results were in.  The first name was announced.  And then the second.  I reached over and grabbed on to Meng Feng's hand.  The third name was announced.  None of those names were his.  I blinked.  Did the jury not hear what I heard?  Did they not feel what I felt?

And then I witnessed the joy of others and I knew this was part of competition.  Meng Feng knew that he had given his best.  When I asked if he was OK he told me, yes, he had another competition to start thinking about the trouble was I didn't.  Meng Feng hadn't made the finals and I was angry.  I wanted to hit someone.  Instead I waited until Meng Feng had wandered away and I shed a few tears into my husband's shoulder.

On Thursday all competitors visited local schools and talked to children about being a professional musician. I watched the children St Bernard's School in Langley become mesmerised by Meng Feng's playing.  They asked great questions and he gave great answers.  He talked about how he loved playing the cello because he felt he could express every one of his emotions through the instrument.  He talked about the sacrifices he and his family have made for him to reach this level.  He talked about the dedication, single minded focus and commitment it takes to play at this level.  He talked about the physical scars on his hands and chest that practising and playing for hours leaves on his body.  He talked about the poverty of being a musician.  He talked about his dreams of bringing beautiful music to the world. He talked about being thousands of miles away from his family since the age of 16.

I dropped Meng Feng off in Windsor so he could do the tourist thing and see around the castle and town of Windsor.  The pressure of the finals was off and he could enjoy himself a wee bit.  So the next day I took him and another competitor from China into London.  I drove them round all the sites showing off this glorious city we call London:  Big Ben, Houses of Parliament, Tower Bridge, The Tower of London, London Eye, Westminster Abbey, etc etc etc.  Being musicians they wanted to see Wigmore Hall and so we did.  We stopped in at Bishop Instruments and the Chinese musician got to have a go on a Stradivarius violin that is several hundred years old and worth twice as much as my home.  The bow she played it with is worth 3 times as much as my car.  I could barely breath.

Never before have I felt like I have been in the presence of such promise of the future.

That evening we attended the final performances held in the majesty and splendour of the Waterloo Chamber in Windsor Castle.  We were honoured to be invited to the Governor's home for drinks and canapes afterwards.  Our children were well behaved.  They didn't spill anything on the priceless antiques or ruin any of the paintings of historical significance.

The next morning as I lazed about in bed, I reviewed the order of the day in my head.  It had been planned out with military precision.  I had to have Abigail at the school by noon to rehearse her ballet show that would be performed that evening at 5 pm.  Then I had to drop Sebastian off at 1 to rehearse the Passiontide which would be performed that evening at St George's Chapel at 7:30 pm.  Then I had to head to the airport by 2 pm to drop Meng Feng off by 2:30 pm to catch his flight at 3:30 pm.  Then back to school for the ballet show, then a quick dinner out with the husband and then the Passiontide.  No problems.

Right up until about 10 am when Meng Feng checked his airline ticket and we discovered that the schedule the Windsor Festival had provided me with did not reflect the time indicated on his airline tickets.  His tickets said that his flight had been at 7:30 am, which we obviously had missed.  We tried calling the airlines but due to the unusual snow fall, the wait time on the phone was over an hour.  So Meng Feng packed up everything.  I rushed him and his belongings to the airport and said a hasty goodbye hoping he could get on the 3:30 flight.

I raced Abigail to the school and dropped Sebastian off at the same time.  I took a shower and waited.  Sure enough.  At 2:30 the phone rang and British Airways had been unable to get Meng Feng on the 3:30 flight but had confirmed his place on the 7:30 am flight the next morning so back to the airport I went.

Some might say this was destiny.  The ballet had been arranged so that each dancer could have 4 members in the audience instead of the usual 2, which meant Meng Feng could join us.  And, more importantly, I had accidentally bought 2 extra tickets to the Passiontide concert and we had only been able to resell 1 of them which meant we had an extra one.  Obviously, the gods of the fate had decided that Meng Feng was going to be here and would be needing this ticket.

We watched Abigail give a serene and elegant performance in the ballet, Peter and the Wolf.  After a quick bite to eat, we watched Sebastian give a professional and breathtaking performance as a chorister singing strong in a larger choir of over 80 adults in celebration of the Christian holiday of Easter.

