In my next life...

I'd like to be a musician, or possibly a dancer. If, we get a choice in such things, and I do believe in some hopeful, abstract way that one's soul might return to this wonderful and messed-up place we call The Earth.
I think I've been a reasonably good person, so far - at least enough not to return as a dung-beetle, a leech or a self-obsessed, narcissistic, country-ruining politician. Hopefully.
Over the years I've photographed my incredibly talented (I am allowed to say that, even though I am British, as it's true) pianist husband in his various groups. Working at a Conservatoire now, he has been fortunate to meet several wonderful fellow musicians and I've visually recorded them all, with various degrees of success. I have a degree in photography but also have an inbuilt tendency to feel fear at any sign of new technology, so the workings of my Canon have been mysterious for a long time.
So, yes. Being a musician. I have been, to a very small extent - sang in a rock band, played snare in a samba group, but to really have that deep musical knowledge I regard through the lens as I snap away at their postures and expressions, suspended somewhere in another world of music, is something else.
Which instrument in this imagined new life would I choose? Probably the cello, or double bass, maybe a bass bassoon. Something with a woody resonance that creeps through into your core. Alas, in this life, I'll probably have to make do with singing a few covers, or perhaps my own stuff - novels and songs. Why not?
Here's a bit of a blues song written years ago when Ezra, aged about four (now twenty) became obsessed with train journeys. and asked me if we could go on that Dirty Train to Wallsall. I presume we must have been standing around in Birmingham New Street at the time. Can't recall now.

I'm on a dirty, dirty, dirty train to Walsall, a dirty, dirty train to Walsall.
Man, it is so far and there ain't no restaurant car, I'm on a dirt, dirty, dirty train to Walsall.
Lord, I'd give my soul for a hot bacon and tomato roll, I'm on a dirty, dirty, dirty train to Walsall,
etc, sung in a mournful blues façon.

Anyway, back to the real thing and here's some photos of Mark playing with talented colleagues: flautist, Julie and percussionist, Julian; and in another group, Viola player, Yesault.







And possibly my favourite photo: Mark, Yseult and dancer, Yuko.

Post birthday-post

                          

Hangover, sir?
No thanks. Mark doesn't do these - or drunken behaviour, I think mainly as being so tall, the alcohol gives up before it reaches his brain.
I did once see him being very slightly worst for wear, but that was after three head-pulverising mojitos in Brazil on New Year's eve, and I was probably slightly WFW and therefore he may have been sitting innocently thinking about a tune he was in the middle of composing rather than dancing in the street as I seem to remember.

So, the surprise party was indeed a surprise and the vague story about our lad making a meal in a friend's restaurant for us, did work. Mark was surprised, and despite a long day's work, managed not to become over-emotional, as I would have done, but maybe that's more a woman thing.
He even remained smiling and unruffled as I announced he would be playing drums in our rock n' roll band, of which we have not rehearsed for about nine months.

                                       

                            Pete and Dave performing: My brother makes the noises for the talkies

Being a man of music, that was at the forefront of the planning. We stared with brilliant cabaret songs from Pete, Dave and Alex, followed by our son's band 'The F.E.W' - and they even let mark 'guest' on tambourine.

                                    

 

                                                                      The F.E.W

We did a few numbers, much in the shadow of the energetic and wonderful 'F.E.W'; then a change of direction to cello and double bass with two talented colleagues of Mark's from the conservatoire: Marjorie et Vincent and finally, tenor, Riccardo accompanied by Mark on piano.

                              

                                      

Being a Thursday evening, people were beginning to move towards the door, but coats were flopped onto chairs and seats reclaimed as Riccardo's voice filled the room.

                                           
                                         

During the evening, as well as music, we were treated to Sue's fantastic cooking (all veg, by our request); the most incredible 'piano' cake, made by a friend of Sue's, displays of balloon art from Christian, sound and technical stuff by Carl, and SO much help from dear friends, Helen and Malcolm amongst many others.

                                         
                                      



  

AND, thanks for all the fabulous wine, everyone - we now have a small cellar and Mark is even considering purchasing one of those fold out, criss-cross wine racks rather than the small cupboard space allocated to our usually pathetic collection.
Well, time to post this, and back to reality - starting with a clear up where everything here was abandoned yesterday evening as party time arrived.