Sun

For much of the last year or so, Northumberland has looked like the land the gods wanted to destroy: ceaseless rain, thunder, floods, landslides, unseasonal cold and lashing winds; a varied arsenal of destructive forces was mercilessly discharged on us.

But not today. On this day the gods are looking down on us with gracious smiles, telling us that we are their children and this is the promised land. The sun shines bright and the birds sing hymns of praise. The colours are intense and the breeze gentle. The sheep hardly move for fear of disturbing the warmth. The lambs, usually quite loquacious, are mute now; what’s more, instead of their habitual frisking around they lie on their side, giving the scene an unnatural stillness. There is disbelief in the air; no-one dares do anything that might stir away the state of grace. 

First of the summer

Today has been a miracle of a day. The sun shone with a brightness that defied belief; indeed, it still does at half past seven in the evening. After a family lunch at Wark's Battlesteads Hotel - a very well cooked carvery - we came home and sat by the river. When it was time to feed the baby, I left the rest of the family on its riverside idyl and came to the house. The impulse seized me to hear my own music, something I very rarely do. I found the recording of shapeshift from Mystical Dances and subjected the poor infant to it twice over its dinner. Whatever the baby thought, I was surprised at the effect it caused on me. It was invigorating.

I badly need this piece performed more widely. I also need to realise more projects. Family is all very well, university is all very well, but I need to compose and to hear my music performed to feel alive. This has always been the absolute priority, and yet somehow it is proving elusive.