We collapsed into our beds emotionally exhausted.  My husband had the task of getting Meng Feng to the airport by 5 am on Sunday morning to catch his flight.

As I lazed around resting on Sunday, my mind drifted to what a joyful and wonderful experience the week had been.  I never dreamt our family would have grown to have such fond feelings about someone who just a few days prior was a complete and utter stranger.  I never would have thought I would have children who would achieve so much at such a young age.

What's On in Windsor

I live near the very old town of Windsor.  It's a hard place to place what with the oldest living continually inhabited castle sitting up on the with its powerful tower announcing its presence with authority.  No matter where you turn you can't miss it.  It is a constant reminder of the links between Queen and Country.

 

If you are a visitor to the Royal Borough of Windsor and Maidenhead, this should be your first port of call.  If you live in and around Windsor and haven't taken the tour of the castle, you really have no excuse.  Get yourself over there.  The original paintings of past Kings, Queens and other aristocracy which featured in our history books grace the walls.  The tapestries, rugs and furnishings are exquisite.  Don't forget to walk around St George's Chapel where King Henry VIII and Jane Seymour are buried right in the centre of the quire.

 

But once you leave the grounds of Windsor Castle many visitors to our historic town can be baffled for ideas about what to do next.  Ours is a sleepy and hidden place.  You will find that all the shops close by 6:00 pm and other than having a meal out at any one of our fantastic restaurants or pubs, you may find it difficult to find any entertainment.  On cold, dark winter nights, our town looks like we are all curled up in bed in our nightdresses.  Unless, of course, you want to get caught up in the drunken mayhem on Thames Street after 11 pm on a Friday or Saturday night.  If you are looking for a bit more or something a bit different, you may find yourself lost.

 

Do not fear, however, www.glowmagazine.me/events is here to help.

 

Whether you are just in Windsor overnight or planning a long weekend to our fair town, Glow Events has collected all the in one place so you can find all the hidden cultural treasures.  Whether you are looking for live music, opera, poetry and/or book readings, art installations, comedy, or dramatic performances, this town has got something for everyone on just about any night of the week.

 

If you are a venue in Windsor, you can enter your own events on the website.  If you need any help, please feel free to contact us also via the website.  If you are interested in advertising on the website, please contact me on ladawnclarepanton@hotmail.com

 

Hope you enjoy your visit to Windsor!

Athletes and Artists

The morning dawned bright and beautiful.  That's right, people.  The sun was shining.  The sky was blue.  The birds were singing.  The cows were mooing.  OK, you get the idea....

A whole morning in front of us.  Oh, what to do, what to do.....
In our optimistic haze we decided we could obviously hike the length of the Devon coast, or at least from Hallsands to Start Point to see the lighthouse.  First thing in the morning 5 miles round trip sounds like a great idea. 
Which it probably is for someone who isn't several stone overweight and seriously out of shape with 4 children and 3 dogs in the hiking party.  And, who designed these walks?  Must the entire way there be uphill?  I mean 2.5 miles uphill.  Seriously?

If I had thought about it a bit more clearly (which would have required several more cups of coffee than I managed), I would have been able to deduce that a lighthouse is going to be on high ground and therefore, this walk would require substantial vertical effort.

The men and youngens set off like this hike was a race for life.  I was happy to let them surge ahead.  In the first 10 minutes I thought I was going to burst a lung.  And why exactly was I carrying my cold weather coat which weighs a not insubstantial amount but wasn't waterproof enough yesterday to keep me dry and yet was heavy enough today to slow me down?  There was that temptation to abandon everything I was carrying.  Instead I was grateful I opted to let Marc carry the camera.

My friend, M, used to be a competitive runner.  In fact, one of the parts of yesterday's story that I just couldn't bear to include was that she ran all the way to Beesands yesterday and back in the rain with the three dogs, just to do some reconnaissance work for us. She did this before I managed to get dressed.  But today she slowed it down and we had a girlie bonding chat while she encouraged me to keep on putting one step in front of the other in her ever so gentle way.  She never once complained when I stopped to catch my breath, even if I had just done that 3 minutes ago.

A profound sense of achievement overwhelmed me in a very private way when we arrived at the lighthouse and I was reunited with the other part of our travelling gang.  Of course by that time, they had taken off up the side of the mountain to check out even higher ground (because of course, there is always higher ground).

