It was the winter solstice and the sun was yet to rise.

Now, I’ve watched many solstice sunrises (both summer and winter); each time I get the same buzzy feeling in me just before the sun appears but this was the first time I had so keenly needed to see the sky turn orange, yellow and pink. I knew that this time round something much deeper was happening.

The sun rose.

Behind me, a drum was beaten and a cheer went up from near some of the stones even as I could feel my heart hammering in my chest, my stomach practising acrobatics and a tingling surge running up and down my spine.

I found that I couldn’t see the sky or the landscape properly because I was crying. I couldn’t stop the tears from diving over my lower eyelids and gushing down my cheeks. But I was also smiling and laughing and hugging T and P.

Winter wasn’t yet over and the long nights always weigh heavily on me. They always do; this winter has been tougher than most. Yes, for a little while things actually got a bit darker in my life, but the lengthening of the days somehow started to give me the strength, the energy and the hope to pull through, dust myself off and stride forwards.

The past month has had lots of the bright winter days I love so much, where the air is crisp and cold but the sun warm and bright to the point of blinding. I can’t help but smile when I feel the sunlight on my cheeks, when I can see the way it paints the world around me and coaxes it to a more vibrant state. Along with other things I have been doing to get myself back on track, the returning of the longer days has helped me find a calm and positive sense of peace within myself.

This spring, I think I understand a little better why the ancestors of my adopted county built such a beautiful and magnificent circle at Avebury, and other places in the UK.

The return of sunlight is so very, very important; important enough to be marked in stone that has lasted for millenia. And it’s important to me, on a very human (and therefore very fleeting) level, as well.

I hope…. I hope for sunlight, for the promise of long days ahead, for smiles on my lips and the promise the growing year brings.

(I have to do that because Monday generally involves getting up early for a pre-work exercise class and there’s no way I’ll be thinking straight enough to choose a cohesive set of clothes at 6am; trust me on that one.  Anyway, back to the point…)

While searching through my clothes the sudden realisation hit me that none of them seem to reflect where I am, in terms of my personality and self-image, at the moment. It was a little disheartening to say the least. You see, my clothes are so very sensible and lack the quirkiness that I see as being an intrinsic part of my personality. Sometimes I even worry that I dress older than I actually am. Ultimately, they make me feel like a ghost of who I am because they don’t reflect a part of me that I am increasingly allowing to shine forth.

*Laughs*. I even miss those massive purple cords (corduroy flares) I used to wear in the Sixth Form at school (they were pretty much the ‘in’ thing for the alternative types in my area at the time). They didn’t do much for me – they made my thighs look HUGE – but they were quirky and colourful and fun! Yup, I definitely miss them.

I think the only really flamboyant clothes I have are those I wear on stage and even then they are very much a part of my stage personality and don’t really go with the relaxed aspects of me. I mean, I can’t imagine wearing the long black skirt and red ‘gypsy’ top which snuggled up on the sofa and reading a book.

My clothes have generally been a way I express myself so when I look, and I mean really look at what I now wear, I do wonder what that is saying about me.

Then again, I guess it could also be saying something about the fashion world at large. It is really that which constrains my clothing choices seeing as I really can’t afford the more alternative options out there (not to mention that fact I know I will never, EVER be able to get into skinny jeans because of the size of my calves and thighs). I’m completely uninspired by the general things most clothes shops offer; I don’t really like shapeless clothes that just hang off you – they do s*d all for me.

*Sigh*.

I really want to be able to show off my personality a bit more in clothes that make be feel comfortable while still being quirky. I’ve been toying with the idea of buying some jeans from a charity shop and then customising them; I’ve just got to find the time to do that. It’d be a start but I’d still have miles to go before I was satisfied that my wardrobe reflected ‘me’. In the end, I don’t know if I have the skills or the time to really achieve the ‘Me’ wardrobe.

I just want to look more like me, really, because at the moment I’m not so sure I do and that’s not a good thing. There’s much to be said about buying clothes that are functional and hard wearing but I really want to shine and express myself too. I AM quirky and creative – I want my clothes to be quirky and creative too. Is that such a bad/shallow/childish/selfish thing?

I often feel this is the case with regard to my own life. There is so much I love doing; so much I want to fit into my days. I want to exercise, to write, to play music, to listen to music, to read, to knit, to spend time with my friends and family… the list goes on and on.

In trying to cram as much into the day as possible, though, I very rarely get the chance to relax and I can really feel that starting to weigh heavily on me. It’s almost as though sleep is an inconvenient interruption in the time I could spend DOING things. Now, before anyone tells me off, I know my body is repairing itself and my brain is processing things in my subconscious while I sleep.  However, though I know that logically, sometimes I find it difficult to allow myself to relax and fall asleep.

Even spending fifteen minutes lying on my bed and listening to music feels like a decadent luxury because I’m not actively doing something productive.

