Sunday, a lazy Sunday when I wake late, make my partner tea and we chat for a while until we can both be bothered to get up and make breakfast. The dish washer (Daisy) is still running, which is not right she will need to be tended to. Before any household stuff can be done there is the little matter of getting food in for today and tomorrow. We drive off in the pouring rain to a local supermarket and plunder the vegetable racks mercilessly and fill the trolley with essentials and a few indulgences.
Once home I tended to Daisy (Dishwasher) by cleaning all her filters and pumps. I find a chink of plastic stuck in one of the pump fans, no wonder she had indigestion. Everything gets cleaned and put back adn then I run a deep cleaning cycle in her before watching the afternoon rugby match. My home team wins. With the afternoons diversion over I prepare my chicken and chorizo one pot for the evening meal in time for the Strictly results show. I notice that Sir Chris Hoy has got stage four prostate cancer with the spread into his bones and that his doctors have given him two to four years to live. I saw him commentating on the world cycling championships yesterday, which raises the issue of, who pays for his travel insurance? Every time I look at holidays the bloody insurance costs more than the holiday! Someone must be getting him a good deal or just shelling out for it for him.
One film later I am alone in the lounge watching, actually more listening to the final of the Young Musician of the Year on BBC 2. The soloists are just amazing, A violinist playing Tchaikovsky’s violin concerto and two pianists both playing Rachmaninov’s second piano concerto. They are two seventeen year olds and a sixteen year old. The seventeen year old from Canada who is on a scholarship in England at Eton wins. I knew he would win he had immaculate cuffs and cuff links. Somehow I knew no one from a compressive was going to make it. I have said before I am in awe of anyone who can play an instrument or sing but these guys were just off the scale. When you can play Rachmaninov’s second piano concerto by the age of 17 where is there left to go? So far from chopsticks! I take my meds and go to bed with a head full of beautiful music and wondering what would have happened had I persevered with the Bert Weedon Teach Yourself Guitar Book 1.
