Ebley Mill and Ebley Wharf, Stroud

GG came round in the morning. We took some dressings and toiletries and other items to the pub car park. A local retired teacher is driving a van to Ukraine border with these supplies. He already has three van-loads. I have posted a shot of him in extras.

Then to a garage, where I dropped off pens, pencils, notebooks and my TEFL.books. Yes, I used to teach English as a Foreign Language (as it was known then) but realised last year, when I spoke with someone from the Refugee organisation in Gloucester, that I just don't have the time now to teach English by phone or text during lockdown. Fortunately, teaching by volunteers is now taking place face to face, so maybe my books will help someone. I do hope so.

GG and I walked, in stages, along the canal and the river to Ebley Mill, a mile or so West of town, where the council offices are located. I'd hoped we could stop for coffee in the square there, but GG had made us stop earlier at the Lock Keepers', so we picknicked in glorious sunshine before turning back. Ebley Mill is on the left of my shot, it's converted into offices. The wharf on the right is made up of newly-built canalside flats. There are shops and public benches and  hairdresser's and a gym, making Ebley a more pleasant, happening place than it used to be before the canal restoration.

On the way back, which we covered at greater speed, something strange happened. A female cyclist passed me on the towpath, quite close, and then I heard a splash behind me, and GG called out. A male cyclist had fallen into the canal, apparently while trying to overtake GG. I reckon he was distracted by the sight of her brown legs, resplendent in short white shorts (I know, it's only March, but she had her shorts on. I'm still wearing long johns under my jeans)! GG started spouting about getting a belt or a rope. The cyclist wanted to get the bike out first. Eventually we were assisted by a passing male, and the female cyclist and I hauled the unfortunate man out.  We had to hurry away, GG crowing that her beauty had caused a man to fall into the water (I'd have been SO mortified if it were on my watch)!

We were by now late for my next appointment, so I had to phone and ask Steve to meet my lift outside our house and redirect them to the canal bridge where GG had left her car. She headed off home,  I jumped in the other G's car, and we sped off to Nailsworth to the afternoon concert.

A quintet of wind instrumentalists were playing today: flute, clarinet, oboe, horn and bassoon, sometimes accompanied by a pianist. During the interval where the instrumentalists clean the spit out of their instruments ("mopping out" is the term for this process, I believe) the flautist tried to entertain us by reading from a book by someone who had played the piano (I think) for Ravel. Something bad had happened when the second movement of Ravel' s Tombeau de Couperin had been played, and she had been nervous about playing it after that incident. Nevertheless, the quintet were going to play the Fugue anyway, he said. At this, he sneezed violently, had to exit the stage, and another player read on. When he had mopped his nose, they started playing.

GS and I were sitting in the front row. G is short of stature, and hard of hearing, so this is her preferred place. However, during the Fugue, it became evident that the flautist's nose had started to bleed, and drop after drop of blood was falling on his dark suit even as he gallantly played on. At the end of the movement, he removed himself, the musicians had a short confab, and it was announced that the pianist would play the part of the flautist, on the piano!  They duly played the final two movements. GS and I agreed that, from where were sitting, the wind quintet sound was not harmonious. I think I'll look up the piano-only version, which has six movements.

The final piece was Waltz no. 2 by Shostakovich. The flautist reappeared for the final bow at the end of the concert, which was reassuring. I'd been worried about his nose, having had a few terrible nosebleeds myself.

We skipped the afternoon tea because the third member of our party, A, hates it, and G was tired. I had home made gf Bara Brith at home instead, and finished my novel, Winter, by Christopher Nicholson. I shall now move  on to Spring, by Ali Smith. Definitely springtime here!