At 17 ......

I cried along with Janis Ian for she sang me. I cried again to-night. She made Jane Garvie cry too on 'Woman's Hour'. Fabulous concert, from a 60 year old! (Apart from the woman from England who kept shouting out and interrupting - last night audience participation was ok, to-night it wasn't).

I could write about my fantastic week-end - Ides of March with Allan, James Corden with Kay, tonight on my own listening to wonderful singing, superb acoustics and poignant stories. I bought the combo - book, 2 x CDs and DVD!

I could tell you how I got nostalgic at Communion this morning singing out my little heart to 'Ye Gates' and then 'Cwm Rhondda' (which had been on the radio earlier - 'feed me till my want is o'er, want is o'er'). There's something about tradition and familiarity, about the questions and the responses.

I could tell you how I spent the rest of the day shifting boxes, emptying two rooms and a wardrobe (my clothes are now in the stacked up in the kitchen), finding my hairbrush, not finding my face cream/serum (a necessity for a woman of a certain age) and mislaying the new red dress. It's in an orange carrier. Must be in the box room, so I'll have to empty that again, but not to-night.

I could tell you how I didn't make my tea because I thought I had to be at the Queen's Hall earlier than was the case.

I could tell you how I won an ebay auction for two French lace panels, which my sister could probably have bought me for half the price and brought over next week.

I could tell you how the person who last Sunday said he'd surprise me and phone this week, hasn't. Well, no surprise there then.

I could tell you all these things, but I won't because I'm tired, it's nearly tomorrow and I have clothes to find and a train to catch in the morning.

Janis Ian - she was sublime, you know.