I told them I would meet them on the way back.  I looked out over the sea.  I could hear the children yell and giggle over my shoulder.  I soaked up the sun, congratulated myself on meeting today's objective and did I what I do best:  watched the tide go out knowing that later tonight it would come in.

See, I've learnt that recently.  No matter what happens, the tide is sure to come in and then it will go out.  Tomorrow it will do the same even if I don't watch.  The sun will rise and the sun will set even if it is raining.  The stars will shine even when it is cloudy.  Joy and happiness is inside of me and all around me even if I can't feel or find it right now.  There is absolutely no use looking anywhere else for it.  Right now, I am seeing it and feeling it all in Devon.

After our athletic endeavours, we stuffed our faces and headed to Slapton Beach for a bit of stone skipping, kite flying, castle building, and fishing.  None of them were widely successful.  In fact, none of them were successful at all.  Nobody seemed to mind.

Once back at the cottage and properly fortified with hot cross buns with lashings of butter and sugary hot tea, the girls decided to try their hand at a bit of artistry; they painted a couple beautiful landscapes with our watercolours and then Abigail wrote a song begging for the sun to keep shining all week.  The words are done and as I write the boys are working on writing the tune on the piano.  I have to admit to being impressed by the effortless joy and happiness emanating from every pore of these children.  It lightens my load and smooths more than a few wrinkles.

I anticipate tomorrow morning will bring more than a few aches and pains as I pay for my ambitious trek today.  Stay tuned to learn if I am able to walk........


PS The end of yesterday's story (http://clare-panton.blogspot.co.uk/2012/04/stopped-wind.html) was inadvertently omitted.  OK, not entirely true.  In my rush to share the magic with you I forgot to finish the fishmonger story.  Just in case it was keeping you awake, I thought I should let you know that the fish was indeed freshly caught that morning.  I know this because when we went back to pick up our shopping all of the fish was sold out and when I asked he told me I would have to wait for tomorrow's catch.  When I asked what he would have, he looked at me like I was some crazy, city girl and told me every morning was a surprise.

Tap, Ballet, & Charlie

The last weeks before the end of term culminates in the children displaying much of what they have learned in the term just gone.

A few weeks ago I was treated to seeing everything (such as it was) that Sebastian has created in Art, Design Technology (DT), ICT (Information Computer Technology), and Games/Physical Education. Not a single Art project was complete as there appears to be a problem with Sebastian finishing his choir practice and getting to art class but he manages to get a B for all the effort he puts into it. DT displayed a lovely bridge which was capable of holding 36 tins of baked beans which sounded like an awful lot but it was clear that he had once again run out of time to complete the centre support due to instrument lessons and his 36 was far short of the record of 116 tins. Sebastian continues his challenge with sport (literally). He is so much smaller than everyone else he quite simply keep up and no one understands this better than his mother. His attitude though had suffered and he seemed to just throw in the towel. Luckily that seems to have ceased and he gives it a bit more effort this term. Shame he can't get his clothes changed in under 15 minutes as he tends to miss most of the lesson by taking his sweet time changing clothes. I reckon its all a cunning plan. Sebastian is a geek just like his good ole mum and dad. He excels at ICT. What else would one expect? He can show me a thing or two about using a computer.


Sebastian also had two instrument exams this term on successive days. First was his violin exam on a Monday and then his piano exam on the Tuesday. I was a bundle of nerves. He, on the other hand, took his 1 hour cram violin lessons at Eton College which left his arms like jelly, just the day before the exam. He reported back to us that he feels he did "pretty ok". Not sure what that means or what the results are for either exam as the results don't come back for a few more weeks here. I am sure he did very well on his piano exam as he finds that much easier. Neither Marc nor I play a musical instrument so his prowess surprises us every day.


I was honoured to attend Abigail's tap and ballet performances. This is her first year doing tap and let's just say she ain't got much natural tapping rhythm. Lucky for her we don't currently have a video camera and I had broken the photo camera just before the tap performance. On the other hand, this is the 4th year she has been doing ballet and she has gotten quite good at it. She had beautiful posture. Her hands are delicate and she seems to have lovely expression in her free dancing. She seems so confident. It has to be said though that her best moves are clearly to MTV or the radio when she'll just start dancing madly around the house. Wonder where she gets that from? And we got the camera repaired and I have lots of beautiful photos of her exquisite poses.