I really wish I could do more of the things I enjoy but I’m coming around to the idea that I also have to learn to give myself a break and really relax. After all, if I do myself a mischief by not relaxing I’m sure I’ll stop myself from doing even more of the things I love. Talk about a self-fulfilling prophecy.

Anyways, time to go an practice what I’ve been waffling on about – the Land of Nod calls…

(NB: I was going to write something more deep and meaningful but that’ll have to wait; I’m too exhausted to give the subject the focus it is due. Thank you, in the meantime, for listening to my ramblings).

The silken tongue of molten sand replies
to point out flaws until I see again
a question asked of glass is never wise.

“Always the wrong shape, never the right size,”
Reflection judges with open disdain
For truth is twisted in the mirror’s lies.

Bit by sickening bit you feel it prise
at you. Sharp understanding is regained:
A question asked of glass is never wise.

At every glance, inadequacies rise
With self belief in tatters, the fight’s in vain
For truth is twisted in the mirror’s lies.

Every crack and failing it magnifies
until only this cruel knowledge remains:
A question asked of glass is never wise
For truth is twisted in the mirror’s lies.

Chocolate.

(ok, and coffee, but one thing at a time).

I know I’m not alone… in fact I’m sure I’m in pretty good company seeing as chocolate is a such a big thing in the UK. However, I can’t stand the thought of being at the mercy of a need to consume the damned stuff or else be a grumpy pain in the neck. If I want to eat chocolate, I want to savour a high quality chocolate bar, enjoy the flavours and the smell and the texture. I don’t want to look down at an empty wrapper having barely sat down from a trip to the vending machine and wonder just how I managed to devour an entire bar in about 30 seconds. I certainly don’t want to see lasting ONE DAY without chocolate as some amazing achievement; I want it to be the norm.

Admittedly, I have been worse. While writing my Masters dissertation, by lunchtime I’d be about ready to bludgeon someone with a keyboard if I hadn’t had at least 5 chocolate bars, plus a pastry/doughnut or two. That really wasn’t a good place to be, but then neither is where I am now with the whole chocolate-fiend-thing.

I do distinctly remember a point maybe a year and a half ago when I bought a chocolate bar and realised I hadn’t eaten one in months. Knowing that, I know I can kick the chocolate cravings this time too. I’m not quite sure what spurred me into motion, but this morning I wrote myself a little note – which, admittedly, I added to later – and stuck it underneath my computer screen:

I really hope it works (well, that and having a tonne of fruit to eat instead of chocolate). At the very least it amused several people on Facebook. At the end of day one sans chocolate, I really don’t feel to bad which I’m taking to be a good sign. Of course, I’ll have to wait and see how I feel towards the end of the week before I know how I’m really reacting to the lack of the cocoa bean in my life.

If that doesn’t stop me, then I guess the only option will be to quit my job and work in the Cadburys factory so that I can’t stand the smell of chocolate, let alone the thought of eating the stuff. After all, when I went to the Cadburys factory a few years ago, I couldn’t eat chocolate for WEEKS – problem solved. So there are always options.

This blog isn’t going to be me being all maudlin about the loss of days gone by. It’s about giving a gift of time when I have little time to give. A gift to my friend, Ali.

As I said before, free time is a premium commodity in my life and I don’t get to spend anywhere near enough of it on Ali (or, indeed, any of my other university friends). Feeling as I do about this, when Ali’s birthday started to bleep on my mental radar I gave some serious thought about what I could do for her birthday to let her know that I wished I could give her more of my time. The answer didn’t take long to hit me square between the eyes: I was going to knit her a lace shawl.

“A shawl? Why a lace shawl?” I hear you ask (you are asking that, right? Just nod and smile). I decided on a lace shawl because you can see the stitches more clearly in lace than in any other type of knitting. I wanted those stitches to be visible because every one of those stitches is a moment of my time, a gift of seconds, minutes and hours to my beautiful friend.

There was a minor issue that meant it wasn’t finished in time for her birthday. Well, maybe not so minor – I had to rip back a sixth of the final shawl size because I screwed up and you can’t hide mistakes in lace. I finished it about three months later and taking the extra time was definitely worth it:

Not the best picture of it, but the best one I have of the whole thing

So, three and a bit months late, I finally sent Ali’s birthday present to her. I have to say, I was very impressed with Royal Mail’s efficiency because the following morning, this appeared on my phone:

I don’t know why, but I think she liked her gift…

I may not be able to spend as much time with Ali as I did when we were at university, and that will always make me sad, but now I know that Ali has some of my time, precious moments, captured in a my gift to her. Moments that belong to her and her alone.

And that makes me smile. I hope it makes her smile too.

