Pictorial blethers

By blethers

Mark the music...

Another of those days that seem to punctuate our lives with ominous regularity, in which we learn of further restrictions to control Covid-19, or at least its transmission, and have time to consider the latest pronouncements of politicians. I spent some of it in the garden, hacking at the rampant growth that marks the end of every summer by making the back garden path impassable, so that we have a subsidiary track through the grass. It seemed a suitably aggressive activity as I thought about an almost throwaway remark by Rishi Sunak about professional musicians made jobless by the pandemic. And then a friend tweeted this, and it just hit the spot:

...naught so stockish, hard, and full of rage,
But music for the time doth change his nature.
The man that hath no music in himself,
Nor is not moved with concord of sweet sounds,
Is fit for treasons, stratagems, and spoils.
The motions of his spirit are dull as night,
And his affections dark as Erebus.
Let no such man be trusted. 

Shakespeare hits the spot, every time. 

A chilly afternoon saw us walking back up to our perishing but lovely church to record a hymn for the service which we're still hosting online for all who don't feel up to coming out to church, and to rehearse the piece I'll sing on Sunday. I'm blipping the view from the rear of the church for a change, with the foreground full of the memorial hassocks piled up out of use until we can return to normal (and comfortable kneeling!). Mr PB was playing something big and loud and lovely on the organ, by way of a contrast to his quiet accompaniments for a solo cantor. 

Tomorrow we're going to meet relatives for lunch. In a restaurant, in the city. We didn't plan it as a last hurrah, but that's how it's turned out. I'll be back ...

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