The pinnacle of the excitement of the last week was the "Evening with Roald Dahl" performance where Sebastian had the honour to have a part as one of the leads as Charlie (from Chocolate Factory fame). We had practised his lines over and over but at the dress rehearsal Sebastian hadn't done well and needed to be prompted with every line.

His final performance displayed none of those missteps. He didn't miss a single line. After the show he confided that before going on stage he was very nervous but that once he was there "it felt like I was a different person and I just became very confident". I did point out to him that being a different person was exactly what acting was all about. I don't think he quite got it but his performance was fab with some impeccable comic timing. He is clearly very talented at acting. Wonder where he gets that from?

After all that excitement, we need a back!

Best Christmas Single

Georgetown Chimes

According to instructions available on Facebook, this is my debut album cover. If I had a band it would be named Georgetown Chimes, and my first album would be titled 'make him mad'. I fancy myself as the lead singer and am setting about to write some songs.

To create your own album cover, follow these steps (and pass on these instructions to your friends):

1 - Go to http://en.wikipedia.org/. Click “Random Article" in the top left navigation box. The title of the random wikipedia article you get is the name of your band.

2 - Go to http://www.quotationspage.com/random.php3.
The last few words of the very last quote of the page is the title of your first album.

3 - Go to http://www.flickr.com/explore/interesting/7days. The third picture, no matter what it is, will be your album cover.

4. I suggest http://www.picnik.com if you don't have your own photo editing software. You can work online and save it to your hard drive for free. :)

Virus & Violins

I dragged myself from my death bed for a very special date with my son.

Back in June I had booked tickets for just the 2 of us to go to Cadogan Hall in London to see a violin concert with the Royal Philharmonic Orchestra. Neither of us had ever been to Cadogan Hall or seen the orchestra before. This was going to be a bit of an adventure.

But I was ill. Very ill. I am on antibiotics and just about the maximum cold medication dosage allowed. I wasn’t going to take any chances. I loaded up on throat lozenges and cough syrup at the local chemist.

I started getting ready at 1 in the afternoon so I could rest in between exertions like taking a shower and blow drying my hair. When Seb arrived home from school he found me flat out on the sofa but determined to have a magical evening.

He changed into some very smart looking trousers and shirt and we set off with our map to the hall and nearby parking in hand. We had a lovely discussion on the way whilst navigating the nightmare of rush hour traffic (5:30 pm) into the centre of London. Sebastian entertained me with his philosophical observations like why do minutes go so slowly but hours go so quickly. Good question I thought. Why do we have to pay congestion charge when driving into London? An even better question!

In a mild panic I realised that my car doesn’t lock. The car is a cheap disposable kind. OK, not that cheap but French and they certainly don’t build them to last. It has one of those keyless key thingies. You’re not supposed to need it to unlock the doors or start the car. Just having it on your person or your handbag is sufficient. At least it used to be. About 6 months ago the key stopped working on the door locking/unlocking and I have to put the key in a slot to get the thing started. The locking thing isn’t a big deal usually because there’s no way a person walking past can tell if the car is locked or not so I make sure there is nothing valuable in it and just don’t lock it. Which is fine in our driveway. Not so fine in the centre of London. I found comfort in the fact that I was headed to a very posh part of London and the chance of random vagrants/thieves walking down the road trying every car door was remote. Besides I had a Renault Megane and all the other cars were going to be Aston Martins. Surely, they’d rather have one of those. I know I would.

In a bit more of a panic I turned right too early and we had a bit of an adventure getting back to where we needed to be in order to get to where we wanted to go. That will only make sense if you’ve ever driven through London. The streets are laid out with less sense than a spider’s web. You think you’re heading west and then bam, the river is in front of you which means that you’ve actually been driving south for the last 4 miles. Ah, those medieval peasants had quite the sense of humour.

We found a parking space and Sebastian made the astute observation that we had parked right in front of the hall. So we did. As I read the parking restriction signs I knew it was too good to be true. We asked a man at the hall if he had any suggestions and he sent us on a wild goose chase down Kings Road. After several aborted attempts down various roads finally I gave up and headed back to where we started.