And in my dreams it deigns to show
Bright flashes of weyrd threads that glow
While they form, create and bind
my spiral path

I feel my essence swirl and flow:
in deep waters, in winds that blow
In earth that moves and flames that blind.
From these are born the path that winds
and from their threads will ever grow
my spiral path

It seems something of a no-brainer, then, that I’ve been singing for most of my life (I believe I sang my first solo when I was 7 years old so that’d be 19 years ago) and have learned several instruments to varying levels during those years too. You see, I can’t help but give voice to the music that I feel and love.

Unfortunately, I never really liked the way my voice sounded. I don’t have the clear soprano that many of the girls at school had (and probably still have); instead I’m pretty much stuck in the alto range with woolly edges to my voice. I longed for the gentler, higher pitch but there wasn’t really a lot I could do about it.

Eventually, I stopped singing in public altogether.

To be honest, I thought that was it and that I’d only ever sing along to my car radio (and never with anyone else in the car). After all, why would I subject other people to a voice I disliked? The funny thing about music, though, is that it can’t be dammed up forever.

So now I sing warp to Talis Kimberley’s weft which brings me an indescribable amount of joy (it’s always glorious when singing songs that reach deep inside you). The thing that has surprised me most is how many people have come up and said I have a beautiful voice. I’ve never considered my voice to be of note, let along beautiful and quite often their comments bring me close to tears. I doubt they’ll ever realise how much it means to me to hear them say that.

I know that I won’t ever have the voice I craved as a child and teenager but slowly, ever so slowly, I’m starting to love the way I sound, the way my voice weaves a fine fabric with Talis’ own voice, and cherish the small part I play in bringing joy to people’s lives with the music.

My voice may not change, but my views about it certainly are.

Really, this is all Simon’s doing. A few months ago he mentioned that Andrew (the conductor of the WCO) put together a little band to play carols at the local pub in Winterbourne Bassett and Simon managed to convince me to go along. Sight reading was a bit of a shock to the system, I can tell you, but even though my playing was a bit sporadic I had a marvellous amount of fun. In short, I got the brass playing bug again. I was doomed (but in the best possible way)!

I’d been uhm-ing and ah-ing over whether or not to go along to the Swindon Concert Band since December but it wasn’t until I was in Glasgow (admittedly on a bit of a music-high and with 20 minutes to kill on the internet) that I sent off an e-mail asking if they had room for another euphonium.

Well, you can probably guess what the answer was.

Funnily enough, the SCB rehearse 10 minutes walk from where I live. I’m trying to be a little more eco-conscious at the moment so I though “10 minutes? I can walk that with no problem!” It did occur to me about half way there that 10 minutes walk while carrying a euphonium in a hard case does end up feeling pretty far (or so my arms were telling me). The 10 minutes walk UP the hill felt even longer.

It was pretty nerve-wracking sitting with new music in front of me (I tend to go a bit ‘bunny-in-headlights’ the first couple of times I play unfamiliar music) and I quickly realised just how rusty I was. It probably didn’t help seeing that some of the notes in the baritone/euphonium part for the first thing we played were out of my range even when I was playing 6-8 hours a week back at school. Still, Darrell and Ben (the other two euphonists, both of whom very good) were really encouraging, as was Mike the conductor. While my first instinct was to ‘run away, run away’ just like I did at uni *cough*seven*cough* years ago, I’ve decided to ignore said instinct and go back. After all, there’s no way I’m going to get better unless I try, right?

So, yes, I pretty much suck at keeping up and playing at the moment (though my range is still almost what it was 7 years ago – silver linings…). However, one thing I did learn during my years of playing at MTMC is that playing as part of an ensemble will make me progress faster than practising on my own because I will HAVE to keep up.

I’m looking forward to seeing where this goes (although I doubt I’ll be joining the SBC in Glasgow in April for the National competition they’re taking part in – I kinda want them to have a change of winning after all!). It’s really nice to be playing Cuchulainn* again after almost 7 years of him sitting in his case. It’s like meeting an old friend again and it makes me very, very happy.

*All my instruments to date have names from Irish mythology. There’s your random fact quota for the day fulfilled. Enjoy!

“All men are created equal but some are more equal than others…” – George Orwell.

It’s been a success, it went as we planned
when we first hung our heads, held out our hands
while we shamefully wore the glutton’s brand.
So now we won’t listen to your demands

Because we can. So we will.

We’re the orchestrators of this whole mess,
Dissolute masters of lies and distress.
If it means a profit, we must confess
We won’t think twice about draining the West

Because we can. So we will.

We’ll pay obscene bonuses, we defy
the rules. They can’t stop us, though they might try.
And while people struggle just to get by
We’ll ignore the anger and outraged cries

Because we can. So we will.

We know it’s not fair, but life is cruel
And it’s money, not morals, that’s the fuel
of the City. Yes, we had you all fooled!
WE pull the strings of your lords of misrule

Because we can. So we will.

Your government’s toothless, broken and lame.
They can’t stop us at our own game.
You can take your judgement and take your blame
Choke on them while we go on just the same

Because we can. So we will.