We found some 4 hour meter parking just around the corner from where we had started. I duly fed 12 pound coins into the meter. Why I was carrying around 12 pound coins remains a mystery to me but I am going with the story that it is daily weight lifting routine. Again you will only get that if you have ever carried around pound coins in your handbag. They are heavy.

We walked up Sloane Street with me bundled up like a rough sleeper. I had about 4 layers of clothing under my coat, scarf, gloves, hat. I think maybe Sebastian was a bit embarrassed by my appearance but he never would have admitted that since I was buying the sushi. My fever had me sweating under the layers as was walked what suddenly became an epically long journey.

We were originally headed for Yo Sushi! at Harrod’s until I realised that Harrod’s is miles from Sloane Street. OK, not miles but too far for us to walk in our condition, especially since our wrong turning and parking misadventures had left us pinched for time.

As I walked past all the designer shops with dresses for skinny minnys my days before children and mortgages flashed back from the depths of my memory and the answer became clear. Harvey Nichols. Back before I had other’s depending on me for food and a roof, HN was my favourite place to drop a few bob and have nothing meaningful to show for it. But boy, did I feel great for having done so. But Harvey Nichols had a Yo Sushi! on the Fifth Floor. And that was all I needed tonight!

Seb was in heaven as he removed plate after plate from the conveyer plate and despite the difficulties of eating when you have an extremely loose tooth and a mother resembling Frosty the Snowman he got his fill.

When we went to pay I found that the tickets weren’t in my handbag. Mmmmm, that was odd.

I remembered during the parking hunt Seb had taken them out of my handbag so he could look at the map they were attached to. Not that he was helping much but he was trying so hard. Then I put the tickets in a safe place on the dashboard. As the minutes ticked away (very quickly he added) he checked the tickets for the start time of the concert. And that was the last we had seen the tickets. Oh, they must be in the car I thought as we moved off back down Sloan Street towards the car. Not too worry it was on the way to the concert hall and don’t pay too much attention to the sweat on my upper lip. That would just be my fever.

We turned that car upside down but the tickets were nowhere in the car. We turned my handbag updside down – no tickets. I turned Sebastian’s pockets inside out and no tickets. I broke down in tears and still no tickets. Sebastian made another philosophical observation that since Daddy wasn’t here we couldn’t even blame him, wish we’d brought Abigail.

Intellectually, I knew those tickets were in the car. Seb on the floor of the back seat found the tickets down along the side trapped. We slide the seat back and voila, tickets.

We had 10 minutes to spare.

The concert made everything we had endured up to that moment worth it. Seb was one of maybe 4 children in the audience and he was certainly the youngest. Watching an orchestra play is more satisfying than watching a sporting match. Sebastian plays the violin. Or at least he tries to. For purely selfish reasons I had wanted him to see and hear the possibilities of his playing. I wanted him to see professionals attain perfection. I wanted my ears to have a night off.

And it was magic. The orchestra started with the Carnival Overture by Dvorak which is just so much fun. Seb’s eyes were wide. So-Ock Kim was the soloist for Mendelssohn’s violin concerto and she was inspiring. Sebastian told me the music was louder if you closed your eyes. I thought he was falling asleep. During the internal we picked up a programme and drinks: OJ (for me) and cranberry juice (for him) and talked about how much practice these musicians must do every single day. I hope I wasn't too subtle. After the interval we head the emotional Pictures at an Exhibition by Mussorgsky. During the breathtaking parts, Seb would squeeze my hand. He was impressed. Not bad, mum!

We headed back to our car in the cold November night. Sebastian held my hand and told me how the orchestra was amazing and maybe he wanted to be conductor and how plucking the strings made a different sound to bowing the strings and the difference between a viola and a violin is size and sound and how big the bass cellist was and did I hear the harp and and and and?

We turned up the car heater and headed up Sloan Street passing the beautiful Christmas lights and deserted roads of nightime London. In under 5 minutes Sebastian was sound asleep. He went straight into bed when we got home. And I will remember this night for my entire life. I wonder if he will.

My Little Stars

December was a crazy month and whilst my blog posts were few and far between it wasn't because nothing was going on and I had writer's block. It was only because I was on the go here, there and everywhere every waking moment of every single day and night. Do not mistake that as a complaint. Simply put it was one of the best holiday seasons I can remember!

So, please, do excuse the lateness of this post. I want to catch you up on all those happy memories.

We were honoured to have so many friends and corresponding invites to festive parties. Rest assured the diet went out of window just through the copious quantities of champagne we consumed. And that is definitely not a complaint. January has plenty of time for dieting!

The first treat of the season was Sebastian's Music Recital. The Middle School, Years 3-5 (ages 7-11), performed instrumental and vocal pieces. I have never seen such dedication, raw talent and composure from children so very young. Some of the performances were nearing professional level and I ain't kidding. I have little doubt that there are some future stars in this bunch. Sebastian performed a solo of I Saw Three Ships, which he has been practicising nonstop of several weeks for hours and hours. It was flawless. I was so proud as he took his bow.

Next we were blessed with Abigail's Nativity Story. She was a star, literally and figuratively. Auntie Mary saved the day (one again) with a white tunic (made from a pillowcase) and Marc hand painted silver stars on it. The silver tinsel was courtesy of the class teachers. She sang confidently and loudly in front of 80 (or so) parents. Her line- "But she was still unhappy!" - was delivered with thespian expertise and adequate character pizzazz! At the end of the performance, there was not a dry eye in the house (including her mummy's). She is so adorable I could eat her alive!

We made boxes of home made treats for the children's teachers and Wicked Uncle Scottish Mike came round to help with the decorating of sugar cookies. I do believe that the men did more decorating than the children and they certainly ate more than they decorated. As well as the cookies, the boxes included almond roca, Christmas tree bark, divinty, and apricot/ginger bread. The almond roca was everyone's favourite and I do believe the weight I gained during the holidays was down solely to too much almond roca....although I suspect the cheese also made a significant contribution!

The final school performance was the middle school's spectacular cantata of Scrooge. That's right! Years 3, 4, and 5 sang the enitre story of The Christmas Carol. The parents looked on in awe as these children mastered not only the tune but all those words. Such concentration!

We shared breakfast with Santa which was an incredible privledge on the 20 December. We know how busy he is at that time of year and I'm not entirely sure how he managed to make time for us in his diary but we didn't really care as the children were able to make it very clear to him exactly what their expectations would be for the morning of 25 December.

Bert & Ernie

I don't remember B&E ever being this cool when I was a kid.

Rock Star

I am not really into the whole music video scene. I mean when I was younger and MTV had just been invented (yeah, no wise cracks about my age) I would spend hours watching music videos. But who's got time for that now?

And Nickleback? Are you kidding me? Who likes Nickleback? OK, I do. Now.

Song's great. Video's great. Haven't had this much fun since Thriller. (Remember that? Now your age is showing!)




Editor's Note: Big thanks to Si next door for opening my eyes!

Punishment

I'm not entirely sure what parents have done to do deserve it but clearly we have offended.

The Recorder.

My son and his school are conspiring to accelerate my nervous breakdown by sending him home with the most outrageous sounding musical instrument in the world. OK, not quite; that would be the bagpipes and hopefully there are no plans on the curriculum for one of those to come home.

But the recorder is not far behind.

Seb clearly thinks he's hit pay dirt. A piano and a recorder all in the space of a few weeks. He reckons he's a musical genius and wants to play all the time. My ears betray the truth. This boy requires lessons for a long long long time.

Bless his persistence. Bless his tenacity. Bless his tone deafness.

Anyone got a good pair of ear plugs?

A Little Late

OK, I'm a little late finding this. I did think about waiting a year until Christmas next year before sharing this gem with you but it is just too good to let languish in my draft box. So enjoy!

Early Christmas Present

Marc & I gave our family an early Christmas present last night when we took possession of our new family piano. New to us anyway. And not exactly a gift.

Sebastian had done so well at his piano recital I felt the dear boy deserved his very own piano. Running next door to squeeze in practice on the neighbour's piano was proving difficult. I was keen to ensure we didn't inconvenience anyone which isn't the easiest of things when you're trying to get a 6 year old to practice piano in between everything else he does.

We approached the music store with confidence. The music teacher had assured us that a keyboard was fine as long as the key were piano weighted. I thought 70 or so would be more than adequate. Ooooops!

We missed a zero. We went home.

We started where all discouraged stated: eBay. But even there the keyboards were was beyond our budget. And then I thought, hey, I know tons of people trying to get rid of pianos.

Proper pianos! Who in their right mind would spend loads of money for a keyboard (technically an inferior instrument in my twisted mind) when you get could a piano for free?

We scoured the classifieds and found the perfect piano. One of Marc's customers is a moving company and they agreed to pick it up on Friday afternoon and deliver it to our home.

This piano is nearly 90 years old and requires some tuning. It has been lovingly played despite being a bit dinged and scratched.

We moved it into the dining room and picked up the children at the child minder's. It took the children a while to discover it. But Sebastian's eyes lit up when he saw it.

He immediately sat down and started playing jingle bells. He was thrilled to have "his very own piano" and told us that this was a great present.

I love the sound of a child playing music in the home. And now that child is mine and it is my home. A great gift indeed! To us as much to him and Abigail!

Elvis Appreciation Day

I have a new found admiration/obsession with Elvis. Yes, I know he is dead but you would have thought differently if you had been out with me last night.

The Gartner IT Symposium always throws a big bash on the last night of the conference. The theme for last night's free food/booze bonanza was Groove Generation. They took over the Carlton InterContinental on La Croisette in Cannes. Every room and some temporarily constructed rooms were decorated with a different theme. The details included serving food and drinks typical of that era. And there were loads of celebrity singer/performer look alikes.

There was the 70s room with a disco ball and Barry White performing. OK, he didn't look or sound at all like Barry White. And disco music provided a prime opportunity for IT professionals to prove they can't dance either.

In the 90s room was a Kylie Minogue look alike but she never sang. This had the worst food. It seems we all just ate raw vegetables that decade.

Sir Paul McCartney look alike in the 60s room nor the Sir Elton John look alike (who wondered through all the rooms) did not perform but they were chatting with all the guests and I think there a photos of me and Sir Elton talking about his home up the road from mine!

We couldn't quite figure out what was going on in the 00s room. It was very quiet and the food consisted of sandwiches. What will history say about that era?

The best room by far was the 50s room. I know I wasn't born then. But I have always loved the music. They had candy floss (cotton candy) and milkshakes and popcorn. But the best thing about the room was the Elvis impersonator who sang, danced, moved and smiled just like Elvis. This man had the hips aswaying, the lip aquivering and the hair aflipping. He even sweat like Elvis.

I've got some photos and when I get back from my mobile connection here in Cannes I will upload them and you can make your own judgement.

My colleague, Jane*, and I swooned and screamed on queue. I felt like I wanted a poodle skirt and a pony tail.

Considering there weren't many females appreciating this man's talents, he really played up to us and I swear he sang Teddy Bear directly to me. My colleagues had to keep reminding me that the real Elvis was dead.

We missed his second act due the particularly addictive tunes in the 80s room which pretty much played the soundtrack of my life. Archie** amazed me when he proved he is almost as good with lyrics as I am! Elvis was disappointed when we saw him later and he told us we had missed him. Not nearly as disappointed as I was. And then I realised he was English and whilst he could do a wicked Nashville accent he was really from London. Disillusion sets in!

Back home tonight on the last flight out of Cannes to Heathrow. Can hardly wait to kiss my children in their beds as they sleep. Oh, and cuddle up to my husband! Maybe we can listen to Elvis. I want to learn how to jitterbug!

* Once again, as requested, names have been changed to protect the guilty. These people just don't live on the edge and out in the open. But I'll respect that!
** If only you knew his real name....

Joy

Think back to that post about Sebastian learning to play the piano. Did you feel my fear and apprehension?

Today we walked next door to the neighbour's to practice Sebastian's piano. He's had 2 lessons to be honest I wasn't expecting much.

He sat down. he opened his music book. he placed the music on the piano. And he read the music and played the songs. He showed me where middle C was on the piano. And he showed me what it looked like on the music. Then he showed me D. He played his assigned homework and then wanted to carry on. So we did. He showed me B. And he didn't want to stop. So I let him continue as long as he wanted.

When we got home after practising at the neighbours, Sebastian said to me "I'm playing notes in my head. All I can think about are notes notes notes!"

And all I can feel is joy joy joy!

Piano Lessons

One of my greatest regrets is that I never learned to play an instrument. I blame my parents. I don't think they pushed me hard enough. And the organ doesn't really count.

So with that in mind: Sebastian started piano lessons on Friday. As you most of you will know (since many of you will play a musical instrument), practice is the key to success (assuming you are mildly talented). And we don't own a piano.

Now, I am not going to rush out and buy a piano. Ah, but the neighbours have one. And we have a key! Mwuh-ah-ah-ah!

No, I better ask.....Emma & Si are happy for Seb to do his 10 minute practice time 3 times/week. But we've only just begun. Now I'm questioning my sanity.

We bought his first music book. I opened it up. Since I don't understand it how am I supposed to help him? Can he take kazoo lessons?

Live Like You Were Dying - Tim McGraw

PS The baseball player at the end is Tim's father. I love this! Thanks, Janell!

Eurovision 2007

The Americans in my audience will have no idea what I am talking about. Or at least I know I didn't until I moved to Europe. "What is Eurovision?" Over here they take it rather seriously with Eurovision parties kicking off all over the place.

Last night was Eurovision 2007. The song that won was from Serbia and the woman looked like she had won a boxing match rather than a song contest. It looked to me that she had a bit of a mustache. With 100 million people watching, you would think she could have waxed but then again maybe that was part of the act. Brittany goes out with runners in her stockings! I thought Russia did the best and I was glad to see that they took a respectable third. What was distressing is that the United Kingdom who consistently delivers excellence to the music world, (eg Beatles, Rolling Stones, James Blunt, Lily Allen, Scissor Sisters, Arctic Monkeys - do I need to go on?) cannot manage a decent Eurovision entry. The last 3 years have been dismal performances!

Don't even get me started about Ireland's performance. This little country who has consistently delivered winning performances at Eurovision had a seriously off night! It was so bad I fast forwarded through it.

There was the typical "you scratch my back, I'll give you 12 points" going on, but that is no less entertaining. International alliances are made and broken here. You can see wars ending. OK, maybe not. I'm glad I've got SkyPlus (TiVo, for you Americans) as we fast forwarded through most of it but it was good for a laugh nonetheless.

Music, soooooo not cool

My husband and I have never never ever had the same taste in music. I mean, my husband's favourite song of all time is Tiffany's, I think we're alone now and he is finding immense pleasure in the Girl's Aloud remake currently in the charts, as if this proves what a great song it is.

My friends, Sean & Helen (mostly Helen), find great pleasure in ridiculing my taste in music. When they were around on New Years Eve (and the collective 4 children were safely tucked into bed and we had safely tucked away several bottles of wine - each), we were watching the Jools Holland count down the New Years Eve. This is one of those strange things that English people do, comparable to that strange American thing of watching Dick Clark. What is that all about? But here we were watching musicians, young and old, of all genres playing all different types of music. If they were old British artists I didn't recognise them because, well, I didn't live here then. If they were new British artists I didn't recognise them because, well, I don't know why. Helen suggested this is because I don't listen to BBC Radio 1. Fair call. I don't' listen to BBC Radio 1 because the music is crap or the DJ is crap or both. Last night, as I was going to pick up Sebastian at his mate's house, I decided to heed Helen's advise and tuned into Radio 1. And there was a DJ talking. This is supposed to be advert free radio but it ends up being just a lot of noise coming out of this woman's mouth. She has horrible elocution and pronunciation and I can't understand a word she is saying....not because I can't understand but because the words she is using to string together a sentence don't make sense. It's like being from a land-locked state/country and listening to the shipping forecast for the very first time. Or in my case: ever! I still can't understand the shipping forecast although I do love trying. Nor can I understand the traffic report unless I concentrate real hard. This is one of the strangest things to learn when you move to a new country is how to decipher the language of the traffic report.

Ah, but I digress.....Sara Cox is a rubbish DJ and Radio 1 never did play a good song during my entire journey. OK, so the journey was only 10 minutes each way but that is ample time for some cool tunes and instead all I got were the mumblings of a DJ and a song that drove me round the bend and nearly drove my car into a wall. No more Radio 1, well at least not on a Monday night at 6:18 pm.

Now I used to be really into the music/clubbing scene before the whole children/ mortgage/ school fees/ life responsibility thing sucked the energy out of me.....I mean I altered priorities to more meaningful pursuits. My music taste are diverse. Just check out my iPod Library. You might think I was schizophrenic or something, which I might be but there I go digressing again. My friend, Scottish Mike, approves of my taste in music. So there! Rock on Ramones!